Forgot to give this a title.

So, what’s been going on people?  I’ve been jolly busy since my last post in June.  To whit and in no particular order –

• Had a birthday.
• Had a birthday shout out on local radio by husband who was touting his gig.  He has a voice for radio.  Somebody give that man a show.
• Pitched for another cafe.
• Failed pitch.
• Didn’t want it anyway.
• Got dripping loo fixed finally (only took 3 years)
• Hosted endless numbers of airb&b guests (my coffers thank them)
• Celebrated a friend’s 60th.
• Celebrated a sister’s 50th.
• Celebrated old school friend’s wedding on a boat.
• Went to Edinburgh to visit fam-a-lam (only saw one half as other ended up having emergency back surgery, which was a little inconsiderate but what can you do?).
• Saw fab show at the Fringe by Ad Infinitum.
• Got hair cut (short)
• Lost staff.
• Gained staff.
• Lost weight (didn’t really).
• Visited my old Ma and Nancy in Yorkshire.

• Went to Hull.
• Got garden steps fixed (only taken 5 years – top step held together by chicken wire).
• Took Socks to the vet for a sore paw (£65).
• Didn’t take Spooky to the vet for a chunk of missing fur and a nasty wound (£0 – am using antiseptic spray which she hates but it seems to be working) inflicted by the evil that is Bubbles the cat next door.
• Came to Wales.

And here I am.  And just to clarify, all those times when not on jollies up north or being fancy at weddings I was working, running my miniscule empire, being chamber maid to the airb&b’ers,  hoovering cat hair etc.  Don’t want to you all thinking I sat around on my jacksy pondering what to write on here for 3 months.

Hull.

Hull was a bit of a revelation which I’ll get to in a minute.  Me and the husband first visited the Olds in Heptonstall, booking ourselves in a teeny weeny studio apartment in the village where Russell’s (admittedly very long) feet touched the sloped ceiling in bed.  The village is on a steep hill, all cobbled.  We arrived on Friday night just in time for last orders at the pub, after a five plus hour journey most of which which was at 50 mph due to the smartening of the motorways or something.  A cold pint was as more welcome than a shower after a weekend at Boomtown.   It was still warm then – remember the summer?

We spent Saturday with the ladies, taking them to lunch at Hollingworth Lake to a pub we had spotted on the way over.  It was raining by then because it had remembered it was Yorkshire not Andalucia.  The pub was lovely and very accommodating to our wind and rain swept party, Nancy gamely navigating the way with her flower power walking sticks, dodging a small child who was occupied in tearing up every single paper napkin  in the place, Rosemary and Russell following, ignoring the shrieks of said child.  I went to park the car in a car park some way from the pub.  It was in a pretty area with lots of flowers and stuff.  Turns out there was a car park right behind the pub but I wouldn’t have missed those flowers for anything.  Lunch was huge, Desperate Dan huge.  We all needed to have a short coma afterwards so repaired to our respective lying down places, to prepare our tummies for Nancy’s heavenly fish chowder that evening (yet another reason I haven’t lost weight).

As always with visits to those two time goes too fast.  I could go on here about stuff that comes up for me when visiting my ageing Mum (she is now 91), how much I love her and dread her dying, but that is a subject for another day.   Anyway, I mentioned that I was going to start an oil painting course in September, which I am really excited and rather nervous about.  Mum then decided to bequeath me her oil paints and box, along with her painting smock which she has had for longer than I have been alive, and I can remember her using for various craft sessions throughout my childhood. It was given to her by a nun she knew, so god knows how old it actually is.  It’s almost floor length, pale blue and white check, covered in years of paint spatters.  Russell said it felt like the passing of the mantle.  Mum would probably say stuff and nonsense.  I say I think it might be magic and make a me into a brilliant artist.  I’ll keep you posted.

So, Hull.  Why Hull?  It’s at the end of the M62 and we had never been before.  Russell and I had two extra days so we used them thusly.  Booked into a a groovy apartment block, all digital and sleek lines, posh magazines artfully placed on window sills etc., bang next to the cathedral, or Minster as it is now known.

It was 2017 city of culture and you can see a lot of money has been spent on the place, to good effect as far as I could tell.  Lovely indoor food market where we had breakfast (see my instagram account for endless pictures of food, including said breakfast, and cats), fantastic harbour area with re-vamped Fruit Market full of restaurants, bars, design agencies and the like.

The wind off the North Sea is enough to revive even the claggiest of souls and as we leaned into it we talked of moving there (to be fair, we do that where ever we go).  There was lots about Hull to make me want to go back, not least the Ferens Art Gallery , although I’d stay somewhere else because it turns out that picturesque as it is being next to the minster what they don’t tell you is that the bells ring on the hour every hour, with a little ding every quarter just for good measure.  I did wonder why the complementary ear plugs were on the side table.

We came home via a time warp (Cleethorpes), and past fields of gold through the Lincolnshire flat lands.  Stopped briefly in Lincoln to see the cathedral which looked epic from afar and bit crumbly and sad close up.  The end.

That’s enough from Betty today.  I’m going to do some yoga now because that’s what middle aged women do to kid themselves they are doing exercise (or is just me?).  Then I’m going to master the art of Adobe Illustrator.  Yes I am.

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