Always my Pixie’s dragon. x
It’s that time of the season again, when everyone is equal and just for a moment we all dream that somehow, perhaps, the team is better than we think, that they really will play like they do in our dreams. So the heart begins to pound, the tension, the fear, the dreams to build Except we kick off tomorrow, by which time the we will be in the mid-table obscurity we’ll probably be consigned to, but hey. 3420 minutes ahead, 38 games to glory. Haway the lads!
Last weekend saw the excitement of a music festival—though not one on a very big scale at all. In fact, the very local Petts Woodstock.
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Is this blog some kind of repository of strange covers of Thunderstruck by ACDC? It’s beginning to look that way—Steve ‘n Seagulls:
Having been frustrated earlier this year Heather and I finally got to the Bluebell Railway, for steam trains complete with special visitor!
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Things probably not in the job description: Helping to wind the mechanism of an old cattle market clock.
A well lived in boat on the canal
The recent weekend was long with a return to Chester, for Heather and I. Once again we were there to see some Shakespeare in the park (it’s becoming a tradition), as well as Heather’s brother Richard (and Caroline) and little Joseph, who had just turned one.
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