Its a long way from LA to Denver

As the late John Denver sang, " its a long time to hang in the sky ". My thoughts turn to long haul air travel

Is it to be enjoyed, or endured ? In my circumstances it depends on who, or what, will be at the end of that journey. I my case, this time, it will be my son and his wife in Australia. Something, most definitely to look forward to.

But and there is always a but, will the journey be hassle free and pleasant? This again is an opportunity to witness, at first hand, why human beings are so fascinating a species to observe.

The silliness of their actions and I include myself in this, beggars belief. You are given adequate time to check in and get rid of your luggage, but you still create self tension by either arriving too late, or too early. " When are they going to open the desks"?, is a moan " the queues are building up". More tension, for no reason.

Then, the boarding of the plane. I have left out the immigration and security aspect as the prospects of writing about the silly behaviours would take too much space and time, but it may be revisited at a later stage.

 The main event is to try to second guess the gate attendants. They hang around the gate desk idly chatting and teasing us by leaning near to the desk microphone. Come on, own up, we have all watched intently for this, so we can leap up from our seats to be the first in some imaginary self created scrum to get on the plane in pole position.

 Is it not better to rationalise that its along haul flight, it will be called in seat rows, you have been allocated a seat, the flight is a minimum of 7 hours and for most of it you will be sat. Oh no!! some imaginary foe is beating you to your right to board the plane, when you want to board, not when you are told to board by some young girl who was in a pram when you first travelled.

I have been that caveman. I have created chaos, I have used my two young sons as human shields to gain only a few feet of queue space. For this I apologise firstly to my wife, who's patience I have so patently tested, but mainly to all the ground staff at so many airports throughout Europe and the rest of the world.





My next flight will be pure serenity and calm. That is my intention.....but if that person thinks he can push in front of me when I've queued all this time !!!!

The philosophy of being silly

As the blog is named after the Paul McCartney song, a little explanation of of the word " silly " might be helpful. Some people might think its a derogatory label, whilst others and this includes myself, view being silly as a way to compensate for the straight-jacket of an adult life.

There are times to be serious and times to be silly. Blending the two aspects, again in my opinion, leads to a far happier and rewarding life.

Sermon out of the way and to continue with the slightly religious theme, a Merry Christmas and a happy new year to all.

Stories to look forward to next year are more stories from my past, plus an epic journal to be completed of my visit to Australia . I'll be commenting on the quirky, silly things that I'm sure will be thrown up in my travels in the land Down Under.

Bye for now !

Its dark down here !!

One of the many jobs I have had in my employment history was as a coal miner. Barnburgh colliery to be exact in the South Yorkshire Coalfield.

Described by many as a " family pit ", this was indeed true. You trusted you workmates, laughed, cried and stuck together, but mostly you laughed.

Characters were always in evidence and stories of their antics will spring forth from this blog from time to time.Where to begin, so many tales, so many memories. Lets start with a man called " Frankie", surname not given for legal reasons.

Lets be kind to Frankie and if a label is to be put on him, lets say " thick as a brick ". I knew him in his 60's, but as a young man his wits were no sharper. A story that illustrates this point recalled here.

Before mechanisation of the mines in the late 50's and 60's, pit ponies were common throughout the South Yorkshire coalfield and were handled by pony drivers. This usually involved ponies transporting material in " tubs ", small wagons on rails, along tunnels connecting the various districts of the coal mine. This was the job that Frankie was assigned.

Mother nature, always tries, and is usually successful, in thwarting the efforts of coalminers to maintain the height and width of any tunnel driven through the underground strata. When first driven through the strata the height was 7 feet by  about 9 feet. Then the " weight " came on. Forces pushing into the void, from all directions, squeezed the tunnel until the pony and its driver were banging into the top and sides. It was a simple solution to remedy, the " dinters " were sent for. These men had a job very similar to painting the Forth Bridge, never ending.

On one particular day shift, Frankie uttered his now famous observation. Joe and Stan, two very experienced dinters were taking out, from the pushed up floor, about 3 feet of material. This had the effect of raising the available space for the pony and driver to operate along the tunnel.

As Frankie approached, he spotted the two men digging away at the floor and lowering the rails.He called out a warning to step aside and as he passed them, utter these words of advice and wisdom " Silly buggers, its the ponies head and shoulders that's catching, not its feet ".

Priceless...........

This could have been Frankie...note the confused look.... more to follow.

Snowy makes an appearance

On closer inspection the he becomes a she and is she a bossy madam. Her gang expanded to 14 this morning, it appears to have been a good season for the sparrow population here in our little corner of the world.

The rest of the main players, Brenda, the young blackbird taking a morning dip in the bird bath flanked by two of Snowy's gang.

Regular updates of these feathered participants in my life will occur.

In this part of the world, the Dearne Valley, now a green and pleasant land thanks to the de-industrialisation imposed by the Thatcher regime, we live a somewhat detached life from the big cities and towns of South and West Yorkshire.

Sheffield to the South, Leeds to the North, Barnsley and Doncaster respectively West and East, the valley is old coal mining country. The landscape is made up of rolling hills and a river valley, pure heaven.

Besides the wildlife, this wonderful area, has great people, complete wasters and the usual inbetweeners.

Stories about these people will give you an insight into what it was like growing up in this community. Stories and anecdotes will abound and hopefully entertain..........

Next instalment...... Its dark down here ! !

A little bird story

It never fails to astound me that mother nature can throw up such fun for the observer.

Enter stage right Snowy, the near albino sparrow.

Yes, that's right and he hangs out with his gang of this years hatchings around my bird feeder.

No hiding in the shadows for this chap, oh no, he's visible and likes to stand out from the pack, or flock, I
think we should say.

What will emerge over the autumn and winter is an observation of his visits to my garden. Photos, of course, funny musings, certainly, hopefully we will all revel in how nature can be both kind and cruel....but lets wait and see what unfolds......

Don't be put off by the title, there is more to follow..