Events have brought our families together a few times this year. In March the Stephensons got together in Ripon for a nostalgic weekend in the place where we were all children for a few years. The photograph is of us outside a house where we lived in Blossomgate. Mark is crouching because he was a little boy when we lived there. Continue reading
A Tale of Two Street Parties
We set the date, planned the food, erected the huge gazebo, invited the residents of the street and then the extreme weather turned up. Standing in a huddle in the gloomy failing light of a summer evening the community of our street just about kept us warm.
Such is the unpredictable nature of events in Northern England. Continue reading
That Island Again
We took another holiday in Madeira in June. Lots of walking punctuated by times of doing very little apart from strolling around, reading and eating good food.
On one momentous day we took the bus to the start of a walk high in the Madeiran hills. When we left the bus at the last stop in a small hamlet we realised we had travelled too far. Continue reading
Jubilee Year
Barrie is serving another year as Churchwarden at St Michael-le-Belfrey. But the main event of the year was a Jubilee celebration marking 50 years since David Watson came to York. He came as a curate at the soon to be redundant St Cuthbert’s Church. His remarkable ministry not only kept the church open but grew the congregation so large they had to be found a larger home at St Michael-le-Belfrey next to York Minster. Continue reading
Politics on the Left
Barrie joined the Labour Party in a vain bid to sweep them to election victory in May. On the evidence of his ‘success’ you may be better not inviting him to back your cause. Look what’s happened to the party since they lost in spectacular style. But don’t get him started on the performance of the Tory government ……
We both joined the Refugees Welcome Here march through York in protest at the derisory response of our government to the plight of people fleeing Syria. Continue reading