(Its by Luka Bloom)
I?ve acquired a bike; Y'know, those things with two wheels and pedals. I got it off Ellis' partner Andrea (aka Price). It's too big for her. She's only tiny and she keeps falling off it. So its now mine. A girl's, purple mountain bike !
The idea is to spend at least some of my week engaged in physical activity. The best way this can be achieved is by riding to work as often as possible. This was what I did last Thursday. Across Oldham Rd, onto the 'White Stuff' and up the Rochdale Canal to Middleton Junction. Turn Left past the Railway and Linnet, under the railway bridge, left again up Greengate and there I am. It took just under half an hour and I was dead on my feet at the end of it. Gets the old pherenomes pumping though and leaves you feeling strangely calm.
I was lucky though Thursday was sunny. I rode for a while with a lovely big heron gliding just in front of me. Fishermen were dotted about the banks, people were going for walks and everyone had a cheery disposition. It was like being in Trumpton or Camberwick Green or somesuch. I half expected Bob the Builder, Postman Pat and Ivor the Engine to turn up.
Friday it pissed down ! So the bike stayed at home.
Today, though, Dearest has gone to Manchester with Ellis so I thought I'd go and photograph the newly reopened section of the canal down towards Manchester.
First stop was the road bridge at Failsworth Pole. This bridge was blocked up some time in the 60s and was only recently opened up again. When they brought down the bricks the underside of the bridge was covered in graffiti from a bygone age.
Hands off Vietnam painted on the underside of the bridge.
(Guess they hadn?t invented the cheap can of spray paint then.)
A lot of the other stuff, JW luvs FG etc doesn?t mean much these days to anyone other than those that scratched, painted or etched at the time. I wonder how many of those undying declarations of love have stood the test of time ?
The Red Star ? Hey ! Back in the 60s it meant something !
It was noticeable that none of the graffiti had been applied with the, now ubiquitous, spray can. No, in those days if you wanted to indulge you had to carry round a tin of paint and a brush. I don?t know, vandals today just don?t know they're born.
I carried on cycling down the towpath to Newton Heath. Here I turned off and went on a nostalgic trip round my old childhood haunts. First off was Gaskell St and through the old dirt track, past where my Aunty Betty used to live (houses long since gone and replaced with a modern housing estate made of Ticky Tacky). From there I went up Miriam Street. The old Co-op now boarded up and, presumably, awaiting the bulldozers.
That Co-op was just at the back of my Grans and, as a kid, I knew it like the back of my hand. There was the main store with all the groceries and household stuff you could possibly want. Attached at the side in a separate shop was a small butchers. You could get chicken's feet there. Pulling the tendons would make it grasp and grip. Hours of fun ! sadly it turned me into a psychopath.
Round the back of the butcher's and into Brookdale Park. Once a jewel in the crown of municipal endeavour. Now a shadow of its former glory. Overgrown bandstands where the locals obviously like to build small bonfires. No flower beds anymore. Just a basic *short back and sides* given every couple of months or so to stop it looking as though nobody gives a shit. When I was a kid a Parks Gardener was a *job for life*. Mind you so was a Park Ranger (Parky). The past really is a foreign country. This what happens to our local environment when paying less tax becomes the holy grail. I would not like to be in that park of an evening.
Out of Brookdale Park, down Brookdale *brew* and on down the old path that takes you to the Medlock Valley. In my shorts I became acquainted with every nettle in the North West as I puffed and panted down to the river?s edge. Along the banks of the river and then left up to the old farm. I used to know the people who lived here ? it really does seem like an eternity ago.
The old farm at the bottom of Vale Lane. It must date back a couple of hundred years at least.
To the left of the view above is the remains of a barn. I've not been down here for at least 25 years and, I must admit, a lot of it had been forgotten. But the minute I saw that barn loads of memories came flooding back. Here it is.
Remaining wall of the old barn. Just behind it to the left is
Brookdale Golf Club.
Back up through Woodhouses Village, take a left down Failsworth Road and down Ashton Rd East to home. The sweat is dripping off me ? shower time.
My attempts to fix by Blog are thwarted by Blogger.com refusing my attempts to log on.
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