Tobacco
Confectionery
Chilled drinks, snacks
All at McColls
Groceries,
Fresh food
Bread and cakes,
All at McColls
Top-ups
Lottery
Newspapers, mags
All at McColls
Tobacco
Confectionery
Chilled drinks, snacks
All at McColls
Groceries,
Fresh food
Bread and cakes,
All at McColls
Top-ups
Lottery
Newspapers, mags
All at McColls
Number 10,
Few crumbs
Of bodily comforts
Though the starving soul
May seek solace
Inside
These whitewashed walls.
Food for the brain,
Food for thought
& food accepted gratefully.
Ploughboy, public house, for the consumption of beer, in public, also available for private parties such as christenings, weddings and eventually funerals, care for cribbage, do you do dominos, fill up, filip, darts, dunno, purity of heart, service at the core, beer at sensible prices, who could ask for more? friendship, amity, camaraderie, mates,double scotch, if you please, at happy hour rates.
Freshly made batter,
Food for a God,
Deep fried fritters,
Haddock, plaice and cod.
Sausages and scrumps,
Salt and (malt) vinegar,
Pickled eggs and gravy,
Fish cakes are a winner,
Baked beans, scampi,
Ketchup, tartare sauce,
Donner kebab if you like,
And lastly chips of course.
Bread,
Staff of life,
Crusty white,
Granary, wholemeal,
Sliced or slice it yourself,
Spread thickly with
Creamy English butter,
And jam to taste,
Or liberal helpings
Of smoked salmon,
Ham or cheese with chutney.
You won’t go hungry here.
It’s one of those idyllic “why would anyone want to be anywhere else” days in May. The back garden is starting to bloom and the sound of birdsong is all around. The lawn has been mown and the hammock is up for the first time this season.
Upstairs the two older offspring are revising for forthcoming examinations, voluntarily and without parental pressure! The other two are in Sunday School with their mother making for a peaceful morning.
Cricket has unfortunately been cancelled as Bracebridge Heath Under 9s have failed to raise a side. It would have been a perfect day for it sat on the boundary sipping a coffee and reading the Sunday papers.
A small plane buzzes across the sky leaving no trail, the sound remaining for a short while after it has disappeared from sight. Leaves flutter in the gentle wind.
The jobs list has been quickly finished and the car retrieved from Burton Road where it was left after a quick post golf drink turned into several. I am now sat in the conservatory with the doors open with a cup of green tea sourced from the shop on Steep Hill. Outside in the garden it is too bright to type. All is well.
Swine flu has put me on a high,
Another pandemic in progress,
The end of the world is nigh,
Whilst you can, live life to excess.
One more drink before the end of play,
A calming effect don’t panic,
Oblivion wends its certain way,
Endemic or not, it’s academic.
As we await our final moments,
A time for thought and deep reflection,
A battle fought with inner torments,
If life is cheap, what price infection?
He died, young,
Though many have gone before,
The shock remains,
As if for the first time.
The community, silenced,
In unexpected grief,
Left thinking,
Pondering their own mortality.
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