I raise my head above the Spring Cleaning parapet to waive a cheery hello to the world. "The house is a tip", my Good Lady Wife said to me a few weeks ago. This was neither literally correct (the tip is down the road in Brighouse next to the late lamented Tip Inn) nor was it anything new: it is a lament as frequently recited in this household as the recurring chorus of "On Ilkley Moor B'art At". The difference this time, she informed me with a frightening degree of determination, is that visitors will be descending on our house in a few weeks time for The Wedding (the use of the upper case is not the result of my usual sloppy grammar; the said event has now achieved the capitalised status of the Good Lady Wife, the Queen, the Bible, God, and Sheffield Wednesday Football Club). So I have been sorting out the back passage, hoovering the dust from under the beds, shifting wardrobes, filling skips, and trying to make order out of chaos.
The GLW has just gone out for coffee with a friend so I am able to take advantage of this slight respite to scan and publish a photograph I found on a strip of 35mm colour negatives lodged under a bookcase. Like most of my old photographs, I can remember taking this particular picture even though it must have been more than thirty years ago. It was Robin Hood's Bay in East Yorkshire and it was early one morning, just as the little fishing boats were heading out on the morning tide. We were staying in a little cottage overlooking the bay. As I describe this I can almost feel the chill of the sea fret coming in off the North Sea.
But is that the sound of a car in the drive? I must rapidly press the "publish" button and grab the waiting bezam brush(*)
(*) Bezam Brush = Old Yorkshire dialect for a rough cleaning brush used for clearing dust and spider's webs from inaccessible places. .