Author: admin

13/03/2021

I have actually been to St Christopher’s church before. I accompanied a girlfriend, and half a bottle of rum, to midnight mass nearly twenty years ago. I’d been in the pub all day, and thought it sounded fun. It wasn’t. You think you know all the carols, then they sneak new ones in, all placed around the pointless readings. Honestly Christians, if you want me back, at least make it fun at Christmas!

We’re running out of places to go, which is why we’ve ended up here. The weather is shite again, and beggars can’t be choosers. I’ve been gifted some Hawkshead beers, which I should pour away, but I’m now in a church drinking a Mosaic pale ale by that same ex-brewery. Beggars. Choosers.

09/03/2021

A tale of two bridges, and a lot of water. It’s pissing down on a Tuesday, and no-one wants to play. I’m going for a walk with some cans of Captain Morgan and Coke. The daughters are doing Brownies by Zoom, and it’s always loud, dull, and righteous.

I drink a couple of cans on the long stomp down the promenade. A photo here, a photo there. I’m wet; it’s windy and cold, and I’m going to need a wee before I get home.

The first bridge I’m walking over is big and goes uphill, so you barely notice it’s there, so I’m not counting it. I pass The Boxer’s house, and access the canal, where I soon reach the first bridge. I have painted from on top of here a few times, though the last picture remains unfinished due to the weather. It has stopped raining now, but everything is so drenched, I don’t think it’s going to make a difference.

I drink another couple of cans of rum and coke, make an image, and move down the green lane towards the barn we drank at a few weeks ago. The gate area is a quagmire, soaking my boots as I walk past towards the West Coast Mainline. The empty trains speed past, mostly empty, as I walk parallel to them, reaching the second bridge.

The amount of water under this bridge makes me think I’m back at the canal, only there’s no tow path here. I wade into the deep centre, and crack open another can. Well isn’t this fun? There’s an inch-long tear along the feather edge of my right boot, and its mud that I can feel as well as water. Another can, another picture, and its home time.

06/03/2021

I used to live opposite here, and so have sketched it a few times. My son was partly raised in the playground, here. It’s a modern structure, casting quite a distinctively shaped silhouette against the brightness of the bay. The Yacht club is a bit grotty and cheap close up, little flakes of rust and paint blow in the wind. Orange glitter drips into furry moss that grows into gaps left by poor construction. I’m intrigued by what could be inside.

I’ve brought along some bottles of ‘Tiramasu’ from Hawkshead Brewery. A collaboration with the American brewery ‘Cigar City’, it’s a strong coffee and vanilla imperial stout. I don’t have long, today, I have to get back to look after the kids.

A few bottles of this ten percent beer will have me snoozing in front of the rugby, whilst they kill each other. Cheers!

03/03/2021

Bloody windy on the prom, today. In search of something to paint, I cross the road towards Happy Mount Park, looking for somewhere sheltered. Nothing. Boring. Midweek. I skirt the left hand edge that borders the golf club. There’s some okay landscape across there, but there’s an annoying ragged hedge that interrupts the eye. The bare twigs bob up and down like drowning men. Please die

Boring.

They’re resurfacing some of the footpaths, and I’m forced onto the central walkway. I spy an open shed door in the pay-to-use playground where Blobblyland used to be. It’s within an oval of small gauge train tracks, and is a possible drinking den. There’s a guy with a leaf blower, blowing leaves off the line, under the trees, in this gale.

Walking around the other side of the oval track, amongst the trees and bushes bordering the golf club, there’s a large structure, like an expanded communal Anderson Shelter. It’s the train shed.

“Dave, bring some beer down to the park.”

“Yes, now.”

The train shed doors are open, and poking around inside, it’s sheltered from wind and rain. Dave arrives, out of breath, with a box of Strongbow. It’s midweek.

Cheers!

 

27/02/2021

Will we get to be in, or even outside of, a real pub in April?

Until then, we need to keep being vigilant when it comes to spotting communal drinking opportunities. This week, we’re got to go somewhere special.

We got Budgie to fly his helicopter to the isle of Man for a few drinks. Why budgie? Harry was a staunch royalist who was always wittering on about his flying ability. He had never regarded Sarah Ferguson as a real royal, so we called him Budgie to wind him up!

The flight took off from Greenlands Farm, which itself held potential for drinks, and was quickly over Morecambe Bay.

It doesn’t take long to arrive at Ronaldsway Airfield on the island, and a mate of Budgie’s was waiting for us with his car to drive us to the ruined abbey at Ballasalla about a mile away.

 

We had a couple of bottles of Heineken on the flight over, but upon arriving at the Abbey, we discovered some bottles of local beer had been left for us; Okell’s Triskelion, and plain old Bitter from the same Douglass brewery. I had some Fell Tinderbox, and Dave had his favourite Big Wednesday from Harbour Brewery. Budgie had some cans of John Smith’s, but he also had the lift home, so we let him off with a warning!