Grotto Post substack exclusive

 I am not sure how long I can keep this up! (i.e. linking this post to my substack post) as it is time consuming. I explain below how this on the spot 'fun' post came about. I hope my little story brings a smile to your face. I feel as if I could make more of it. Perhaps I will nearer next Christmas when memories of this post are no more.

The redactions and misspelling of 'leek' in the title are deliberate in this 'on the spot' story. Maybe it's an age thing but every year Christmas gets further away from me as family and others I have known well in the past pass on. Two this month. Health problems prevented me from going to the funerals.

I find these days four is the biggest crowd I want to be part of and hide behind the excuse that, thanks to my pulmonary fibrosis I should 'avoid crowds.'

Yesterday there were three of us and I enjoyed every moment.

At some point in the run-up to Christmas I thought, with everything else that is being cut why not Santa and Rudolph? then I imagined the thought as a story in an old favourite from my childhood The Grotto Times, which the local store I got taken to see Father Christmas (as he was then) handed to every kid was a catalogue full of toys few parents could avoid. In truth I was easily pleased with a red London double-deck bus of some kind, often tin, sometimes a Dinky Toy, and a picture book.

Talking of buses, the photo below appeared on Facebook on Christmas Eve. I am hoping that next year it will be our 'Season's greetings' card. I think it is a great photograph I am already calling 'one of my favourites.'

The pagan 'evergreen' in me enjoys the winter solstice celebration, but I stopped buying into the Christian bit back in 1958 when I was 14 after hearing Geoff,  another lad in my Sunday school class, say that if Jesus could see what religion had done to his name his first words would be 'What tha fuck!' I am sure Jesus existed and was one of the good guys, but once the priests and ruling elite saw an opportunity to make money big time and scare the shit out of ordinary mortals the poor man was lost forever. Religion is a curse from which the only escape is the grave!

I also love this photograph from The Guardian this week. I am a fan of Greta Thunberg and would love to have a large version of the photo I could hold up on Beeston High Road just to see how many passers-by would stop and talk with me?

I have a suspicion that this police officer got the job of talking with Greta Thunberg because his colleagues thought him to be 'on her side' so to speak. I have known enough police officers in my time to know that many are decent folk and still see their job as being that of a 'peace keeper' before that of being a 'law enforcer.' I cannot see how the message she holds in any way supports terrorism. I suspect there object here is to get her off the street and away from photographers. If that was the case, then the police commander responsible failed miserably I am pleased to say.

AND, FINALLY, I WISH ALL OF YOU WHO REACH THIS FAR A NEW YEAR FULL OF HAPPY SURPRISES. 

❤️ROBERT HOWARD🐰.

And so Senior Fiction is resurrected

Well, if you have made it this far you deserve a treat and what better than this image of a rhubarb tart I captured on substack. Sadly, before I could catch the name of the poster the post disappeared, as they so often do, as with every passing day substack mimics facebook more and more.

Susan and I paid a visit today to the D H Lawrence Birthplace Museum in Eastwood, Nottinghamshire, a few miles from where we live. 

It was this poster which caught our attention some time ago but being us we did not get to the exhibition until its penultimate day!

Whilst there, I took a few photographs:

On the first floor of the house one bedroom has been turned into a small exhibition area with a few chairs and monitor showing a 15 minute film from 2000 about the life of D H Lawrence, with references to how Eastwood continued to feature in his writing long after he had 'abandoned' the mining town.  

Beyond the monitor are some of the 42 photographs in 'The Wonderful Women of Broxtowe' exhibition, which has at its first image a map of the Borough of Broxtowe.showing where the women live.

Broxtowe, as a council, was created in 1974 by the amalgamation  of a collection of smaller councils (and may well disappear if plans to extend the present boundary of Nottingham City Council go ahead). 

Of the 42 women in the exhibition I know four of them and have, in the past, worked closely with one of them, Janet Patrick. My connection is political. The others I know more in passing, but enough for us to say 'Hello' to one another.

The photographers had their work cut out when choosing who to photograph and give a short questionnaire to, which was used to create the text beside the portrait. They had three questions to answer: 1. Three words to describe their personality; 2. A very short autobiography and 3. A phrase that helps guide them through life. 

It is a small exhibition which could be copied in many ways and was well worth going to see.

So, this is it for this week, beyond saying that Blogspot is not without its shortcomings, but at least I know this post will be loaded more easily easily than on substack.

Robert Howard🐰