The local papers carry the story how Cumbria The Lake District has been judged to be the second most tranquil area in England.
Tranquillity is apparently:
Seeing a natural landscape
Hearing birdsong
Hearing peace and quiet
Seeing natural looking woodland
Seeing the stars at night
Seeing streams
Seeing the sea
Hearing natural sounds
Tranquillity is NOT :
Hearing constant noise from cars and vehicles
Seeing lots of people
Seeing urban development
Seeing overhead light pollution
Hearing lots of people
Seeing low flying aircraft
Hearing low flying aircraft
Seeing power lines
Cumbria misses out on top place to its neighbour Northumbria. This is because of low flying aircraft which are practising for War. They come over daily, causing Laurel and Hardy to fall off ladders and down the stairs and paint erratic lines. Why can’t they go and practise over a deserted mountainous wasteland such as The Grand Canyon.
Worldwide, according to records, the most linked-to blog is that of Chinese actress Xu Jinglei receiving more than 50 million page views and the most-read blog as Boing Boing. Which sounds like a West Bromwich Albion fan site, alas no.
Not many people are reading THIS blog of mine nor visiting the website. Clearly we have some marketing to do. Of the visitors, this is the league table as of now :
London, England 2,667
Istanbul, Turkey 188
Budapest, Hungary 185
Paris, France 183
Bangkok, Thailand 166
Dundrod, Northern Ireland 141
Dublin, Ireland 139
Madrid, Spain 129
Warsaw, Poland 128
Los Angeles, USA 118
Toronto, Canada 107
Rome, Italy 104
Oslo, Norway 91
Stocklinch, England 84
Dundee, Scotland 83
Brighton, England 72
Neath, Wales 65
Zurich, Switzerland 62
Sofia, Bulgaria 58
Singapore, Malaysia 55
Swansea, Wales 54
Stockholm, Sweden 53
Jakarta, Indonesia 51
Mexico City, Mexico 50
Amsterdam, Holland 49
Cleethorpes, England 49
Gateshead, England 49
Santiago, Chile 49
Gosport, England 48
Lincoln, England 48
Sao Paulo, Brazil 48
Zagreb, Croatia 46
Stoke On Trent, England 42
Conclusions to be made? Most people are from London. The least people are from Russia… however, the one person from there spent the most time of anyone going through the web. A takeover bid imminent?
‘Doc I can’t stop singing The Green, Green Grass of Home’
“That sounds like Tom Jones syndrome.”
‘Is it common?’
“It’s not unusual”
Today I was scratching my head over which walk I should take. Whereas in summertime I could choose to walk home the 7 miles by a variety of ways, now with summer gone and with it the light evenings after work, I am left to walk at lunchtime, during a break from the gallery. Again, I am spoilt for choice. Should I go via the church and the park and up Loughrigg to look over Lake Windermere, the Langdales and in the other direction the Fairfield Horseshoe? I could even walk up its lower slopes. I could walk along ‘the Coffin Run’ to Grasmere. Get some ginger-bread and come back. I could simply muse in the sun, by Rydal Water.
Back at the gallery a couple who came in earlier, quite agitated, are now a picture of serenity having taken the cure : a walk up a Lakeland Fell on a beautiful day.
I like to wear a suit to work. And I like to go for a walk at lunchtime. And invariably the walk is up high, on the Fells. So I’m wearing my suit on the Fells… with the home-made badge bearing my name someone has made for me. And serious walkers pass me by. Staring. They in all manner of colours plastic, with ill-fitting bobble hats and maps in plastic dangling lop-sidedly around their necks. Gloves on mittens. Ski sticks.
And then come those on off-road trial bicycles, mudguards missing, mud all up their backsides and over their shoulders, even all over their chins and around their eyes. And again, they take a second look at me.
I’m sure all are thinking “he looks funny”.
Hawkshead have the best fireworks night in the country. Yet I went to the City of Carlisle’s Bitts Park extravaganza, where they would be burning effigies of America’s Wild West. The saloon and jail went up in smoke. Last year they burnt the Houses of Parliament.
Martyrs of the blog. That’s a strange concept. Although I enjoy Tracey Emin’s blog, which she calls a diary, and in which she shows courage beyond gender, I think the martyrs are really those who are locked up or even put to death for their writings. These include people around the globe who have shown up their governments for corruption and whatever else. Guy Fawkes would have tried to bring down government in this modern era by way of his blog, rather than a pile of sticks and a match at the ready.
Police arrested two kids yesterday, one was drinking battery acid and the other was eating fireworks. They charged one and let the other one off.
The prospect of local radio being international radio is made real and exciting by the prospect of the internet and listening digitally. I expect that people who used to live in Cumbria, say, who emigrated to warmer climates, Australia or the Med for instance, probably enjoy the occasional weather report from back home. How will this effect the presenters, their knowing that it is not just people within a 40 mile radius listening to them but rather people from… anywhere.
So I was getting into my car, and this bloke says to me “Can you give me a lift?”
I said “Sure, you look great, the world’s your oyster, go for it.”
With my plans to photograph every country in the World, I am having flying lessons next year at Carlisle Airport. I am a bit scared. Not because of the height, storms or the skill needed but because I am afraid I will run out of petrol, trying to get that bit further. I do that in my car : think I’ll fill up at the next service station or the next one or the next one, pushing ever further ahead.
When I am rich from selling all my wheelbarrow load, I want to buy Fox Howe near Ambleside. Retain those glorious gates with the inscription, get rid of the ugly modern double-garage, put a weather vane on the roof, have Anthony Gormley commissioned to put sculptural figures throughout the garden, amongst the trees, running down to and into the River Rothay.
And on one lazy day there at Fox Howe home, I would doubtless uncover a Matthew Arnold transcript in the loft. And when I am not playing the piano at the window, watching the autumn leaves falling, I shall walk my own particular flock of children, to church, pointing them again and again towards the gleaming spire up ahead and urging them “it’s not far”. Not that we shall go inside. To travel is often better than to arrive.
Doctor Doctor : I just can’t get the staff.
Actually, it’s no joke.
It’s hard to get relocated here in The Lake District (second most tranquil place in the country) given the price of houses and rented accommodation. Additionally the problem is the attitude of some people letting houses : adverts read ‘no children, no pets’. Perhaps I should advertise internationally. The Polish are here in droves. Perhaps a Romanian or Bulgarian might do good jobs for me. But they may not be intending to stay long enough and, as with ‘The Problem Like Maria’ programme, they might come undone with their pronunciation.
But not perhaps if they sing their way through work as Front of House…
Andrew Holmes is stuck with football (it’s his true love) and asks the question :
I am going to less football these days. I am very upset (seriously so) by the yet still increasing prices. When you see the prices of many goods deceasing how can it be right for the minimum entry fee at Bournemouth to be £17; Saints £22 for silver and £26 for gold games and at Luton to be £21.50 or £23 on the day. These prices are now at a higher level than theatre prices. Football fans want to go to 20+ games a season and the people’s game is moving out of the prices range of ordinary people. How can anyone on a normal wage take a family to football on a regular basis (often twice within 3/4 days). When I argue this point I am met with the reply well this is the market price and people are clearly prepared to pay it. My view is all markets are cyclical and high unemployment and increased interest rates will sadly eventually return and then the first thing that will go is the football season ticket. Should the clubs then decide to apply more affordable pricing structures they will find that the fans they have priced out of the national game have taken up other hobbies on Saturday afternoons.
Given the time you spend at football stadiums do you think my views are valid or am I just turning into Victor Meldrew?
Why anyone should want to go to Luton, unless you are Victor Meldrew, I don’t know. Perhaps Andrew should buy one of the houses at Luton Town that you have to pass under (seemingly through) to get to the Chicken Run’ and other parts of the ground. He could watch for free.
Never loved thee more?
It occurs to me that I have never been happier. I am sat in my wonderful gallery, meeting people, happy also when no one comes. Plenty to do. And it’s not such a bad town. The prospect of the winter’s first snow, people putting up fairy lights. I can take long or short walks at lunchtimes and in the rain if I have to. I am off to photograph a first ever derby match at little Gretna, versus Queen of The South. Unless it is a truly dreadful occasion I will probably be feeling ‘...this is it. This is what it is all about. This is what we do with our freedom – the chance to just amble up to the match and enjoy something’.
I could go on and on, but basically, for all the wealth out there, I am pretty happy.
Could I be happier still? That’s a thought.
By the way, on leaving the café, Tony (revered, supposed cynical, journalist) says, as if a criticism, “You know the trouble with you Stuart : you’ve got soul – in short supply these days”.
If he’s right then I’ve another reason for feeling so happy.
Hope you too are feeling warm and valued on Remembrance Day.
I hate the fans singing Swing Low Sweet Chariot at the rugby, what are they thinking of? Is it not a song sung by the slaves in America, rather than a glorious chariot adventure sung to the sound of good old Johnny running up the wing with an oversized egg?
This is NOT us.
Now, as for the bitch in print, I find it thoroughly embarrassing that our country could be represented in minds by The Daily Mail. If I am shown their copy I can’t quite believe that we are a nation of bitches and bitching, the paper’s cornerstones. On the other hand, if our country is to be represented by The Independent, then the view is quite different : inventive, caring, critical, patriotic, worldly : THIS is my nation, I believe. The one title should be charged with treason and The Independent held up alongside any works of art. The one contributes to self-delusion and a depression and no doubt brings on that disease whose name escapes me… whilst the Independent has one springing into action, enlightened and full of ideas, ready for today, ready for tomorrow.
Saturday’s trip to Gretna (not to get hitched in an underage marriage with a furious father in pursuit but) to watch the football derby versus Queen of The South, the team of Dumfries where Robbie Burns is buried, was illuminated for me and many by the sight of Brooks Mileson returning to the stands, after his medical operations. This is a man with the biggest of hearts. He has a zoo in his back garden of unwanted animals, big and small. He even has some skunks. Brooks draws inspiration from having them about him. From helping them to better health. Or to see out their days in fields of green under big open skies. Yet it is for what he has done for Gretna Football Club, for the wider community, and in a sense for Scottish football (a kindly kick up the backside) that he is best known.
Joining us in the back of the stand after half time, is Mick Wadsworth who use to manage and coach many clubs around England. He worked with the England national team under Bobby Robson, and again with him in better days at Newcastle United. He sees things and thinks things about players and strategy as clearly and simply as you and I draw breath. And he is rarely wrong in his observation.
Profound Mick turned to me and said another thing profound : “There is only one way of judging a player – it’s what happens to the ball after the player releases it”.
Now this is the doctrine of a man from the pits, from the coalpits of Yorkshire (his background) – the spirit of camaraderie. Almost communist. This is probably close to the simple doctrine of the Scottish managers who changed and continue to change the face of football… it’s what you can do for one another… the ball is a gift and all that.
And this philosophy can probably be extended beyond football : to what anyone does in relation to the person, animal or space around him or her.
As for the match : the pitch was sodden, almost unplayable in the corner. The ref dribbled a ball, twisted and turned… then gave the nod – the match would go on – and the fans, queued between the puddles, backing up out of the car park into the road, hurried through the turnstiles to take their places on either side and in the stand at one end. The other, flattened, awaiting a new stand (Gretna Premiership material).
Doonhamers, as away fans… shoulder to shoulder and on tiptoe in the chicken run, blue & white scarves + old-fashioned rattles in hand… swearing and cursing and smiling and swearing and cursing at the Anvil’s wiley Steven Tosh, lining up on their wing. And the match hadn’t even started. Irene was in the home section, with her sister, forgoing Carlisle at Swindon. The subs stretched their legs on no man’s land. Brooks hobbled to the back of the popular stand : here we go again.
Doonhamers mouths ajar : more swearing – Tosh scoring and making the second… three down in 25 minutes!!! (in a game the Queens thought they could win – a game billed for revenge). Some of their support drifted away to the chip shop. And finally it was 5.
In the boardroom, a Life president of Doncaster Rovers, as guest, plucked photos from his suit pocket, showing Rovers new facility due to open eve of Xmas Eve : a present to the people : 15,000 all-seater. A model for Gretna.
Next door Rowan, manager of Gretna, former Queen of The South man, half-shook the hands of departing Queens directors… then slumped on the couch in a glow. Gretna top again.
A newly acquired portrait of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, saved for the nation, has so impressed the curators at Dove Cottage and the Wordsworth Museum in Grasmere that it is being specially displayed in a special preview until Tuesday 21st November.
To celebrate the first public showing of the portrait since 1812, the Trust is offering a special discount of 15% off the adult entry price to Dove Cottage and the Wordsworth Museum.
The portrait will be on display before it is removed from public display for conservation.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772 – 1834) is one of the great Romantic writers, author of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Kubla Khan and Frost at Midnight among other works. He was a great friend of the poet William Wordsworth (1770–1850), who wrote ‘I wandered lonely as a cloud’, the best-known poem in the English language. Wordsworth and Coleridge collaborated on Lyrical Ballads (1798), described by David Wilson, the Robert Woof Director of the Wordsworth Trust, as “the single most important volume of poetry ever published in English”.
In my opinion “the Prelude” by Wordsworth is in fact the greatest volume of poetry and the one that found me behind Tarn Hows Hotel, book in hand, when I first arrived in the Lakes having hitchhiked here in 1985.
Now I know a thing or two about photography (and even if I didn’t) I say that the “Planet Earth” series on BBC television is the best semi-factual photography/film programme ever. I say semi-factual because in the end it is story-telling, choosing certain animals and certain situations, with the programme-makers slant. And what a slant by the voice-over of commentator David Attenborough making us care for our World.
In contrast, the programme that precedes it, “Great British Summer”, though a good idea, is a missed opportunity if ever there was one as, despite the nice photography and the intrinsic beauty of the British countryside (and the time of year), the programme is dreadful and made doubly so by the Daily Mail styled commentary by Alan Titchmarsh that reduces us to a flattened people with a flattened landscape.
Robbing us of our heritage.
Britain 0 – The World 1
I asked all my friends their favourite songs as well as their birth-dates (and age) as we are ALL so busy these days I am in fear that life and friendship will pass us all by. They gave various responses but invariably they said ‘It changes almost everyday, depending on what I am up to’. (I think they were referring to their choice of music).
Ok, so liking songs … it’s like there’s a juke-box of the head …when you get a song going around and around your brain (unfortunately it is not always a song you like!)
Songs are easy to get into – you just grab them off the stereo, or download them.
If I could put my favourite songs (of the moment) on my website so that you could hear them as you surfed, they would be (with some lyrics thrown in) :
Happed in Mist, by Michael Marra – Through the flash and cannons roar
I saw my Christine’s smiling eyes
And with no more thought of blood or shell
I made my way to hold her near
But Truth and Honours henchmen found me
Leaving here
A madman’s rave and cowards grave
For the volunteer.
– - -
Between The Wars, by Billy Bragg – Go find the young men never to fight again
Bring up the banners from the days gone by
Sweet moderation
Heart of this nation
Desert us not, we are
Between the wars
– - -
White Flag, by Dido – I will go down with this ship
And I won’t put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I’m in love and always will be
– - -
Wake Up Everybody, by Harold Melvin And The Bluenotes – Wake up everybody no more sleepin in bed
No more backward thinkin time for thinkin ahead
The world has changed so very much
From what it used to be so
there is so much hatred war an’ poverty
Wake up all the teachers time to teach a new way
Maybe then they’ll listen to whatcha have to say
Cause they’re the ones who’s coming up and the world is in their hands
when you teach the children teach em the very best you can.
– - -
The Big Sleep, by The Simple Minds – So where did you go?
Where do you go in the big sleep
Going out in the deep sleep
Is where youre wandering now
So where did you go
When youre in the big sleep
Drifting in wildlife
And still youre wandering now
– - -
Wake Me Up When September Comes, by Green Day – like my fathers come to pass
seven years has gone so fast
wake me up when september ends
here comes the rain again
falling from the stars
drenched in my pain again
becoming who we are
– - -
She Gives Me Religion, by Van Morrison – And the angel of imagination
Opened up my gate
She said “come right in
I saw you knocking with your heart.
And the angel of imagination
She lit your fiery vision bright
Let your flame burn into the night
I saw you knocking with your heart
– - -
Ships, by Ian Hunter – We walked to the sea, just my father and me
And the dogs played around on the sand.
Winter cold cut the air, hanging still everywhere
Dressed in gray did he say hold my hand?
I said love’s easier when it’s far away
We sat and watched the distant lights.
– - -
America, by Razorlight – All my life
Watching America
All my life
There’s panic in America
Oh Oh Oh, Oh
There’s trouble in America
Oh Oh Oh, Oh
There’s panic in America
Oh Oh Oh, Oh
Yesterday was easy
Yes I got the news
When you get it straight, but stand up you just can’t lose
Give you my confidence, all my faith in life
– - -
Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For, by U2 – I believe in the kingdom come
Then all the colors will bleed into one
Bleed into one
Well yes I’m still running
– - -
Harvest For The World, by The Isley Brothers – Dress me up for battle
When all I want is peace
Those of us who pay the price
Come home with the least
And nation after nation
Turnin’ into beasts
Oh, when will there be
A harvest for the world
– - -
Redwood Tree, by Van Morrison – Boy and his dog
Went out looking for the rainbow
You know what did they learn
Since that very day
Walking by the river
And running like a blue streak
Through the fields of streams and meadows
Laughing all the way
– - -
I’m Still Waiting, by Diana Ross – I remember when
I was five and you were ten, boy
You knew that I was shy
So you teased and made me cry
But I loved you
Then one day you came
You told me you were leaving
You gave your folks the blame
And made me cry again
– - -
English Rose, by Paul Weller – I’ve been to ancient worlds
I’ve scoured the whole universe
And caught the first train home
To be at her side.
No matter where I roam
I will return to my English Rose
For no bonds can ever keep me from she.
First snows of the winter in Cumbria, almost blocking my Kirkstone Pass at first light – several cars strung to one side. I looked for people ‘trapped’. No one.
Down in Ambleside this made for a Christmassy atmosphere – and a throng obliged with the shopping. I even found myself looking in a posh jewellery store.
A dove keeps waiting for me on the gallery doorstep. What princess is wrapped inside? (…perhaps it’s male?!)
A car was balanced on the dry stone wall as I came in this morning. I tried to work out through the various skids in the snow, the course it had taken to get there. No sign of anyone. Performance art? Sculpture? Political statement?
I look back to those heady innocent days of hitchhiking when I was put at the mercy of misadventure and not ‘in control’ at the wheel of my own vehicle…
It seems incredible (to me) I had all those lifts. I will recall them all tomorrow, from memory…
Hitch-hiking…I will do it again next spring. Just for the sake of it, just to keep the art alive.
From memory, lifts in 2006 included :
from the foot of the Struggle to The Kirkstone Pass Inn a Hawkshead builder in his dusty van wanting to climb Red Screes in the dusk realizing winter was behind us; from the top of Kirkstone to home a Cumbrian Tourist Board boss driving home from Bowness to Lazonby; again from the top of Kirkstone to home Jimmy & Robyn Brown having dropped off Holly & Jessica with grandma at the half-way house that is Bowness; from Bridgend towards Ambleside Mike Blarey new recruit at Brathay and also of the Mountain Rescue Team hence the gear in the back and the dazzling control panel; from outside Chapel House coming back from Tarn Hows Chris Brantwood restauranteur once had an argument with going to look at his new property at the foot of Hawkshead Hill; from Hawkshead to Ambleside Phil with his missus who used to work with my Nisha when at Penrith; along Ullswater Max from Glenridding who ‘loves going to gigs with his grown-up sons who live with their mother’; couple returning to Newcastle; Natalie from Ambleside café’s tall fella in his little red car to the foot of the Struggle before he turned round; John North ex bike rep up from the relative south of Rosendale to ride his bike avoiding the icy Struggle; father of Cathy Tuck who wrote a “phallic book” on the nature of the countryside and appeared on the Terry Wogan show only to be quizzed about the phallic nature of Big Ben; two guys with a plant in the back returning in convoy with their waives where have they got to for heavens sake to the North-East; John North back to ride his bike again; Consett couple over for the day full of the joys of Spring; Kevin of Kevin’s Taxis his feet swollen from his return flight home from Portugal; James and Marle up from Liverpool to stay at Mum & Dad’s Glenridding Hotel; Natalie having dropped off Fi at the football in her own small car; Maggie & daughter Sarah escaping their homely log cabin at Clappersgate for the afternoon heading over Kirkstone to see what lay beyond; Graham Parsons “only going so far as Dockray”; “Jake’s Dad” … “going past the football”?!; solitary climber from Stratford on the eve of his birthday heading too late to Rheged to catch the last Everest film showing; Cherry on her way back to Little Salkeld having climbed Haystacks with her mate from Cockermouth; Dick a Parish Councillor from Nenthead preparing for a Saturday night in and talking about the local lad from Alston whose quest for love is being made into a tv documentary; Helen temporarily living at Melmerby knew someone she thought knew me; Fred and Sandra who “haven’t stopped to give anyone a lift for 12 years not since that nice lad in America” but liked the camera and the umbrella; Ruth who came to Alston more than 20 years before armed with an English Degree from Kent University; Sandra erstwhile Alston newsagent helping out at the shop in Whitfield on account of an illness; café couple returned to being a builder and an electrician; Euan on his way to Aira Force to go walking; Chris Bird amateur cameraman and walker originally from Birmingham driving around the lake to Howtown to go on a short walk rather than a long one since his wife had changed her mind umpteen times about coming and had delayed him in the process; Steve returning from Lancashire from his stepmother’s 60th going via his house at Watermillock on his way to his doctor’s job in Edinburgh; two posh Lincolnshire schoolkids driving much too fast coming over the hill to attend a late summer camp; two Asian lads coming the other way looking for “England’s Highest Peak” having conquered Scotland’s the night before again driving much too fast; Drew from Ambleside’s Mountain Shop in his camper van ambling up the Struggle to stop and take in the scene his girlfriend being a photographer back in America; Chris back from climbing in the Langdales heading home to Langwathby way; from Glenridding to A66 with a couple of triatheletes doing a reccie on the course they will face tomorrow; Alan Rice returning to Nottingham from his Old Boys reunion at St.Bees where he attended after the War; Paddy doctor at Carlisle hospital returning to Carlisle from Derwentwater to go get his wife to return to Ullswater’s Side Farm to go camping; Mary from Workington in a long wedding? dress heading to Gretna and Gretna Green.
…there is no face so beautiful no personality so charming nor no man so winning that they can exceed the charm of hopeless, dogged persistence…
… the coverage by ITV television on terrestrial tv for everybody to see of one of our showcase British football games in memory. Even more shit than usual. Complete and utter shit and not just a bit shit. They do shit as an art form. Just as, when the crowd broke into an unbelievable chorus and visual spectacle of scarves held high to Never Walk Alone, ITV cut to the adverts. They should have held this special moment – held it on their screens for all football fans to savour. Something beautiful, historic …a remarkable moment trashed … not even time given to postmatch reaction from the two managers Ferguson and Strachan who would have been highly emotional at such a moment.
And the match as a whole, like all their matches, treated as if an interruption in the adverts.
Manchester United as usual had thrilled and Celtic had overcome, somehow. Brilliant brilliant stuff.
I am moving house.
The memories won’t be packed away in quite the same way.
There are two of my cats buried in the garden.
I shall drive past the house several times a week as I travel to and from where I am now. The goal will doubtless be gone. And something will have been erected that I don’t agree with.
The greatest commentator in the land is Bill McLaren. However, he’s cheating really because rugby is all about surges and digging in. And his voice (from Hawick in the Borders) is perfect, passionate, heroic. In 80 minutes he allows all his emotion when normally he is an unemotional man. This Saturday is special for Bill as his grandson (Rory Lawson) gets to wear the Scottish jersey he never wore, against Australia at Murrayfield.
Tonight I am at the Cumbria Sports Awards – “sit me on any table, I am by myself” – and I will rub shoulders with these other sports (to football) which I normally have no time for.
Golf’s not a sport. is it?
Scott Carson, goalkeeper, from Cleator Moor, was judged Cumbria’s sportsperson of the year for 2006, ahead of motor racers, rugby players, squash, tennis, cyclists, fell runners, wrestlers, orienteers, athletes, swimmers, bowlers, cricketers, flirters… and the rest, including golfers.
I guessed Scott would win it (ahead of Malcolm Wilson and rally team).
My judgement skills are obviously ‘in’… so I am proceeding to do the Littlewoods pools today. I forecast draws at 11 games throughout the English and Scottish Leagues (won’t tell you them because it’s frankly quite boring hoping a match is drawn, unless like Watford it’s better than a defeat).
But I did also predict all 10 Premiership matches :
Aston Villa 2 Middlesbrough 0 ; Bolton 1 Arsenal 1 ; Charlton 0 Everton 2; Fulham 1 Reading 1; Liverpool 3 Man City 0; Man Utd 2 Chelsea 2; Newcastle 1 Portsmouth 1; Tottenham 2 Wigan 2; Watford 2 Blackburn 1; West Ham 3 Sheffield United 1.
When the garage owner wanders up and says that it was with the excuse to post a letter, but he had heard from several people at the garage that our museum windows looked really good, so he wanted to look at them for himself, and he admires them, I am touched.
