Ilkley (show chasing) – Shipley (meeting and chips) – Leeds and Huddersfield (changing trains) – Marsden (morris watching and getting wet) – home (Wodehouseing).


Spent the morning writing and sending e-mails, mostly about shows but also about a request for ‘inspiring words’ for the little park I have been involved with. I sent a poem and had the woman from the quango mail me to say it was lovely, but there was a word limit of 5, or less! She was chasing funding to pay an engraver to do the words but had been too lazy, stupid, or arrogant to bother with the actual words. Waste of money is under 5 words, and is Meaningless and Project to fill my CV. I said none of that in my reply, but made some useful criticism (useful to me that is).

The Ilkley projects are not going well, unlike the Highgate one (where the manager has already done more work for the show than any of my friends have for the last few).

I wanted the hat throwing linked to the Ilkley Festival but have found it almost impossible to get any reply out of the Councillor who owns it since a set of one sentence e-mails last week; so no answer to whether I can get grant support or any costs covered, and seeing nobody is actually in charge it makes things very difficult. There is a programme out, but without a single time given for any event.

As for the Ilkley Pie & Priestley the venue I used last year is being really tardy in giving me a quote. If I had not had such good service at the last two events there I would already have written them off; as it is I have asked for a quote from another, potentially very good, venue.

I did buy lots of books from charity shops, including a Kipling collection with lots of short stories I do not have, and an Oxford Dictionary for Writers and Editors, which I have started reading from the back.

Met Bev and some fish and chips in Shipley station, which was just what I needed. We then went to Marsden, where she was dancing with Wayzgoose at the Tunnel End Inn.

The Thieving Magpies and The Slbbing Billy’s (a team that dance in clogs with full irons) were also dancing; and it was outside, and the was a cold and piecing dizzle as well. As I said to the young Danish and Canadian women who had come to watch, doing daft things outside in the rain was a grand English tradition.

The smiling Geordie from Magpies thanked me for mentioning the team in my blog, and for pointing out she was looking for a spare man, at least in the public dance off. I thought she was called Allison, but Bev, who reads this, pointed out I had called her Chris here, and so it proved.

Thanks to an umbrella and beer the rain added to my sense of occasion, although I felt sorry for the swallow desperately looking for any insects around rain sodden trees. If it had been fine we might have been eaten my midges, but the swallow would have got many of them, and carried some human protein down to southern Africa.

I did better at the dance off and was complemented on my use of stick (officially sticking but twatting describes it better). The free sausages afterwards were really good, the pub dog was nice and the pub cat lovely; and I talked to a few people.

Walking back along the dark canal towpath we saw frogs. Marsden station was a sod, and we could easily have missed our train due to it being one of the worst I know. Totally inadequate signposting, no direct link between platforms, and dangerous steps down from the public road that serves the cheap way of not having a footbridge

virgin (worst internet provider) media
Another hours internet downtime Monday. Phone unusable at same time.