Some
weekends do not stick to the script. This can, at times, be a blessing. Most
people, including myself, have an inherent resistance to having their hands
forced, but the unforeseen could be considered a test of adaptability.
Last
Saturday, my family and I drove the requisite five kilometres from our home to
what is a picturesque, and generally sunny, coast. (I could never again live
very far inland.) It is always enjoyable to watch the kids run riot in the open
air after five days spent cooped up in school (Figure 37.1). As they clambered
across grass and sand-covered rocks, there was nowhere I – or indeed any of us
– would rather have been. Nothing mattered, until we learned that a family
member had been rushed to hospital, in North Wales. From then on, nothing else mattered.
Figure 37.1: Riding the
weekend waves for real
Copyright ©
2012 Paul Spradbery
After making all the necessary logistical arrangements, my partner and I found ourselves driving down the A483 late at night, in search of Wrexham’s Maelor Hospital. In spite of the inevitable anxiety, we knew that our loved one would be in capable hands; keyhole surgery is one of Maelor’s specialities, and the condition was not life-threatening.
The
following day – Sunday – we discovered that the necessary procedure had been
carried out, promptly and with no apparent ill-effects immediately thereafter.
Knowing that visiting hours did not begin until mid-afternoon, we drove to one
of our favourite haunts: the city of Chester (Figure 37.2). We parked on the windswept
City Road, midway between the railway station and the wonderfully authentic Old Harkers Arms, and wandered along the
canal towpath, stopping for breakfast at an understated trattoria called the Peppermill.
Figure 37.2: Last Sunday in
Chester. Apart from Big Ben in Westminster (London), Chester’s Eastgate Clock
is reputedly the most photographed in England.
Copyright ©
2012 Paul Spradbery
Now, visiting Chester without seeing the Groves would be like travelling to San
Francisco and neglecting to see the multiple hairpin bends of Lombard Street.
We walked further along the canalside, chilled but happy, before climbing the
steps to the Roman and medieval City Walls behind the cathedral.
Down on the Groves (Figure 37.3), we seemed to gravitate, without a word spoken, to a tiny place from our past: the Blue Moon Café (Figure 37.4), about which I enthused in Pictures Of This And That (January 2011).
Figure 37.3: Information
about the Groves can be found at: http://www.chestertourist.com/groves.htm
Copyright ©
2012 Paul Spradbery
Figure 37.4: The Blue Moon, retro café extraordinaire, on the right bank of the Dee
Copyright ©
2012 Paul Spradbery
I
am sure everyone has occasionally daydreamt about time-travel. I have often
looked at old black-and-white photographs and wondered what the world was like
before I was born (1966). Spending an hour or two in the Blue Moon is the next best thing to a ride in a time machine
(Figure 37.5).
Figure 37.5: Not quite 1966,
and lost beneath umpteen layers of winter clothing
Copyright ©
2012 Paul Spradbery
Surrounded by original posters, photographs and record sleeves,
the place almost convinces me that I was born ten years too late. Knowing that
all had gone smoothly at the hospital, we relaxed over lunch, with the music of
the Drifters, Procol Harum and Gary Puckett
and the Union Gap filling our heads. I am not qualified to claim that life
was better back then, but I suspect that it was more relaxing, being far less
complex and cut-throat than it is today. Pop music was certainly different,
reflecting a gentler era: less aggressive and centred not on sex but on love
(Figure 37.6).
Figure 37.6: ‘But don’t
forget who’s taking you home
and in whose arms you’re
gonna be.
So, darling, save the last
dance for me.’
Doc Pomus & Mort Shuman (1960)
Copyright ©
2012 Paul Spradbery
We
finally arrived home late on Sunday night – tired, relieved and pleasantly
surprised by the consequences of having had our plans disrupted. Get well soon,
abuelita!
Copyright
© 2012 Paul Spradbery
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