The laughter never ceased

Frowsy-headed I walked back into central Sheffield to pick up my car visiting a few junk shops and a bakery worthy of Portland Oregon on the way.

I always loved Sheffield's industrial scene that was being devastated by Thatcher just as I moved there in 1984 (just as I was finishing my PhD). There were still 'little mesters' stamping out cutlery and a few factories making hand tools while the giant forging works and steel mills were mainly under threat in the Don Valley. 40,000 jobs went in steel and engineering in three years.

I wrote a song at the time that had the chorus,

It's a bitter pill to swallow
But somehow life goes on
Another factory gate closing
And quiet flows the Don.

Later Miker and I sauntered down to the Little London Road to look for some windows for my shed. Amazingly the first 'antiques' place we came across had three Victorian stained glass leaded window lights - that went above the front door - in solid pine frames for £20 after a little bit of bargaining from terrier-like Mike.

We stowed then in the shop and went for a pint of Netherfield ? (from the Stour Valley in Essex) to celebrate at the Sheaf View above the river Sheaf.  Sheffield is made into rock climbing (due to the proximity of the gritstone edges of the Peak District) and we came across a huge boulder (for ''bouldering') opposite the pub made of spayed-on concrete.

We then picked up the windows which became progressively heavy under a strong sun and log climb back up to Woodseats. Then after a quick brew we ere off with with Mike's partner to Bradwell for a night of devilment with Mick. But it was not to be. Much hilarity in the pub at Litton over a hearty meal but the poor boy had picked up some bug in Italy and we cut the evening short after a drive back through the White Peak's limestone upland in the most translucent evening sunshine (although it were cold).