Caesaromagus for Waterstones Books.

With the temperature heading towards 90% only a person of limited mental intellectual ability would venture outside in the heat and without a hat.

I caught the 9:56 bus.

Like myself others were trying to figure out which stand to sit at, which n umber bus was ours, and is it really 45 minutes to wait?  It was not.  Our bus arrived on time, racing into the bay.  I did not get a reply from the driver for my cheery good morning, he appeared a bit disgruntled.  Indeed his driving as we headed towards Caesaromagus indicated he was not working from joy and happiness.  However, we arrived safely, and possibly early, and we left the bus, clutching tightly our bus passes.

The heat was indeed hot, but as I was brought up in Edinburgh I am used to the heat.  We had to sit right up close to the fire to avoid frostbite when I was young.

I squeezed my wee camera into my jeans as with the sun being out I saw this as an opportunity to find photographs, of an artistic nature, of all the half dressed females around.  This however, did not turn out to be the spectacular joy I had envisioned.  Indeed, it reflected badly on the Pizza sales in this town.

and hobbled off down the road.  I took the back road to walk through the market, forgetting it was closed on Mondays, and via the Oxfam rag & bone shop I made it to Waterstones.

My delightful Niece and Great Niece had given me a book voucher for lots of money and it was sitting staring at me, so I had to get out and use it.  I clambered upstairs, scoured around, Travel, religion, railways, History, Biography, women, War, and failed to find anything leaping out at me.  In fact I had to make a real effort to find things worth taking home and placing on the ever growing 'To Read' pile.  The effort was worth it, I managed to obtain four books, hobbled slowly downstairs, and paid with the card and the cash on my Waterstones card, leaving me £2:94 on the Waterstones card.  No cash left my hands!  The young lass treated me like she would her granddad who was attempting to work his phone, however, with £2:94 on that card I may have to go back again, or at least try the Camulodunum shop.

No market today, just a coffee shop in the centre walkway and this man loudly revealing why he has not made any money from music.  Mondays are the best time to shop, unless you want the markets, as most people remain indoors.  The musician, and I use that term lightly, was wise enough to sit himself under the tree as a great deal of shade was coming from that.

Making my way past the people who were in town, and all wishing to walk into me, London overspill style, I headed towards M&S.  Now this I did not like the idea off.  For a start they are expensive and aimed at old people, not my smart trendy style.  I also find it difficult to work out how to get back downstairs again once up there.  Hiding the 'Down escalator' behind the women's lingerie which is always in such shops next to Menswear for reasons I have never discovered, does not help.  

Anyway I perused the price tags on shirts, tee shirts, or 'vests' as they insist on calling them, the few jackets on show, jeans which all have the wrong length for me, odd numbers in M&S while I seek an even number length, and of course the overpriced shoes.  

I could justify using my card on.  I was unusually caught in a  shop, with free money and nothing to purchase!  This was unusual.  However, if the free bus still runs I may pop down to the Freeport, or is it Village Outlet shops and see if M&S remain there.

Walking in the hot heat with knees that cried out all the way, I noticed the floodlights high above.  These are of interest for those who follow cricket.  These floodlights mark the Essex Cricket Ground.  There is a smaller ground in Colchester where they sometimes play, found at the bottom of the slope leading up to the castle.  Most games are however played here in Caesaromagus.  Cricketers are of course stupid enough to stand around all day doing nothing in bright and hot sunshine.  Only a really stupid person would wander about in such heat.

A few minutes before the bus I stopped off in the cathedral for a minute, praying for strength to get to the bus.  

This was an error.  ought to have been praying to find the bus!  The 70 I came on, I have discovered, only runs from my stop to here.  However, interspersed with this is the 370, which runs all the way to Camulodunum every hour.  Many are confused by this.  The driver however, was very helpful, explaining to me, and then an old lady (you see how easily old people get confused), the situation as it is.  We waited almost contentedly for the bus to take off.  Eventually, with all the windows open with the smell of bus fumes still filling the air, we headed homewards.  

Tonight is SPAM.  Tonight the boys get together, if the women allow them out.  I may have fallen asleep by then.  Maybe I will ask one of their women to give me a call, just in case...?

What?   oh!

A Trip to Waterstones

 

Decided this morning to take action against the 'stir crazy' feeling that has developed around here.  I checked the bus times online, decided I was going to miss the 10:09 so noticing there was a different bus at 10:24 strode manfully for that.  It was not to be found.  Instead the No 70 I was looking for is now a No 370.  The 42B at 10:24 no longer appears to exist, according to the timetable on the shelter at the new bus station at any rate, so 370 it was to be.  

The screen informed me the next 370 would be along in 9 minutes.

I believed them.  

I was right to do so, 9 minutes later the bus pulled into the bay, the wrong bay, but into a bay.  Not quite the 'Zimmer' bus as of old I note this one.  This lot were more the ten different coloured pills a day lot I think.  Anyway, we clambered aboard and slowly the bus made its way out of the terminus and wound round a new route to the far off city. 

 

 

It being almost three years since I last ventured out this way I was as happy as a kid going on holiday.  I expected to see change, and change there was.  Many new housing developments have arisen.  With a Tory controlled council it is no suprise to note these are all houses costing from £400,000 and rising, so as to bring in more Tory voters.  I must admit a sense of growing discontent about this.  Not that I can ever buy, but to purchase a one bed flat here requires about £18,000 deposit, and even then the mortgage people may not accept you.  An actual cheap house may be found at the £300,000 mark, but unless you have one to sell, who can afford this?  

 

Fifty or so minutes later we landed in town and I hastened slowly towards the Cathedral.  There is nothing much else but shops in this town, and I wanted only one of them.  I actually wished to look at the bookstall in here, and on this quiet  day I found a lack of books, a mere smattering on the shelves.  The Diocese office keeps the best ones in their bookshop.  I was not going there.

 

I sat opposite this window, much brighter in reality than in this poor picture, the first time I have really noticed it.   Somewhat Victorian to me.  Just looking at it now I noticed a wee man high up on the left side.  A closer look indicates this is Andrew, according to the cross he holds, and maybe next time I am in I will look again, and with the better camera.  

I departed soon after I had mused sufficiently, hesitating when mistaken for an employee by a young lady entering the building.  Have I sunk so low I actually look like an Anglican now?

 

 

Waterstones was the shop I was heading to.  Here, my £20 gift voucher in hand, I perused each shelf, each table, and almost the Costa coffee shop before I noticed the prices, and, eventually making my purchase and discovering I had £10 on my Waterstones card also.  This I will keep until the next time, probably next week and visit the Camoludunum shop.  

In spite of the masses of books available I was a bit disappointed.  None of them jumped out at me this time, however, after wandering around, almost shoving an unwilling to move woman from one table, and stopping a more polite one from moving at another, I managed to find three books to bring home to the bookshelves.  As always it is a bit of a gamble, will these actually be worth someone else's money?  Will I enjoy them?  Will I find time to read them in between sloth and stuffing my face?     

 

 

The trouble is, I only have one more book token to use, but there are several books I consider I ought to consider.  Maybe I need to drop hints with the family again...?

 

Ridiculous as it sounds I almost went the wrong way heading back to the bus.  Tsk!  I intended to pass throught the market and check out one or two stalls.  On the correct route I passed this.  At first I thought it was the 'Wicker Man,' but it turns out to be a war memorial.

The memorial itself commemorates the Boer War, a massive block elsewhere remembers the Great War, but this one always has a presentation of sorts in November.  Not sure what that is made from but it is well done.

I passed through the very large indoor market, obtaining a variety of meat from the butcher and accidentally purchasing two large slabs of cheese from the cheese stall.  The nurse will not be pleased.  It is a log time since I have been here, these two stalls have not changed, and many of the other stalls remain in place, including the one selling aged cameras at inflated prices.

 

Somewhat surprised at my energy I went to the bus station.  At the stop the numbers indicated had changed.  I queried this with a driver hesitating to begin his shift.  He informed me how things had been revised, where my stop now was, and we both laughed when I asked why there was now a Number 70, as well as a Number 370 bus on the same routes.  "I have no idea," he said holding wide his arms.  We both laughed at the managers and clever people high up who direct things but never see them in action on the ground.

I checked the bus stop.  Lots of old pill pushers stood there.  The indicator claimed the No 70 was coming in 34 minutes, the C1 (what's that?) in 1 minute.  I went to the 'Tesco Express,' bought an overpriced bottle of water, returned to the stop to find only a couple waiting.  The C1 went off to the Hospital taking the pill pushers with it.  Now the indicator said No 370 in 6 minutes.  I sat of the two rails that form a poor seat and the No 370 drew in behind me!  

Catching a bus takes lots of patience, exercise, sarcasm and hope in this area I find.   Still, I was heading home.

 

What delight to see old houses (costing a million) blue sky, green grass, growing crops and hedges filled with birds flapping about.  Though to be honest it was mostly Crows I heard murmering.  It was good to be out, especially as the day passed quickly with no troubles.  Within three hours I had returned, eaten lunch and began to stiffen up.  A good day, which I will pay for tomorrow.

 

Books, Sausages and Cheese.

I hobbled off at high speed to the bus station for the 11: am bus.
As I approached the digital readout said 'Bus 70: 15 Minutes.'
What?
The changed the times again, however they have not changed the timetable on the shelter I noticed.
So I had to hang about while the driver decided whether to arrive or not.
After a short eternity he arrived.
The questions arise while the time draws near.
"Will he arrive?"  
"Has there been an accident?"  
"Is my watch right?"
"What is that women saying about 'delay?'"
And so on, but he arrived early.
The drivers changed over, the bus departed, ignoring an old man struggling to catch the bus, and bumped its way inexperiencedly along the busy route.  This driver was either new, transferred from London or just inept.  We made it into town but at the lights he jiggered us forward almost inch by inch as if this would move the standing traffic in front of him.  
Definitely a London reject.

I clumped down the street, passing the occasional policeman, a wide variety of people of all ages rushing to and fro, it was noon, and the aroma of takeaway lunches from the snackbars.  Passing through the shopping centre I entered 'Primark' to check the price of jeans, my pair were £6 last time I was in, and discovered no matter what that all jeans/chinos/trousers were made for those with waists no greater than 38.  I was going to enquire where the fat man's stuff was but the assistant looked uninterested and indeed washed out by his labours.  
I moved on.

 
At last, climbing the stairs to the non fiction books, after stopping to check the many tables with 'Buy on get one Half Price' where I did just that, I then browsed carefully. This did not take long, I wondered about the cash in my pocket and how hot the plastic bit was before I bought too many.  Then raced downstairs to proffer my Gift Token and my green card to accumulate points which will be beneficial in the future.  I like this shop in spite of those critics who claim they are limiting the scope of the choice of books.  Possibly this is true, I cannot tell, however they have sufficient for me at the moment.

  
Sauntering around the many tented stalls that now fill the paved High Street I considered their cheese, their pies, bread, veg and other delights then spent £3 on a hand made Malted Loaf just so I do not require attendance at Tesco when I got home.  £3!  That was not the cheapest, one type of bread cost £12.... I mean really!

So, the books obtained, with bread in the bag I headed to my next regular stops, G.C.Smith, butcher at the Chelmsford Market.  This supplies me with sausages and chicken for the freezer at a mere £20, while along the rows we find a small cheese stall with a couple of shelves packed with huge chunks of cheese at reasonable prices.  'Mark's Cheese and Eggs' stall has a great variety on offer, however as I proffered my £20 note, apologising for having nothing else (I only spent £4:50) the cheery lady said that did not matter as "We don't give change on Friday's."  We then discussed the lack of a notice to this effect once they had brought me round and lifted me off the ground.  They don't like people lying around in case folks blame the cheese.  Anyway I like these two stalls and have been there regularly, allowing for long periods in between and will be back when the freezer demands this.   I might however raise my cholesterol level from 4:3 to much higher if I am not careful.  Then I hobbled back to the bus, waited for ages, then in an almost empty bus made it home, knees aching, wallet empty, but sufficient foodstuffs obtained, books to add to the 'To Read' pile, and a happy sense of getting out of town for a change.   

Rail Today

You will be delighted to know there are no more pictures of water.  Instead, with the temperature now lowered in this grubby room to a mere 79% from a height on Saturday night of 85, I consider the railways on which I travelled.

  
Running a railway has always featured one major problem, disruption!  That disruption might come from heat bending the rails as it did recently, points not working properly, signals failing, copper wire being stolen, doors jamming or some such technical problem, let alone the sole passenger taken seriously ill or the one jumping in front of the train, all these hinder the smooth running of the railways.
Last Monday as I arrived I noted the people gathered around the station, something was up.  Far away near Clacton the points had failed leading to an upset railway.  The trains could not get through, they thus blocked the main line hindering all services.  Too alleviate this the 9am from our station was turned around six miles away and left our people fuming in the heat awaiting the train at ten, my train. As I bought my ticket from the stressed sole representative of the railway all around me people gnashed teeth and muttered under their breath.  I smiled and stood back...

My journey was smooth enough, the carriage was not busy even by Stratford where I changed.  This marvellous new complex offered me the chance to spare my knees by using the lift, this I did and found myself totally lost!  I used the wrong lift!  The one I wanted was further down but nobody told me so I ended up wandering around, up stairs and down with no lift, until I eventually found my place here at the underground.  Sensible people would have checked where they were going and followed the signs before they came out!

 
This Jubilee Line is very busy but I planted myself near the front of the coach and with the window open it was not too bad.  The train is fast but the variety of passengers is amazing.  Many were passing through from one station to another, tourists transported fat cases full of her clothes, other tourists were set on sightseeing and paying for it also, locals, surly and ignoring the world around them, put their heads into the technology and lived apart.  
Checking the timetable I raced slowly for the train, it beat me.  Two or three of us were halfway up the platform when the first five coaches moved off, as did the rail operative... 
This was good as thirty minutes later, on the same platform, I took the remaining five coaches and found a decent seat.  Here I also found a guard who done her job well and with a slight degree of humour.  I asked when we would arrive and she said "Not soon enough" and giggled.  She had just had a run in with  man carrying the wrong ticket and demanded £140 from him for the real fare.  This had not gone down well.  We shared a few joke comments along with another passenger and the women selling coffee, she could not get the trolley to move, and settled down to half read my book and watch the greenery, where crops were actually green, pass by.  The hot weather has ruined many crops and while some can be gathered the size is much reduced. Prices will rise.

Coming back I cleverly let the fast train depart and waited ten minutes for the slow train.  This ensured a seat, even though it contained only four coaches and not five, and a relaxed atmosphere was around me.  Not everyone felt this, not the woman who had not paid and was forced to pay full price by the guard.  He however was good to me informing me of faster trains when he saw the details of my long journey.  I preferred the seat without crowds rather than speed and he understood.  However by journeys end I was changing my mind.  
Some railways are doing away with guards, now often called 'conductors.'  This I see as a foolish idea as many questions are asked on a train and the sight of a guard eases some peoples apprehension re travel.  It is funny how folks are more likely to converse on long distance travel, possibly because of nerves, than in local travel.  Maybe the excitement of the change brings this on.  Personally while I am happy to be pleasant (yes I am) I prefer folks to shut it and look out the window and enjoy the sights which are many.  The place of the guard however remains important on any train as he represents the company, gives reassurance, collects fares from dodgers, answers questions ("No idea love") and is a requirement railways cannot do without.  Yet to save money some wish to drop them.

 
In between trains!
A sweltering day and a constant flow of hundreds of passengers is it any surprise to see staff exhausted in such circumstances.  he has just answered the thousandth stupid question of the day and awaits a thousand more before rushing home, can you blame him...?

   
The Jubilee Line takes no chances with folks falling in front of the trains underground.  These panels open only when the train stops and always at the doors, so far, and facilitate passenger movement.  I must cease from using 'passenger' as they are all 'customers' in today's rail world.  What nonsense!

 
With the ever present danger of hold ups late in the afternoon I jumped on the first train at platform ten, once I had gone the wrong way in the wrong lift for the second time, this one being a four coach vehicle for Ipswich.  This appears wrong to me as there were five coaches of people aboard and standing was the only option, no guard appeared unsurprisingly.  Surely such trains require five or six coaches?  Later I discovered a train for Norwich was cancelled, all this because someone along the line had gone in front of a train!  Deliberately or what?  Who knows and I never found out.  This is at once tragic and annoying, for a variety of reasons people kill themselves but why do it on the railways?  Someone has to clean up the mess, pick up the bits, reassure the driver it was not his fault, why put others out while you are depressed or worried?  Trains could be held up for over an hour as I was two years ago when someone done that on the southern part of the route.  Is it cruel to say 'Kill yourself at home?

I had time to ponder this, but not set up this picture properly, while waiting for the connection.  Also cogitating on what was being transported in the long trains that come from Felixstowe docks where containers full mostly of Chinese tat race past.  Longer trains return the other way charging through at 90 miles and hour leaving a slipstream upsetting for girls in summer frocks.  Brexit will however end all this.  Long lines of lorries at Dover unable to cross without proper paperwork alongside container ports stuffed with goods we cannot get to Europe because Boris wishes to be Prime Minister.  A disaster waiting to happen and they continue with this farce in spite of it all.  Today's news of David Davies resigning is good, but will things change?

  
While waiting in cold wet weather can be irritating the chance to ponder and watch life go by in a rail station is quite enjoyable I say, the more so if it is a busy station.   Not only can you 'people watch' as some enjoy but a selection of trains from various regions passing through I find interesting, yet I am not an anorak!  Some I note know everything about every train, two such on the trip home got off at Eastleigh as they were train hunting there in the big depot, but I just like watching them.  This is like having your own toy train set yet on a large table.
I got home tired and weary, I ought to have stuffed my face while in Waterloo's rip-off shopping precinct, but instead I relied on my watered down now warm water bottle.  This was insufficient I say now.
Today I sit here planning my next rain journey, Studying the timetable and looking for inspiration, and the cash to pay for it, long live the senior rail card!   

The Train Now Departing

Book Tokens in the Sun

I escaped on the zimmer bus this morning to exchange my Xmas book tokens at Waterstones.  This took me out on a hot day eager to see bookshelves.  Therefore I stopped in the cathedral first as they have a book stall and sadly discovered this had been shorn somewhat, it transpired that next door the Diocesan House contained a bookshop also and they were working on not competing with one another. 

  
This meant I had to walk over the graves to the House and visit their small bookshop.  I felt it unfortunate that much of their stock was too similar, some discussion required between the two I think to get this right.  I would think the more 'heavy' books, commentaries etc, ought to be in the House while more 'daily' sorts in the cathedral, but what do I know?  All I know is that Christians do not buy books to learn about the book and the author but prefer books that make them feel good or offer the fashionable 'soup of the day.'

So down the High Street to the bookshop where I found three books worth spending my voucher on. There were more obviously but I am not greedy (much).  Browsing among the tables, much easier than the low shelves, I chose, eventually, 'Babylon' by Paul Kriwaczeck as I like the Sumer type of history, way back in the early days of southern Iraq.  'Undertones of War' by Edmund Blunden, supposed to be a WW1 'classic,' in time we shall see and 'Estuary' by Rachel Lichtenstein.  This purports to tell of the Thames Estuary, a place not far from here, rich in history and something I like reading about. 
All these books will lie on the pile of 'Books to read' which must be brought nearer where I sit as they are in danger of toppling from a height at the moment and this could be dangerous.  Naturally I now wish to drop the books I am reading and begin on these but must show some discipline and wait until ready.  This is not easy.

     
Home tired and aching I longed for sleep and wished to read the books at the same time.
However I was somewhat put out by a comment from Jerry in Missouri his state of health.  He has been very unwell for some time and his sick wife died not that long ago and now with his heart in a poor state he feels seriously that his time is short.  I rather regret this.
This Redneck has been a rude and nasty man to me for a while now, I like him! His humour and desire for God is real and he is able to argue, though never able to accept that I am right, tsk!  I fear for his health.

On a somewhat lighter note this music is what followed me around town all day.

 

'Ae Spark o' Natures Fire'

Today I elected to board the 12:08 Zimmer Bus but for reasons beyond comprehension the bus left exactly on time meaning I missed it!  Since when did 'First Bus' buses run to timetables around here???  The little problem was the timing. This bus takes 43 minutes according to the timetable, this ignores roadworks, car crashes and bad weather of course, and had I been aboard enabled me to arrive at the theatre in time to select a decent seat to watch my best looking, most talented and highly intelligent niece perform at the piano alongside her singer.  As it was I did arrive well into the concert and squeezed myself into a seat between songs much to the numerous audience members disgust.  This small theatre holds about a hundred seats and was quite full, these (cheap) lunchtime concerts entertain music lovers and fill in time for people off the Zimmer Bus.  

My wonderful niece played superbly.  I have the CD of the concert they gave during the Edinburgh Fringe (sent by another attractive young niece) but to see her in action was a real treat.  It is two or three years since I saw her play so with a memory like mine this was a new experience!  It was good to see how she has developed her skill, the variety of songs gave a lot of opportunity to shine, some soft, some rather rugged in comparison and watching her hands work the keys with each was super.

Jillian her singer took centre stage (singers always do) and they went through a wide variety of songs, some Rabbie Burns, some from Spanish writers, some Russian.  It amazed me how she could concentrate on her singing and remember all the words of so many songs.  It was interesting to note how she almost acted out some of the words yet did not go so far as to lose track of what she was doing.  I mentioned afterwards how many of the locals would fail to understand the words of the Scots songs, they probably understood more of the Russian than anything by Burns.  There again with sopranos it is more than the words it is the noise produced (am I allowed to say 'noise' at this point?). 

I regretted greatly missing most of the first 30 minutes and have spent much time this evening seeking suitable works on YouTube but only one can I find from their act, the one above.  However I had a really enjoyable hour what with the music and meeting my favourite niece, what more can I ask?

Books!  That's what I could ask!  After leaving them to their devices, probably the pub, I made my way down the Big City back alleyways looking for the new 'Foyles' Bookshop.  Naturally while following strict instructions how to find it I ended up in a car park!  Wandering round the back streets I found gleaming buildings that were not there six months ago when I last passed this way. One of them was the gleaming 'Foyles' Bookshop.  Two floors of books surrounded by huge windows and lots of space, too much space in my view and not as much 'cosiness' as found in old fashioned bookshops.  One real irritant was the placing of books at ground level, I canny get down that far and with one section of small sized book crammed together my eyes found it hard to read the titles.  At least I made use of the generously donated bookmark with a book or two which now join the queue to be read.  This means five books are in that queue and I think I am reading eight others at the same time.  As they are mostly in the loo, a place most men use as a library, it may well be I do myself some harm while stimulating the brain.

Scoot by the River

An interesting array of aged scooters outside the Town Hall today.  A 'Mod' was getting married and his mates all arrived to celebrate with him.  These guys gather every Sunday morning at the cafe round the corner, aged bikes with aged men pretending they are 40 years younger than they are.  Not all remember the original 'Mods' who gathered in large numbers in the 60's, the 'Who' were their favourite band and it is unfortunate no music was playing when I passed today.  I suspect the bride would turn up on a scooter but did not wait to find out.  I did think it funny that several were dressed in 'Skinhead' outfits, especially as the lack of hair was becoming apparent at their age anyway.

Yesterday I wandered as a lonely cloud by the other river in Chelmsford, the River Chelmer.  A narrow winding stream flowing past hidden industrial works and row upon row of boxes in which people live their lives.  Maybe it is just me but while the houses are perfectly acceptable there is no 'heart' to be seen in them.  Many rows of decent enough grossly overpriced housing with decent enough people but no character to be seen.  I suppose when the rows of 'two up and two down' were built in Victorian days people thought the same but those appear to have more character than today's estate homes.  

Chelmsford today is summed up in this picture.  The house that once was a mill, one for which I can find no history, sits above the wee bridge over the Chelmer surrounded by parked cars.  Cars from which many have entered the building itself, now an office block, and others who have moved to similar buildings, possibly the university situated at the rear itself. Behind are more offices in the distance and several industrial units, car repairs and the like.  The once idyllic scene now surrounded by modern blight.  At least the council keep the waterway clear and the gardeners do a marvellous job looking after the paths around.

The gentle flow of the waters do not tinkle by in this area, the only tinkling comes from the many bikes that rush along the path carrying students to their work or possibly lecturers to their enlightening talks.  It may be just the usual suspects going about their business of course but happily none of them smiled bar one pretty young lass and the rest merely carried the cares of the world as they passed by.  Still it is a good thing when towns, oops this is now a city, keep their rivers clear and create decent paths through tree lines areas and encourage wildlife as much as is possible.   This is to be encouraged as we need these green spaces in our concrete and glass world.
That concrete and glass world was where the path took me sadly, five story glass fronted new temples of Mammon reared up and I plodded through the main street, now at least filled with a lively market, bought my coffee to keep me going and headed for the butcher for three for £10 chicken pieces to keep me alive.  

An interesting wee house, totally out of sequence with the road in which it lives, called 'The Rectory.' This stands (in 'Rectory Lane') next to a closed cemetery the details of which I could not read as the gardener had blocked the note with his vehicle.  The cemetery has been closed for some time and now the only people bar the council gardeners who occasionally cut the grass to be seen there are vagrants sleeping rough.  I am tempted here to add 'Rest in peace' but will refrain.  

Above the Rectory door however I noticed this!
Quite what this is or was supposed to be intrigues.  It is certainly not what Christian buildings out to be decorated with I would say, it looks more like some portrayal of a demon.  Possibly it was placed there to upset the rector and he quite liked it, these Anglicans are strange folks.  I have no idea who lives in this building now, it may be uninhabited as the curtains are drawn across the windows.  No doubt this once housed the man responsible for the cemetery upkeep, and very nice too, no noisy neighbours in the past, and possibly it lies idle for the moment.  No wonder with this guy above the door!