Well, not in a wonderland. I love Yorkshire, but I draw the line at “wonderland”. But I’m stuck for a header.
Yesterday I was up on the moors in the snow. Very pretty, and delightfully cold. Here’s a picture of Stoodley Pike Monument from Erringden.
The kind of snow we had looked like that fake stuff they spray on things in films and television. As in this wall here.
There’s more on the way, so they say. I look forward to it.
Today I went up the other side of the valley, cycling this time, up the Jumble Hole (it’s a valley, or more precisely a gorge – see below) to my parents’ house. I took an inadvisable route and had to lug my bike up a mountainside like Klaus Kinski did with that boat in Fitzcarraldo. Kind of. I wanted a cup of tea when I got to the top, but my parents were out. Ah! The agony of the writer’s life.
I was reading the Transactions of the Halifax Antiquarian Society the other day (it’s more interesting than it sounds). In one article, the Calder Valley is described as a “gorge”. I never thought of it like that before. I suppose it is. It makes it sound much more exciting, and also slightly forbidding. Orcs should live here.