“I’m 59 and people call me middle aged. How many 118 year old men do you know?”
Barry Cryer
Somehow it occurred to me that I had reached a funny age – 55 years & 5 months – it must have been a slow news day. I was sat with my Mother, who has long since stopped counting the years, looking for reassurance.
I pointed to a mugshot in the local rag of a bloke of the same age.
“Look at him…now that’s old!”
“Aye but he’s probably had to work for a living!” replied my Mother whose wisdom is always hard to challenge. She rocked back in her chair with a look of satisfaction, as if to say “ask me another!”
I am convinced that there is sod all good about getting old. As I type this some smug young kid, barely out of school, is lecturing us via Sky News on road safety, threatening to take away my licence if I cannot read a number plate from twenty yards.
On that basis the cricket club should ban me from batting as there is plenty of evidence that seeing a little red ball from the same distance is a greater threat to my personal safety.
He should come to Bradford where he would find plenty of evidence of blind driving although a driving test might be preferential to an eye test.
I drove back home – slowly – and passed the open door of The Scruffy, shaking like a crack addict as I held my nerve and refused the obvious temptation.
It was the final week of putting up Microwave Man so I thought I’d show mental toughness, besides the Aldi pie would be toxic if it spent another night past its sell-by date.
Strange how they call this time of day Happy Hour as I imagined the usual gathering of cantankerous old farts in Nob ‘Ed Korna, not even cheered by 25p off a pint.
I suppose we should be grateful that beer gets cheaper the older you get, that you cannot drink as much and that you might get a bag to lessen the number of trips to battle with your button fly and leaking plumbing.
One Hundred Years Ago
More from this wonderful archive here with signs that the First World War was finally coming to an end.
…for those still fighting the front line continued to be a place of death, wounding and sickness. At home there was austerity as not seen before during the war…many of the returning soldiers would need special care and the pressure would be great.
Food was rationed and the prices estimated to have gone up by 116 per cent. One solution being encouraged was to interest young people in gardening so they could help grow more food.
Now there’s a thought!
My Hometown
For the first time in a while I wandered down to Hapless Valley to spend a few quid and take a look around, hopeful there might be signs of positive change, other than another phone shop.
Waterstones, set in the magnificent old Wool Exchange was my destination, avoiding the shiny new shopping centre by choice. Having selected a few books in this cathedral of literature, I made my way back up town.
What struck me was that the pigeons looked in better health than many of the inhabitants. In no time at all the impact of the shift of the retail “heart” of the city to the new Broadway was plain to see.
Darley Street, once home to the likes of M&S, Next, Top Man and many more, looks so bad even the pigeons have abandoned it. It appears a long way back for this part of town and it pains me to write so.
I did not want to write a piece simply slating Bradford off; this is where I was born and still live and I am not one of the many in awe of the fake tan town ten miles down the road. Plus there are many more places worse off.
By coincidence I came across this article which, save for a few hopeless comments from the delusional Cllr Hapless is generous, fair and also realistic in it’s assessment of the future.
Written by Jonn Elledge he begins with “…generally speaking, if outsiders think of Bradford at all, they picture somewhere shabby, crumbling and poor.” Fair point.
He writes about our awful transport links and educational attainment levels contributing to the city’s struggles to attract new higher-value jobs and also retain core public sector ones too.
Hapless likes to quote statistics about the youth of our city; trouble is a high percentage are not doing well and are not likely too.
But he does say:“This is, in all honesty, a bit of a shame – because for all the city’s problems, its centre is quite stunningly beautiful.” Look up and take it in, our city truly is beautiful in parts.
It is a fair piece, not usually one we associate with the London based press – read it and judge.
And Finally
A sincere good luck to a fabulous bloke I met initially through business but since then has been a friend and a generous supporter of kid’s cricket at the Villas.
Announcing his retirement this week he can reflect on having built one of the biggest businesses in Bradford, in the process creating hundreds of jobs.
Happy retirement…you know who you are…see you in the high chairs by the window someday!
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