I know nothing...

...born on 16 Feb 1972, I have often heard the tale of the delayed arrival of the midwife to our house. The reason was that she had to make a fire up for her elderly mother first. What I had not appreciated, until today, when I watched a documentary on the early 1970s, was that this coal-related story, which saw me arrive almost before said midwife, was part of a much wider national story of the striking miners and the energy crisis, a story that was to reach some resolution less than 48 hours later. Look, for example, at some documentary evidence here. I've always known that outside certain medieval periods my knowledge of the chronology of British history is poor, but it seemed wrong not to know one was born in the midst of such crisis. Looking forward to learning more about the times I lived through but can't remember anyway.

Visiting the grandfolks

Easter 2012 involved trains and cars, dogs and hamsters, and assorted relatives. In addition, on Easter Friday we participated in the Walk of Witness local to Nanny. Possibly other participants thought I was terribly moved by the occasion given the tears at the stop at St. James' Church, but this was really because I took the opportunity to visit the grave of a school fellow (d.1988), the only prior occasion I had been in this church being for this boy's memorial service. Lunch followed at the cousin's, being mainly memorable for meeting Flora the Gnawer (the hamster).

Easter Saturday saw us trek to Birmingham to go the Sealife Centre. The main attraction for the boy was a particularly stompy bridge, and some attractive buoys, but I managed to get him to take some interest in the clownfish and turtles. Nanny and Mommy hung out in the cafe at St. Martin's in the Bullring as the boy had, thankfully, finally deigned to fall asleep. A walk in the afternoon took us past a cockerel ("cockalaw" who said "cockalaw-doo-doo").

Easter Sunday took us to Baddesley Clinton and an Easter Egg trail, and a revisit to the hamster. The small boy's attempts to herd his relatives into the same place were greatly frustrated on this occasion, even more so than in the previous few days. The herding instinct was pushed aside however once a pretend priest hole that children could fling themselves in and out of was discovered.

The Monday took us to the Midlands Arts Centre for a dance and music workshop based on William Blake's Songs of Innocence. Ambitious, perhaps: the small boy certainly spent the whole time clinging on; but Mommy enjoyed it.