Lincoln snow puts kibosh on Chrimbo market

When we take photos there’s never a dull moment to be had. Take these chilly snaps, for example: I held onto Shana’s legs while she leaned as far as she daredest outta the window, braving Arctic blasts, subzero temperatures and hoots of derision from passers-by. I would have taken the pics myself, but, seeing as I’m too nesh even to put my hand inside the fridge without first donning a scarf and my best woolly, I’d have had to wait for the weather to improve — and you’d have missed out on this unique record of Lincoln’s first snow of the winter. Honestly, the lengths we go to to keep our readers happy…

By the way, clicking on these photos will allow you to see them muchos bigger. They may even make your living room feel cold. Brrr!

Apparently, Lincoln’s world-famous Christmas market has been cancelled because of all the snow. What did they expect in December, though? Eighty degrees in the shade? If you ask me, the market organizers are a bunch of wimps. Ooh look, there’s a snowflake. Quick everybody, back indoors at once!

October rainbow

Waiting for my second coffee of the morning to cool, I, as usual, had my nose in a book. But for Shana (ever on the lookout for pots of gold) I would have missed this rainbow. There was hardly a drop of rain about at the time, although there had been a teeny-weeny shower earlier. Shana was quick to snap some pics and captured the evil-looking sky perfectly. Unfortunately, the sycamore is on private property, so we had no chance of digging for the treasure that was clearly under it this morning.

Ice house

Frosty window

It was a cold, frosty morning in the middle of winter…

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Fortunately, these frost crystals were only on the outside of the glass. In the second picture, I like the way they snake along the bottom of the window frame, looking like a stretch of barbed wire.

Click the pics to see them bigger…and colder. Brrrr!

Here lies William McBeath

Visiting Canwick Road cemetery in Lincoln this afternoon, we spotted a small Scottish saltire flag planted at the foot of a tree at the cemetery’s northern boundary. Had it not been for another grave further along, almost completely hidden by foliage and bearing the strangely appropriate name, Bush, we could easily have missed it. After that, though, we were actively looking out for other hidden stones, hoping desperately to find evidence of a deceased Hedge, a Tree or even a Lurker.

No such luck, as it happened.

But then we saw the flag. And looking further we spotted a brass plaque fixed to the nearest tree trunk.

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The plaque reads:

In this place lies William McBeath, who in 1872, along with three friends, had an idea to start a football team. That football team became Rangers FC.

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Sports journalist Gary Ralston explains in his book, “Rangers 1872: The Gallant Pioneers”, how Rangers was formed by four young boys walking through a park in Glasgow who simply decided one day to form a football club. Apparently McBeath had quite a sad life, and in the ended his days in a Lincoln poorhouse on Burton Road. It is also said that a charge of bigamy and a fraud trial also featured in McBeath’s life before he died in 1917. He now lies in an unmarked grave in Washingborough Cemetery.

So, although someone has already researched McBeath’s life, his final resting place is still not marked by anything other than a little flag beneath a tree. Seems a shame, doesn’t it?

Shadow bottles

Imagine if we were rich. We’d have butlers to bring us our beans on toast (a rare English delicacy), servants to blow on our cups of tea so they’re not too hot for us to drink; and inevitably we’d have bought a dishwasher — after all, even the chief cook and bottlewasher demand labour-saving gadgets these days!

But if we had, then I wouldn’t have been in the kitchen earlier tonight, half submerged in a bowl of washing up water, accompanied by a couple of plates, a knife, a fork and a few other select pieces of the family silver, or rather, the family stainless steel! Nor would I have seen these shadows, falling on our de luxe plastic chopping boards. Formed by the light of the late evening sun, filtered through a single layer of mosquito netting, they really are rather artistic, aren’t they? Even, dare I say it, painterly (the shadows, that is, not the chopping boards).

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See how the rough texture of the boards contrasts with the sinuous curves of the pattern on the bottles. I say, is that half a litre of best corn oil lurking at the back? By heavens, I’ll swear it is too!

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