The River Frome, the lesser photogenic western side. Showing itself to be more than just memories. Today, I could if I were inclined to, and to be honest if I’d had the time I could have hired a rowing boat for an hour and just gently pootled (actually, I’m surprised that is recognised as a valid word) along the river seeing the flash of wildlife scrambling to get away from my clumsy attempt at rowing, and really annoying anglers as I snag their lines with my oars.
But no, we were only passing through, taking the time to meet one of my sisters, and having a laugh at how the whole coach had waved at her as we passed her stood at the bus stop, with the other people waiting with her wondering why a coach full of people was suddenly going crazy as it went
We had a nice cup of tea and a snack in Nellie Crumb, which as a young boy, I had considered far too posh for me to even consider entering it’s hallowed rooms (ok, that perhaps is over doing it a bit).
We said good bye to my sister, leaving her to her Friday afternoon session of knitting and nattering, and had a slow wander around and along the shops, each one bringing back a fresh set of memories.
Much to my annoyance I now realise that I didn’t notice what film was on at The Rex cinema, where I once spent a very brief period as a projectionist under the strict supervision of a serious cricket fanatic called amusingly, Rusty Irons (yes, genuinely that was his name). Where I Learnt the trick of knowing when a reel was about to finish, and so to start the other projector without customers noticing the changeover.
We boarded the coach, and continued our journey.
Bills Posts 