We went for a walk around Langley Mill before breakfast the other morning - please be aware this is not normal behaviour for me, it is not in my character to perambulate under my own steam around such a grotty area [and no-one can deny that it's grotty]. Therefore we can conclude that I was on a mission of nosiness. The grumpy old man, of course, can be seen wandering around Langley Mill at any old time.
We went to find out - as befits my nosy status - exactly where the noisier noise was coming from on North Street, I'd already found what I thought were the correct plans for six houses to be built next to the car park and Tom Memorial Gardens on North Street, which incidentally still has active planning permission for a children's play area [until November], but nothing much seems to have happened in this direction which is a shame. I suppose these crucial plans for more housing next to this site is more important than something recreational [don't read my blog any more AVBC, you won't like it].
And judging by how many new houses have already been built on North/Ebenezer/Thompson Streets I'd have thought a play area would be a good idea to cover the whole of the area. But hey, our councillors have been told by powers on high that houses must be built anywhere they can be squeezed in and bugger the amenities that are needed to accompany them.
Where was I? North Street ... plans ... Ah, yes: Somehow the new building work didn't look positioned right from Bridge Street, so off I went armed with nosy equipment - camera [for more Heanor Haulage crap shots on the way round] and near photographic but highly selective memory, and of course my bodyguard ... aka the GOM.
I soon gathered when I got there that the new build was tagged onto Bourne Drive, I cut and paste that information and popped it into my documents ... sorry, I mean I remembered that detail and we carried on our way.
The GOM managed to find people to talk to, he knows just about everybody and you can see the panic in their eyes when they realise that the only way to escape being talked to is to throw themselves under a bus or climb over a 7ft spiked fence - depending on where they are at the time - before finally resigning themselves to their fate ... bless him.
And just when are they thinking of restoring footpath 53? North Street is a long way to go just to be nosy without it, we had to go along the main road where I called at the train station to take photos of a different view of the Asda site, then after North Street and over the bridge we went past HH where I deliberately trespassed on their newly purchased bit of Queen Street recreation ground - I am daring! Before continuing on down Queen Street and along Cromford Road.
I looked down at my feet on this last stretch while dawdling and waiting for the GOM to catch up with me [he'd found another victim] - or rather, at where my feet should be but haven't been seen by me from a standing position since I was thirteen. And was reminded of a little ditty I received in my mail - sent by one of my less technologically disadvantaged friends - called 'I Should Have looked After Me Tits'. There was one line about them 'no longer bouncing because the springs had gone', I noticed in a smug and conceited way that mine had got a fair wobble on.
Stupidly seeking assurance from the GOM, I turned and asked him if me boobs were still bouncing. Quick as a flash, and for once not using his deafness to get me to repeat the question - thereby giving him time to think if the correct answer - he replied 'No' ... 'What do you mean, no? That means the bloody springs have gone in 'em'.
'They're bouncing, they're bouncing!' he said. We giggled the rest of our way home like a couple of recycled teenagers about how he always tries to give me the answer he thinks I want, rather than the actual truth. I wouldn't swap him for anything, but he's not the one to ask - 'does my bum look big in this?' ...
Grumpyoldken 36 -
4 months ago