I went away.

I went away and decided Unicycle Emptiness was no more.  You probably didn’t notice or have roamed far away to other blogs that rhapsodise about well priced cheesy chips and standing stones in the North that also have far more of an affinity with placing a semi-colon in a correct place. Bastards.

There is a limit also of how much someone can write about local accessible well priced places of interest, excitement and history  but are not popular and where cheap cheesy chips and large house reds can be had but also a toddler can be taken to easily and quickly.

And are haunted.

I stopped doing my blog.

Suddenly the North West area abounded in unusual and unnatural glories. Every overheard conversation was sparkling yet poignant . Everything I saw looked like it would make a artistically gritty yet humorous capsule of love and life in the frozen North.

I missed writing. That little chasm to delve into that was just me, looking at stuff I liked  and writing about it, rather than the Me of making lumpen sliced packed lunches, badly photocopying at work and bidding for boots on eBay I would inevitably be slightly disappointed by.

I went to Oddendale stone circle (otherwise known as Sunkenkirk) a few months ago when the hint of spring sprung and was then cruelly removed like some sort of cost cutting exercise by the Conservatives.

It is a place where I actually felt a sense of what other people consider  religion. Awe, peace, magic and the vanquishment of the self. I grubbed around in mole hills looking for ancient artifacts and as usual found nothing but the potentiality of promise was the reward in itself.

Oh and then I went to Bury market where the mystique and tranquility of a perfectly rounded stone circle, surrounded by mountains,  buffeted by the wind but where  lay recently  picked offerings of  flowers  was utterly overruled by large fresh ciabatta bread for 80p and where fresh herby olives and parched peas made a 2 quid feast overlooking the ring road and a JJB superstore.

I thought of you dear reader. I thought you needed to know about Bury market’s surprising effluence of Greek and Italian food items for the same price as a McFlurry. Its a middle-class recession. I would be letting the side down if I did not. Poor squeezed middles.

And it was there I discovered there was such a thing as smoked shoulder fat.

I think I might have lived better without that discovery. I just clutched my well priced rosemary and garlic olives slightly tighter instead whilst being  slightly more intrigued than the situation actually justified.

But this weekend was the clincher. I went to the grave of a witch in Woodplumpton and thought the internet must know about this!

A small boulder on top of an otherwise unremarkable plot and a plaque stating in an unembellished and tragically fancy free way that an ‘alleged’ witch’ lay underneath.

Nothing to say that the stone was there to stop her rising again! To do bad things to crops of corn! Despite being dead!  To move vats of milk cruelly around a farmyard despite the thwartingness of being buried! To make your pants slightly too tight and your curry slightly too hot! To put your Nectar card somewhere it takes you just over a minute to find whilst  a man smiles politely behind you but in a slightly cold way!

The ‘alleged’ bit in commas on the neat brass plaque is neatly and coldly  mocking me for my hopeful belief, sneering in copper but some dead daffodils lie on the stone, someone felt sorry for Meg and her old dusty smothered bones and only recently so.

Outside the churchyard there are old stocks supported by carved stones of such antiquity the average Australian or American might possibly explode in sheer disbelief. And the fact they were there unremarked and unmuseumed and uncharged make me stop bitching about the fucking weather for nearly an hour.

Then I went to Preston and took  some photos. I was happy. Then cold. Then I bitched about the weather and was over sentimental about dead lambs.

It is all business as usual.

4 Responses to “Ahem.”

  • Helen Crowther Says:

    I’m so glad Unicycle Emptiness has been resurrected – on Easter Sunday at that! Just like Jesus but unfortunately not like the Witch of Woodplumpton. Keep going – you know things about Lancashire. <3 <3 <3

  • Jr Says:

    Well done!

  • narf7 Says:

    My nan came from preston…my gran was from Lancashire…glad you didn’t bugger off and lumping we Aussie with “American’s” is tantamount to declaring war on us you know! Why do I still get excited when I see posts from Unicycle Emptiness? Because the girl can write! She can write well and she tells a real story about life in the North that I have only heard in Verve lyrics before and that my North born husband glosses over by moving down to “Sarf end on sea”…it’s a story of my families history and there be witches I am sure…keep going girl, you are doing it for the poor bloody Aussies that just got to play sardines with those bloody loud yanks…I think you owe us for that don’t you?!

  • cyberfairy Says:

    i have just seen this post-thankyou! Thankyou very much- it all went a bit pearshaped but i missed it and a compliment makes me happy- my family are ‘aussies’ mostly but despite being born in brisbane i have an utterly english accent unlike many of my siblings. I have finally found a shop that sells twisties in the north-I am so happy. x
    Now for drinking custard and cherry ripe and you will find witches wherever you may be x

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