Whitsuntide

Of course it wasn’t really Whitsuntide, that being Pentacost – the seventh Sunday after Easter, (no I’m not an encyclopedia of Christian holidays, yes I do know how to use Google) but I still think of the Spring Bank holiday week as Whitsuntide.  When I was a small child my family had a Whit Week Camp: as many members of the family as could turned up to a farmer’s field in North Yorkshire, build a fire pit, dig a latrine, pitch some tents.

camping
My mum, me and my gran round the campfire c1969

 

Later, Whit Week was spent at our Grandparent’s house with it’s big rambling garden and nearby countryside, where my sister and my cousins had many adventures.  As a young adult, it marked the beginning proper of the camping season, as a mum, it mostly meant having a week off from the school run.

This bank holiday weekend caught me by surprise.  No longer much of a camper, and with a grown up son, the usual markers didn’t shout it out to me.  Plus being self employed I don’t always take my days off when everyone else does.

Being unusually spontaneous, my boyfriend suggested a gig on Friday, so we went to see Vince and the Invaders, or as we like to call them “Two Prowlers and a Pink Peg Slax”.  In the world of old time Leeds pub bands, you might call them a supergroup.  Or perhaps not.  Anyway they were rockingly good fun, playing two sets of rockabilly to an audience not nearly big enough.  We’ll go and see them again.

BankHoliday
Vince and the Invaders, strange cake, Chrissie Freeth tapestry, selfie, Changing Faces of Leeds, Glassprimitif

Saturday, we went into Leeds.  Ignoring, with some difficulty, the massive Slam Dunk Festival happening right outside the City Museum. We had a browse round the Changing Faces of Leeds exhibition: portraits of people of Leeds through the ages – and I took the opportunity to snap a Victorian-style selfie with a rather fabulous backdrop.   Followed that with a cup of tea and a slice of mysteriously colourful Victoria sandwich cake in the Grand Arcade.

Sunday I dashed over to Saltaire for the Art Trail, admired Chrissie Freeth’s wonderful new tapestries, and caught up with my friend Jo of Glassprimitif.  I wasn’t sure about the trail as a whole.  There were lots of prints and paintings I’d have on my wall any day, plenty of jewellery I’d give neck space to, but I wasn’t really wowed, or challenged, which was a shame.  I do now however covet a Drew Millward print of Iggy Pop which I can ill afford.

Monday was a gardening day.  A hacking back of hedges and shrubs day to be precise.  I now have a very large pile of prunings (“prunings” is an understatement as is “very large”) and nowhere to put them.  Oops.  Oh, and very achey arthritic hands.

Not bad for a weekend I didn’t even know was coming.

 

 

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