Good morning you lovely lot. IT’S MONDAY AGAIN! 🤦🏻‍♂️🤣 Well, that was a short weekend, wasn’t it? I’m fairly certain Friday was about eleven minutes ago, yet here we are, staring down the barrel of another Monday. I hope you all had a lovely weekend, managed to survive the weather and enjoyed a bit of well-earned relaxation. If you spent Sunday on the sofa, eating a roast dinner and doing absolutely nothing productive, congratulations. You’ve understood the assignment perfectly. Meanwhile, the alarm clock has returned like an unwanted relative who has somehow acquired a key to the house. And here we are, another working week ahead of us. I’m currently in the middle of a nine-day railway blockade, which means my weekend was less about relaxing and more about keeping a railway project moving while trying not to lose the will to live. There’s something quite special about working in construction management. You spend half your time solving problems and the other half attending meetings to discuss why the problems haven’t been solved. Usually with the same people who caused them in the first place. 🤣🤣 Still, onwards and upwards. Or, in my case, onwards and hopefully nobody’s forgotten to order something absolutely essential. A LITTLE YORKSHIRE HISTORY! On this day in 1803, Joseph Hansom was born in York. He went on to become an architect and inventor of the famous Hansom cab, the horse-drawn taxi that became a familiar sight on Victorian streets. That’s right, a Yorkshireman helped revolutionise urban transport. A vehicle with a driver, passengers and a horse doing all the hard work. Basically Uber, but with more manure and considerably less chance of being charged £38 because it’s raining. 🤣🤣 And finally, be kind. It’s easy to get caught up in the madness of another working week, but remember that everybody has their own battles, and some are fighting them quietly. A little patience, a friendly word or checking in on somebody can make a real difference. Always try to be nice, but never fail to be kind. Right then, Monday, let’s get this over with. Five days until the weekend, although given how quickly the last one disappeared, I’m beginning to suspect somebody’s fiddling the calendar. Have a cracking Monday, folks. Laugh hard. Run fast. Be kind. ♥️

3am Rainbow 🌈

Good morning you lovely lot. IT’S SUNDAY! THE HOLIEST DAY OF THE YORKSHIRE CALENDAR! 😂 Firstly, I hope you’re all safe and haven’t suffered too much damage from the storm. My lads have been working out in it, and by all accounts, the conditions were absolutely biblical. Horizontal rain, howling winds and enough water falling from the sky to make Noah start checking the warranty on his ark. I very nearly felt sorry for them. Nearly. But then I remembered I’m management, and apparently we’re not allowed to show weakness. 🤣🤣 Seriously though, they’ve done a cracking job in some horrendous conditions, and I’m proud of every one of them. Meanwhile, I’m still suffering slightly from jet lag after Florida. Just as my body was beginning to understand what country it was in, somebody decided to throw the clocks going back into the equation. Brilliant. My body clock is now so confused it doesn’t know whether to sleep, eat breakfast or order a margarita. I’ve been awake at ridiculous hours, falling asleep when I shouldn’t and generally wandering around like a Victorian ghost with a caffeine addiction. And now we’ve gained an extra hour in bed. Wonderful, except nobody bothered to inform my brain, which apparently operates on Florida time, railway time and whatever time the bloody cat thinks it is. I haven’t even got a cat. That’s how confused I am. 🤦🏻‍♂️🤣 BUT ENOUGH OF THAT. TODAY IS YORKSHIRE PUDDING DAY! 🎉 Forget the traditional interpretation of Sunday as a holy day. In Yorkshire, we worship at the altar of the roasting tin. And today, once again, I shall be accepting photographic submissions of your finest Yorkshire puddings. PHOTO ENTRIES MUST BE IN BY 14:00. The grand draw for the best entry will take place at 16:00. I’ll be judging height, colour, structural integrity and, most importantly, whether the thing could hold enough gravy to float a small fishing vessel. Flat puddings will be treated with suspicion. Burnt offerings will be referred to the appropriate authorities. And anyone submitting a photograph of Aunt Bessie’s frozen puddings will be immediately disqualified and possibly reported to the Yorkshire authorities. THIS IS YORKSHIRE, NOT A CRIME SCENE IN THE FREEZER AISLE! 🤣🤣 A LITTLE YORKSHIRE HISTORY! On this day in 1854, the famous Charge of the Light Brigade took place during the Crimean War. And there’s a Yorkshire connection! The charge was led by Lord Cardigan, whose family owned vast areas of Leeds. Two Leeds men, Charles Macaulay of Woodhouse and James Barrass of Holbeck, took part and survived. Hundreds of cavalrymen charged straight towards Russian artillery following a disastrously confused order. An extraordinary display of bravery in the face of catastrophic military leadership. A bit like being told by management that everything’s going to plan when you can clearly see the whole thing’s gone tits up! 🤣 And finally, be kind. Behind every smile there might be somebody struggling, worrying or simply trying to get through another difficult day. It costs nothing to show a little patience, offer a kind word or check in on someone. Always try to be nice, but never fail to be kind. Right then, it’s Sunday. You’ve got puddings to make, photographs to submit and a Yorkshireman to impress. Remember: 14:00 deadline, 16:00 draw. And if you’re using Aunt Bessie’s, don’t bother trying to disguise them. I know what a factory-produced pudding looks like. 😂 Have a cracking Sunday, folks. May your puddings rise, your gravy flow and your roast potatoes be crispy! Laugh hard. Run fast. Be kind. ♥️

Who needs enemies when you’ve got allies? France and Germany competing to sell Argentina three new submarines. Denmark selling them F-16s. The Americans approving a potential package of equipment and support. Lovely. Always reassuring when your mates help restock the military of a country that still claims your islands. Presumably the next defence summit comes with a catalogue and a fucking discount code. To be clear, the submarine proposals aren’t signed contracts. But the fact they’re on the table is quite enough to piss me off. “We haven’t sold them yet” isn’t exactly the declaration of friendship I was hoping for. And Andy Pandy Burnham seems desperate to jump back into bed with the EU. Before anyone starts fluffing the continental pillows, perhaps we could establish what Britain actually gets out of these wonderful relationships beyond a handshake, a group photograph and an invoice. Because from where I’m standing, the UK is increasingly looked on with contempt. We’re still trying to act like a big player while successive governments have run this country into the ground—and had the brass neck to do it on the global stage. We turn up talking about influence and leadership while everyone else appears to be wondering whether our card’s going to decline when the bill arrives. We’ve got the posture of a superpower and the bargaining position of a bloke trying to return a toaster without a receipt. And those of us who remember the Falklands War have every right to be livid about this. British servicemen died. Others came home carrying injuries and memories they would live with for the rest of their lives. Families paid a price that doesn’t disappear because there’s now a lucrative export opportunity. You’d think that history might warrant a slightly more awkward conversation among our supposed friends before someone starts measuring Argentina up for a new submarine fleet. Apparently “close ally” comes with terms and conditions. Friendship subject to availability. Loyalty excluded where a profitable order can be secured. And what do I want from our government? A bit of bloody backbone. Ask the awkward questions. Make our objections clear. Stop treating every diplomatic relationship like we should be grateful we’ve been invited. We don’t need another solemn photograph of politicians standing shoulder to shoulder if nobody’s prepared to explain what that friendship is actually worth. I’m sick of watching Britain talked down to while our leaders grin like they’ve won a competition to visit the building. The Falkland Islanders’ future is theirs to decide. Their home isn’t a bargaining chip, and the people who fought for them aren’t an inconvenient footnote beneath somebody else’s sales figures. We can cooperate with allies and still tell them when they’re taking the piss. Being British shouldn’t mean standing politely in the queue while our supposed mates sell the bloody queue-jumping equipment.

Yesterday I posted about the state of our supermarkets and my belief that they’re coming after our food supply. After reading the comments, alongside recent government comments, I’m increasingly convinced we’re approaching the edge of life—and civilisation—as we know it. Before anyone demands my sources: this is my theory, based on what I see happening to this country. I haven’t nicked a folder marked “SECRET PLAN” from Downing Street. With their security, someone’s probably left it on a fucking train anyway. My suspicion is that this is a plain, old-fashioned power grab, decades in the making. Our Fabian government might dress it up in reassuring language, but a velvet glove doesn’t make the hand in your pocket any less intrusive. I think this country has been pushed towards inevitable bankruptcy, and we’re expected to applaud while they reverse it towards the cliff. Covid. My darkest suspicion is that it was either a failed attempt at reducing the population or a successful test of how far a frightened public could be manipulated into doing what government wanted. I can’t establish either as fact. But I’m not going to pretend those questions haven’t crossed my mind. Either way, billions spunked. Then the war. What I see as a phoney war: backing a country I regard as deeply corrupt, supported by an EU and a British government I don’t trust, while the possibility of a global confrontation with Russia gets closer. Out comes Russia again, wheeled on as the enemy. At this rate they’ll give the bloody thing its own dressing room. And again: billions spunked from the country’s coffers. Then illegal immigration. What I see is an uncontrolled influx, including large numbers of men of fighting age, with government incompetence acting like an invitation and the nation expected to pick up the bill. Apparently securing a border is impossibly complicated, but finding the British taxpayer to invoice is a fucking exact science. Again: billions spunked. Now we’re being told to prepare for disruption and stockpile essentials. My fear is that the country is running out of money, and when supermarket shelves are bare and the power goes off, Russia will be rolled out again for a frightened, nudged public to blame. No food? Russia. No electricity? Russia. Decades of political decisions finally coming home to roost? Don’t be ridiculous, it’s Russia. Apparently the Kremlin will be personally responsible for the last missing tin of fucking spaghetti hoops. As for Starmer and Andy: Starmer was a twat, in my view, and my objection to an unelected Andy being wheeled in is precisely the lack of a proper electoral say—even for Labour members. My concern is that Andy has the brass neck Starmer never did, and wouldn’t give a fuck about the damage as long as he remained in power. They condemn Putin as a dictator. Yes, he is. But my fear is that our own government could become even more dangerous through the power it accumulates while insisting everything is being done for our benefit. I haven’t bought into the scaremongering. But I can already picture another bog-roll stampede: people swallowing every announcement and wrestling a pensioner for twelve rolls of Andrex as though the future of civilisation depends on a quilted arse. I don’t see a way out unless we stand together, question what we’re being told and demand answers. You can disagree with my theory. But I’m not going to pretend I’m reassured by what I’m watching. Because from where I’m standing, this country is being driven into the fucking ground—and the people at the wheel keep asking us for petrol money.

Good morning you lovely lot. IT’S SATURDAY! 🎉😂 The weekend has arrived, and for once I’m not rushing out of the door at some ungodly hour. I’m working this afternoon, so I’ve got a few precious hours this morning to enjoy a cup of Yorkshire Tea and contemplate all the things I could be doing if I hadn’t made the questionable decision to work on the railway. Apparently, people have weekends off. I’ve heard rumours, but I’ve yet to see convincing evidence. FIRSTLY, A QUICK WEATHER CHECK! I hope you all survived yesterday’s winds without too much damage. Hopefully the worst anyone suffered was a garden chair going airborne or a wheelie bin making an unauthorised journey into the next postcode. The Met Office occasionally gets things wrong, but they’re still doing considerably better than Michael Fish, the BBC weatherman, back in 1987. For those too young to remember, Michael famously dismissed reports of an approaching hurricane shortly before the Great Storm arrived and proceeded to redecorate southern England without planning permission. Possibly the most unfortunate weather forecast since Noah was told to expect the odd shower. 🤣🤣 NOW, A LITTLE RAILWAY PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT! The nine-day railway disruption between Leeds and York has officially begun. And, remarkably, it also affects those travelling between York and Leeds. I know, incredible. Apparently, the railway works in both directions. Who’d have thought? 😂 There are replacement bus services available, although personally I’d rather crawl through a hedge backwards. Nothing quite matches the excitement of buying a train ticket and finding yourself on a bus visiting seventeen villages, three industrial estates and a roundabout you’ve never seen before. Mind you, I don’t actually travel by train myself. They scare me. 🤣🤣 Yes, I work on the railway, but that doesn’t mean I’m daft enough to get on one. I’ve seen what goes on behind the scenes! 😂 A LITTLE YORKSHIRE HISTORY! Now, THIS is proper history! On 24 October 1857, two gentlemen named Nathaniel Creswick and William Prest founded Sheffield FC, recognised as the world’s oldest existing football club. That’s right. The world’s first football club was founded right here in Yorkshire. And here’s the interesting bit: because there weren’t any other football clubs to play against initially, they organised matches between married men and single men. Imagine that! The married men were probably delighted to get out of the house for a couple of hours, while the single men were wondering why their opponents were so desperate to stay on the pitch. The world’s greatest sporting obsession began in Yorkshire, and the first problem was finding somebody to bloody play against! 🤣🤣 And 169 years later, we’ve got VAR, players earning hundreds of thousands a week and grown men rolling around on the grass because somebody brushed against their sleeve. I suspect Nathaniel and William would be asking for their ball back. 😂 And of course, 169 years later, football has evolved into a global phenomenon, with millions of supporters, billions of pounds and some of the greatest clubs in sporting history. But let’s not forget the most important thing of all… WE’RE ALL LEEDS, AREN’T WE?! 💙💛🤣 MARCHING ON TOGETHER! Although I suspect the good people of Sheffield might have something to say about that! 😂 AND FINALLY, BE KIND. ♥️ Whatever you’re doing this weekend, remember that not everybody is having an easy time of it. Some people are working, some are struggling, and some are carrying worries they never speak about. A little patience, a smile or simply checking in on somebody can make a bigger difference than you realise. Always try to be nice, but never fail to be kind. Have a cracking Saturday, folks. Stay safe, enjoy yourselves and spare a thought for those of us keeping Britain’s railways in one piece. Laugh hard. Run fast. Be kind. ♥️

Good morning you lovely lot. IT’S FRIDAY! THE GATEWAY TO THE WEEKEND! 😂 Well, for most of you anyway. Firstly, apologies for the ridiculously early morning message. I’ve been working nights, and there’s a very good chance that by the time most of you read this, I’ll be fast asleep. In fact, give me another 20 minutes and I’ll probably be unconscious, drooling into a pillow and completely oblivious to the world. If the house catches fire, somebody wake me up. Otherwise, I’m unavailable. 🤣🤣 I spent last night at work as we’ve reached a critical stage of the project. Nothing quite like a night shift to remind you that the human body was designed to be asleep at 03:00, not standing beside a railway wondering what possessed you to choose this career. And tomorrow we begin a nine-day railway blockade. Nine days! So, a little public service announcement: if you’re planning to travel between Leeds and York, please check your journey and available routes before setting off. I’d hate for you to arrive at the station and discover that we’ve temporarily borrowed your railway. Apparently, they expect us to give it back in nine days. No pressure, then. 🤣 I hope none of you were battered too badly by Storm Austen. It does make me wonder whether it’s the same weather system that gave me a soaking in Florida. My grandad always maintained that whatever weather battered the east coast of America would arrive in Britain about two weeks later. I’ve absolutely no idea how scientifically accurate that was, but he was my grandad, so naturally I believed every bloody word. Besides, this was a generation of men who could predict rain by looking at a cow standing in a field. And they were usually more reliable than the Met Office. 😂 A LITTLE YORKSHIRE HISTORY! On 23 October 1642, the English Civil War was raging, with Yorkshire divided between supporters of Parliament and King Charles I. The county would become one of the major battlegrounds of the conflict, with families and communities taking opposing sides. Imagine that. A country divided over politics, everybody convinced they’re right and nobody willing to compromise. Thank goodness we’ve moved on from all that. 🤣 And finally, be kind. Whether you’re finishing a long week, heading into work or dealing with something nobody else knows about, remember that a little kindness goes a long way. A friendly word, a bit of patience or simply checking in on somebody can make all the difference. Always try to be nice, but never fail to be kind. Right then, time to get through Friday and prepare for nine days of organised railway chaos. Although my immediate priority is considerably more important. Bed. Duvet. Unconsciousness. Preferably in that order. 😂 Have a cracking Friday, folks. Stay safe in the weather, enjoy your weekend, and spare a thought for those of us keeping the railway industry entertained. Laugh hard. Run fast. Be kind.

🤣🤣🤣

Dear Commissioner, A statement about courage with the replies switched off. Splendid. Nothing says “more trust” like addressing the public through the digital equivalent of a locked toilet door. Abuse is unacceptable. But taking the piss out of a police publicity photograph is a British tradition. We’ve been doing it since someone first painted a particularly pompous constable. If there’s a straightforward explanation for the firearm handling, publish it. You’ve managed several paragraphs about what strangers are thinking; perhaps spare one for what we’re actually looking at. Instead, we get a lecture, followed by the comments being disabled. “We must all stand together.” Lovely. Can we ask a question? “Absolutely fucking not.” You want brave Londoners to step forward while whoever runs the account won’t risk encountering a sarcastic reply from Dave in Croydon. Congratulations to Fiona on her award. As for you, Commissioner, policing by consent usually involves letting the other party get a word in. Yours, The public. You remember us. We’re the ones on the other side of the mute button.

😂😂

Good morning you lovely lot. IT’S FRIDAY EVE! 🎉😂 Well, Thursday has arrived, and for once I’ve got something to celebrate. TWO DAYS OFF! Lovely. Wonderful. Marvellous. Except there’s a pesky night shift lurking right in the middle of them. So technically, I’ve got two days off, provided you ignore the small inconvenience of having to go to bloody work. 🤦🏻‍♂️🤣 Honestly, whoever invented night shifts deserves to be dragged out of bed at 03:00 and asked to attend a meeting about fatigue management. And apparently it’s 13 weeks until my next holiday. THIRTEEN! That sounds less like a holiday countdown and more like a prison sentence. I’ve only just got back from Florida, and already I’m staring at the calendar like a condemned man waiting for parole. 😂 Still, at least it’s Friday Eve. For those of you finishing tomorrow, the weekend is almost within touching distance. For me, I’ll be attempting that wonderful railway trick of sleeping when everybody else is awake and being awake when every sensible person is tucked up in bed. A LITTLE YORKSHIRE HISTORY! On this day in 1921, a South Yorkshire newspaper reported that the Great Northern Railway had introduced a dining-car train between King’s Cross and Leeds with electrically heated cooking equipment. The carriage was built at Doncaster Plant Works. Yes, over a century ago, Yorkshire railway engineers were already putting electric cookers on trains. And 105 years later, we’re still celebrating when the onboard coffee machine actually works! 🤣🤣 And finally, be kind. Life’s busy, everyone’s got something going on, and sometimes the smallest gesture can make the biggest difference. A smile, a little patience or simply asking somebody how they’re doing costs absolutely nothing. Always try to be nice, but never fail to be kind. Right then, I’m off to enjoy my two days off, interrupted only by the minor inconvenience of employment. Have a cracking Thursday, folks. Laugh hard. Run fast. Be kind. ♥️

Good morning you lovely lot. IT’S HUMP DAY! 🐪😂 Wednesday has arrived, which means we’re officially halfway through the working week! Well, that’s the theory anyway. Personally, I think Wednesday is just Monday wearing a fake moustache, trying to convince us everything’s going swimmingly. We’re halfway to freedom, people! 🤣 I’m slowly getting back into the swing of working life after Florida. The holiday tan is fading, the alarm clock is back to being my sworn enemy, and my enthusiasm for getting out of bed remains at approximately minus seventeen percent. Still, we’re making progress. Monday tried to kill us, Tuesday bored us senseless, and now Wednesday has turned up with a camel and an inappropriate name. And apparently we’re supposed to be excited about a hump in the middle of the week! Steady on, it’s barely breakfast time. 😂😂 A LITTLE YORKSHIRE HISTORY! On this day in 1823, customs officers discovered an extraordinary stash of contraband at the lunatic asylum on Brandesburton Moor in East Yorkshire. Among the haul were 250 pounds of tea, 720 pounds of tobacco and 976 gallons of spirits, mostly gin! Nearly a thousand gallons of booze hidden at an asylum! Forget the therapy sessions, apparently they were running the world’s most enthusiastic happy hour! 🤣🤣 And 250 pounds of tea? Well, that’s just sensible emergency planning in Yorkshire. Clearly somebody had prepared for a particularly difficult Monday! 😂 And finally, be kind. We’re all carrying something, whether it’s stress, worries, grief or simply the struggle of getting through another working week. A little patience, a smile or a kind word can make more difference than you realise. Always try to be nice, but never fail to be kind. Right then, time to get Wednesday out of the way. Have a cracking Hump Day, folks. And remember, if you’re going to get the hump today, at least enjoy it! 😉😂 Laugh hard. Run fast. Be kind. ♥️

I wee’d a little 😂😂😂😂