Dom's Rambles

When I was aged two/three I lived for a year in a village in Northumberland called Allendale and have held several vivid images of the place in my mind ever since. I remember what the house looked like; I remember my old man taking me paddling in a stony bedded river near a ford (doubtless the Health & Safety Gestapo would swoon with horror at such a thing these days); I remember a place that sold agricultural machinery and had several combine harvesters parked out front and I remember my old man taking me into the village on the crossbar of his pushbike and passing a stone cross by the side of the road.
Between the spring and late autumn of 2003 I was in that part of the country (Whitley Bay to be precise) on a regular basis and had every intention of moving there permanently as soon as it was practical. But alas, it was not to be (a-fucking-gain).
One Sunday afternoon my reason for being there and I drove out to Allendale and had lunch in a local pub where I discovered from talking to the locals that the agricultural equipment dealership had gone out of business sometime in the Eighties.
However, even if I do say so myself and as the above pictures attest, I have a phenomenal memory and by the time we headed for home that evening I'd located everything else.