Aysgarth School is in the depths of North Yorkshire. I was there yesterday, doing the Football Reading Game with about 120 lads. A lot of them were Newcastle United fans. But I was gentle with them. I don't like to see the Geordies suffer too much: especially as I am not a big fan of Dennis Wise either. (But I'd better say no more: I'm doing an event at St James Park on Saturday and I'd not like to bump into him in a lonely corridor.)
The school was down a winding country lane. A big house with a turret on top. Very nice.
After the event I drove along the valley and went to Penn Hill. I hadn't been up it for 16 years. My mum and dad's ashes are scattered up there. (Sorry to go all morbid.) It was a funny feeling. But really nice. When they died I wasn't doing so well. They'd never believe I could write books for a living. So I took them a copy and left it 1000 feet up with the sheep and the grouse and the driving rain.
No comments:
Post a Comment