Guardians of The Lambsfoot!

[Rufus1949]

Back home and sipping some coffee. Sure does feel good to see the wife and pups.

Have a great weekend all.

View attachment 2284148

Nice capture of your lamb Pete.
Glad you can enjoy home sweet home.

 

[Angry Waiter]

Nice capture of your lamb Pete.
Glad you can enjoy home sweet home.

Thanks Bob. It’s nice to be home although I have been informed that errands will commence at Noon.

 

[r8shell]

My birthday Breakfast

Happy birthday!

Sorry about your weather. I won't complain if it rains on our Methodist lamb and brisket barbecue this afternoon.

Thanks. I've been dreaming about rain, although when it ever comes we'll probably have floods. Lamb and brisket sounds wonderful. Have fun!

I've tried it with the flying rats, but it works for a few days at best Maybe I need to rote music genres

Haha! Light flashing off the mirrored side is supposed to startle them, but birds in the city get used to lots of stimuli.

Wow! Cool pic Rachel, you ready for some more of those yet?

Maybe after October, when I find out if reducing sugar, white flour, sodium, and saturated/hydrogenated fats has made any difference in my numbers. (I always have blood drawn on a Friday, because I won't get results before Monday at the earliest and that means I can eat all the Cadbury Eggs and Jammie Dodgers I want over the weekend)

 

[Prester John]

Probably gave themselves the title? Leeds is full of them

They're not hipsters, more like weirdos!
These are hipsters:

[And don't no one say: "Okay, Boomer."!]

 

[Prester John]

Thank you Jack. There was a bit of a Kung-Fu fight between the girls. They fight for attention and it’s super cute. The wife had a cold pint and a smile so an enjoyable return. I slept like a rock last night.

View attachment 2284200

Good to hear, Pete.

 

[Jack Black]

Thanks Bob. It’s nice to be home although I have been informed that errands will commence at Noon.

No rest for the weary!

Maybe after October, when I find out if reducing sugar, white flour, sodium, and saturated/hydrogenated fats has made any difference in my numbers. (I always have blood drawn on a Friday, because I won't get results before Monday at the earliest and that means I can eat all the Cadbury Eggs and Jammie Dodgers I want over the weekend)

LOL! I've learned not to ship melty stuff to you Southern folks in the summer months!

 

[Jack Black]

They're not hipsters, more like weirdos!
These are hipsters:
View attachment 2284319

Yes, I don't see any of those fellers sporting a 'man-bun'!!!

 

[Fodderwing]

Great choice Dwight, and another cool pic

Thank you Jack.

there were hipsters sprawled across

I don't get it. ?

sceva - Happy Birthday mate!

Angry Waiter
Glad you made it home Pete. Have a great weekend.

 

[Jack Black]

I don't get it. ?

The Tunisian guy just has 3 tables next to his stall, and usually people share tables, and/or don't take up more room than they need to. Then, when they've finished eating, they go on their way, so others can sit down, and the feller making the food can make a living. Not this people, of course, who think the market is some sort of 'experience' provided for them. There were six of them, sprawled across all 3 tables, loudly talking the sort of pretentious haw-haw-haw rubbish you'd expect, even after they'd long finished eating. I went back 3 times, but they're probably still there now

 

[Jack Black]

With Tool Man on his way back to Leeds, the sun came out, and the streets of Whitby heaved once more

The Esk was still the colour of Yorkshire tea though, and the previous tide had deposited drift wood all the way up to the pier...

In the early years of WW2, my paternal grandfather was engaged in building fortifications along the Yorkshire coast, to help the country resist Nazi invasion, and when I was a youngster many of these pill-boxes, tank-traps, even sea-mines were still in place. They're mostly gone now though.

The market was a lot busier than it had been the previous day, as were the streets of Old Town...

 

[Rufus1949]

With Tool Man on his way back to Leeds, the sun came out, and the streets of Whitby heaved once more

The Esk was still the colour of Yorkshire tea though, and the previous tide had deposited drift wood all the way up to the pier...

In the early years of WW2, my paternal grandfather was engaged in building fortifications along the Yorkshire coast, to help the country resist Nazi invasion, and when I was a youngster many of these pill-boxes, tank-traps, even sea-mines were still in place. They're mostly gone now though.

The market was a lot busier than it had been the previous day, as were the streets of Old Town...

Really enjoying the pictorial of Whitby Jack. I think I would enjoy some time visiting such a quaint town.

 

[Jack Black]

Whitby Jet workers, once an important industry in the town...

Fortune's Kippers smoking shed and shop hasn't changed much in the past 50 years, probably a lot more than that...

I finally managed to get a decent mug of tea, with a bonus chip butty

Heading back up the hill, I don't recall noticing the entrance to this old chapel before...

A final visit to Captain Cook

Fodderwing , up atop the East Cliff is St Mary's Church and the ruins of Whitby Abbey. They're about a quarter of a mile apart, but when viewed from the opposite cliff, they align, and look closer

Now it's time for some beer

 

[Jack Black]

Really enjoying the pictorial of Whitby Jack. I think I would enjoy some time visiting such a quaint town.

Thank you Bob, let me know when you can make it my friend, and we'll find better digs

In the meantime, if you've not already done so, please read the story of the Helga Maria, and if you can do so, without your heart swelling with pride, and a tear in your eye, you're a tougher man than I am Gunga Din

The Story of the Helga Maria

Now that I've introduced Whitby, I feel that this would be a good time to share my favourite Whitby tale. The events I'm about to describe took place more than twenty years ago, and I was not involved in them whatsoever, but I occasionally recount the story, and it always warms my heart to do so.

I don't think it is the case so much today, but in the past, when winter came round, the tourists and holiday-makers abandoned Whitby to the fishermen and the locals, who gathered in pubs like The Black Horse to warm their bones and drink their ale. One bleak night a group of middle-aged locals sat nursing their pints, telling tales and lamenting the fact that, as most of us do, they had unexpectedly arrived in their golden years, perhaps not having achieved everything they might have achieved, or run every race they could have. But on this particular evening, the familiar story took on a new form, and the germ of an idea formed with it. What they needed was an adventure, and one man, Captain Jack, would lead them on it.

Among Whitby's many proud sons was one who had invented the crow's nest, an important innovation in its day. Yet he was buried in the arctic without a proper marker. The motley crew assembled in the pub could identify with their ancestor, and a plan began to come together for them to honour this former son of Whitby, and have a real adventure themselves along the way.

Captain Jack had a boat, a humble old craft, the Helga Maria, and over the next few weeks, with the help of his new (totally inexperienced) crew, which included the local vicar, they worked to make it shipshape and Bristol fashion, enthused with a new energy they had not possessed for many years. The Helga Maria had a new coat of paint, and like her crew looked to be in better shape than she had been in for a long time. The man from the British Admiralty disagreed however, proclaiming the craft to be dangerous and unseaworthy, it would not be allowed to leave Whitby harbour.

Jack's crew were despondent after all their hard work. Over the past weeks, they'd been carried away by their dreams of adventure. Their lives looked all the more depressing at the thought that those dreams were now to be crushed, and that they were destined to sit around the pub table, fading into old age, only dreaming of what might have been.

No! They would not give up! This adventure was important to them. They set back to work on the boat, determined to win the approval of the man from the British Admiralty.

The Helga Maria was inspected once again, and Captain Jack and his ship-mates waited with baited breath. But the man from the Admiralty shook his head, the boat had no radio, and without one it could not be certified as seaworthy.

Once more, the crew of the Helga Maria were left in dismay. They couldn't afford a new ship's radio, or any of the other things that were needed. Once more they repaired to the pub with the heavy weight of disappointment sitting on their collective shoulders.

But they were determined that no naval bureaucrat was going to thwart their plans, and so they resolved to defy the Admiralty and the Royal Navy, and laying plans to communicate with the vicar's secretary by telephone as and when possible, they slipped out of Whitby harbour under cover of darkness.

The next day, when the Helga Maria's absence was noticed, the man from the Admiralty was not amused, and naval warships were ordered to hunt her down and arrest her crew. The little boat and her inexperienced crew were facing the full might of the Royal Navy, and nobody expected that the hunt would last long.

The Admiralty however, had not counted on the sheer determination of the first-time sailors and the dogged guile of their captain. The Helga Maria hugged the coastlines of small Scottish Islands, mooring in tiny bays, so that the vicar could get telephone reports of the hunt from his secretary and pass back news of their situation.

The Navy stalked the craft, but it's small size, and lack of a radio, undoubtedly worked to the advantage of the Whitby adventurers, as they slipped in and out of the network of islands between the North Yorkshire coast and the Outer Hebrides, playing cat and mouse all the way to the Arctic, and the site of the long-deceased son of Whitby they sought to honour.

Against all the odds, they had made it, and out on the ice, a ceremony was held, and a small monument erected to mark the last resting place of that Yorkshire lad. Then the crew readied themselves to return home, their mission accomplished, something neither the Admiralty nor the Royal Navy could now take away from them. But the tiny craft was stuck fast in the ice, and it looked as if the adventure would end badly for all involved. The vicar prayed for divine intervention, and by miracle or good luck, the ice shifted and the Helga Maria was free once more.

Captain Jack led his brave sailors homewards now, still dodging the Royal Navy as they went. They were bold and hardened by their trip, but knew that they would have to face the wrath of the Admiralty upon their return. On the night before their return, the vicar rang his secretary and told her they planned to slip into Whitby harbour at midnight.

Sure enough, the little boat that had successfully evaded the might of the Royal Navy, approached the twin wings of Whitby's ancient harbour as the clock on the cliff-top church chimed midnight. The crew stood on the deck to see the home that it had at one time looked like they might never see again. They had expected that their return would be secret, but as they entered the welcoming arms of the harbour walls, they could see that the entire town of Whitby had turned out in the darkness to greet them, and were loudly cheering the return of the local heroes.

I'm writing this in the pub with a lump in my throat, and I can't tell you what exactly happened after the Helga Maria came back. I do know however that everyone who crewed the boat had the adventure of a lifetime, that the Admiralty were left embarrassed and shame-faced and chose not to make martyrs of a small group of middle-aged people, and that some years after the events described, when I was in Whitby and wanted to interview Captain Jack, I was told that he was off on another adventure, and the Helga Maria was out at sea.

Hopefully, we've all got at least one more adventure left

Jack

 

[Rufus1949]

Thank you Bob, let me know when you can make it my friend, and we'll find better digs

In the meantime, if you've not already done so, please read the story of the Helga Maria, and if you can do so, without your heart swelling with pride, and a tear in your eye, you're a tougher man than I am Gunga Din

The Story of the Helga Maria

Now that I've introduced Whitby, I feel that this would be a good time to share my favourite Whitby tale. The events I'm about to describe took place more than twenty years ago, and I was not involved in them whatsoever, but I occasionally recount the story, and it always warms my heart to do so.

I don't think it is the case so much today, but in the past, when winter came round, the tourists and holiday-makers abandoned Whitby to the fishermen and the locals, who gathered in pubs like The Black Horse to warm their bones and drink their ale. One bleak night a group of middle-aged locals sat nursing their pints, telling tales and lamenting the fact that, as most of us do, they had unexpectedly arrived in their golden years, perhaps not having achieved everything they might have achieved, or run every race they could have. But on this particular evening, the familiar story took on a new form, and the germ of an idea formed with it. What they needed was an adventure, and one man, Captain Jack, would lead them on it.

Among Whitby's many proud sons was one who had invented the crow's nest, an important innovation in its day. Yet he was buried in the arctic without a proper marker. The motley crew assembled in the pub could identify with their ancestor, and a plan began to come together for them to honour this former son of Whitby, and have a real adventure themselves along the way.

Captain Jack had a boat, a humble old craft, the Helga Maria, and over the next few weeks, with the help of his new (totally inexperienced) crew, which included the local vicar, they worked to make it shipshape and Bristol fashion, enthused with a new energy they had not possessed for many years. The Helga Maria had a new coat of paint, and like her crew looked to be in better shape than she had been in for a long time. The man from the British Admiralty disagreed however, proclaiming the craft to be dangerous and unseaworthy, it would not be allowed to leave Whitby harbour.

Jack's crew were despondent after all their hard work. Over the past weeks, they'd been carried away by their dreams of adventure. Their lives looked all the more depressing at the thought that those dreams were now to be crushed, and that they were destined to sit around the pub table, fading into old age, only dreaming of what might have been.

No! They would not give up! This adventure was important to them. They set back to work on the boat, determined to win the approval of the man from the British Admiralty.

The Helga Maria was inspected once again, and Captain Jack and his ship-mates waited with baited breath. But the man from the Admiralty shook his head, the boat had no radio, and without one it could not be certified as seaworthy.

Once more, the crew of the Helga Maria were left in dismay. They couldn't afford a new ship's radio, or any of the other things that were needed. Once more they repaired to the pub with the heavy weight of disappointment sitting on their collective shoulders.

But they were determined that no naval bureaucrat was going to thwart their plans, and so they resolved to defy the Admiralty and the Royal Navy, and laying plans to communicate with the vicar's secretary by telephone as and when possible, they slipped out of Whitby harbour under cover of darkness.

The next day, when the Helga Maria's absence was noticed, the man from the Admiralty was not amused, and naval warships were ordered to hunt her down and arrest her crew. The little boat and her inexperienced crew were facing the full might of the Royal Navy, and nobody expected that the hunt would last long.

The Admiralty however, had not counted on the sheer determination of the first-time sailors and the dogged guile of their captain. The Helga Maria hugged the coastlines of small Scottish Islands, mooring in tiny bays, so that the vicar could get telephone reports of the hunt from his secretary and pass back news of their situation.

The Navy stalked the craft, but it's small size, and lack of a radio, undoubtedly worked to the advantage of the Whitby adventurers, as they slipped in and out of the network of islands between the North Yorkshire coast and the Outer Hebrides, playing cat and mouse all the way to the Arctic, and the site of the long-deceased son of Whitby they sought to honour.

Against all the odds, they had made it, and out on the ice, a ceremony was held, and a small monument erected to mark the last resting place of that Yorkshire lad. Then the crew readied themselves to return home, their mission accomplished, something neither the Admiralty nor the Royal Navy could now take away from them. But the tiny craft was stuck fast in the ice, and it looked as if the adventure would end badly for all involved. The vicar prayed for divine intervention, and by miracle or good luck, the ice shifted and the Helga Maria was free once more.

Captain Jack led his brave sailors homewards now, still dodging the Royal Navy as they went. They were bold and hardened by their trip, but knew that they would have to face the wrath of the Admiralty upon their return. On the night before their return, the vicar rang his secretary and told her they planned to slip into Whitby harbour at midnight.

Sure enough, the little boat that had successfully evaded the might of the Royal Navy, approached the twin wings of Whitby's ancient harbour as the clock on the cliff-top church chimed midnight. The crew stood on the deck to see the home that it had at one time looked like they might never see again. They had expected that their return would be secret, but as they entered the welcoming arms of the harbour walls, they could see that the entire town of Whitby had turned out in the darkness to greet them, and were loudly cheering the return of the local heroes.

I'm writing this in the pub with a lump in my throat, and I can't tell you what exactly happened after the Helga Maria came back. I do know however that everyone who crewed the boat had the adventure of a lifetime, that the Admiralty were left embarrassed and shame-faced and chose not to make martyrs of a small group of middle-aged people, and that some years after the events described, when I was in Whitby and wanted to interview Captain Jack, I was told that he was off on another adventure, and the Helga Maria was out at sea.

Hopefully, we've all got at least one more adventure left

Jack

Quite a stirring story Jack. May we all be as resolute in the face of adversity.

 

[sf fanatic]

They're not hipsters, more like weirdos!
These are hipsters:
View attachment 2284319
[And don't no one say: "Okay, Boomer."!]

Only one person missing from this Rat Pack pic , Shirley MacLaine.

 

[r8shell]

Thank you Bob, let me know when you can make it my friend, and we'll find better digs

In the meantime, if you've not already done so, please read the story of the Helga Maria, and if you can do so, without your heart swelling with pride, and a tear in your eye, you're a tougher man than I am Gunga Din

The Story of the Helga Maria

Now that I've introduced Whitby, I feel that this would be a good time to share my favourite Whitby tale. The events I'm about to describe took place more than twenty years ago, and I was not involved in them whatsoever, but I occasionally recount the story, and it always warms my heart to do so.

I don't think it is the case so much today, but in the past, when winter came round, the tourists and holiday-makers abandoned Whitby to the fishermen and the locals, who gathered in pubs like The Black Horse to warm their bones and drink their ale. One bleak night a group of middle-aged locals sat nursing their pints, telling tales and lamenting the fact that, as most of us do, they had unexpectedly arrived in their golden years, perhaps not having achieved everything they might have achieved, or run every race they could have. But on this particular evening, the familiar story took on a new form, and the germ of an idea formed with it. What they needed was an adventure, and one man, Captain Jack, would lead them on it.

Among Whitby's many proud sons was one who had invented the crow's nest, an important innovation in its day. Yet he was buried in the arctic without a proper marker. The motley crew assembled in the pub could identify with their ancestor, and a plan began to come together for them to honour this former son of Whitby, and have a real adventure themselves along the way.

Captain Jack had a boat, a humble old craft, the Helga Maria, and over the next few weeks, with the help of his new (totally inexperienced) crew, which included the local vicar, they worked to make it shipshape and Bristol fashion, enthused with a new energy they had not possessed for many years. The Helga Maria had a new coat of paint, and like her crew looked to be in better shape than she had been in for a long time. The man from the British Admiralty disagreed however, proclaiming the craft to be dangerous and unseaworthy, it would not be allowed to leave Whitby harbour.

Jack's crew were despondent after all their hard work. Over the past weeks, they'd been carried away by their dreams of adventure. Their lives looked all the more depressing at the thought that those dreams were now to be crushed, and that they were destined to sit around the pub table, fading into old age, only dreaming of what might have been.

No! They would not give up! This adventure was important to them. They set back to work on the boat, determined to win the approval of the man from the British Admiralty.

The Helga Maria was inspected once again, and Captain Jack and his ship-mates waited with baited breath. But the man from the Admiralty shook his head, the boat had no radio, and without one it could not be certified as seaworthy.

Once more, the crew of the Helga Maria were left in dismay. They couldn't afford a new ship's radio, or any of the other things that were needed. Once more they repaired to the pub with the heavy weight of disappointment sitting on their collective shoulders.

But they were determined that no naval bureaucrat was going to thwart their plans, and so they resolved to defy the Admiralty and the Royal Navy, and laying plans to communicate with the vicar's secretary by telephone as and when possible, they slipped out of Whitby harbour under cover of darkness.

The next day, when the Helga Maria's absence was noticed, the man from the Admiralty was not amused, and naval warships were ordered to hunt her down and arrest her crew. The little boat and her inexperienced crew were facing the full might of the Royal Navy, and nobody expected that the hunt would last long.

The Admiralty however, had not counted on the sheer determination of the first-time sailors and the dogged guile of their captain. The Helga Maria hugged the coastlines of small Scottish Islands, mooring in tiny bays, so that the vicar could get telephone reports of the hunt from his secretary and pass back news of their situation.

The Navy stalked the craft, but it's small size, and lack of a radio, undoubtedly worked to the advantage of the Whitby adventurers, as they slipped in and out of the network of islands between the North Yorkshire coast and the Outer Hebrides, playing cat and mouse all the way to the Arctic, and the site of the long-deceased son of Whitby they sought to honour.

Against all the odds, they had made it, and out on the ice, a ceremony was held, and a small monument erected to mark the last resting place of that Yorkshire lad. Then the crew readied themselves to return home, their mission accomplished, something neither the Admiralty nor the Royal Navy could now take away from them. But the tiny craft was stuck fast in the ice, and it looked as if the adventure would end badly for all involved. The vicar prayed for divine intervention, and by miracle or good luck, the ice shifted and the Helga Maria was free once more.

Captain Jack led his brave sailors homewards now, still dodging the Royal Navy as they went. They were bold and hardened by their trip, but knew that they would have to face the wrath of the Admiralty upon their return. On the night before their return, the vicar rang his secretary and told her they planned to slip into Whitby harbour at midnight.

Sure enough, the little boat that had successfully evaded the might of the Royal Navy, approached the twin wings of Whitby's ancient harbour as the clock on the cliff-top church chimed midnight. The crew stood on the deck to see the home that it had at one time looked like they might never see again. They had expected that their return would be secret, but as they entered the welcoming arms of the harbour walls, they could see that the entire town of Whitby had turned out in the darkness to greet them, and were loudly cheering the return of the local heroes.

I'm writing this in the pub with a lump in my throat, and I can't tell you what exactly happened after the Helga Maria came back. I do know however that everyone who crewed the boat had the adventure of a lifetime, that the Admiralty were left embarrassed and shame-faced and chose not to make martyrs of a small group of middle-aged people, and that some years after the events described, when I was in Whitby and wanted to interview Captain Jack, I was told that he was off on another adventure, and the Helga Maria was out at sea.

Hopefully, we've all got at least one more adventure left

Jack

What a wonderful story, Jack! There was a movie made about it, right?

 

[Jack Black]

What a wonderful story, Jack! There was a movie made about it, right?

Yes, I only found out about the movie later, as I believe it ended up being quite a small budget affair. I think Bob Hoskins played Captain Jack though. Here we are! Funny that it has Sadie Frost in it, considering she is better known for another Whitby adventure!

 

[Jack Black]

Could only find one clip from Captain Jack

 

[waynorth]

The Story of the Helga Maria

Wonderful Story, Jack! Thanks for your masterful writing and editing!!!

 

[RickHuf]

Happy weekend everyone.

New belt and keyring today with the help of the Lambsfoot. It has been excellent for slicing leather.



I'm just reusing the hardware, there is nothing wrong with it. I am conflicted though... Should I leave the belt solid or make it holie all the way around? I'm thinking solid this time. Just the buckle holes.

The poor old belt has a million miles on it and unfortunately it finally started to give out. It's cracked in a few places and split in another. Probably from sweat. Gross sure but leather doesn't like sweat.

New 1.5" wide English bridle straping was less than half the price of a new belt and the added bonus is that I get to have fun making it. New keyring just because the old one is brown and thrown together with a small scrap of thin veg tan.

While we were away last week, an elderly woman blacked out while driving and totaled my older Jeep Patriot. It was parked at home in it's usual spot on the street (I should have left it at work in the lot) So ends having a nice, reliable, paid off vehicle with lower mileage. It was worth more to me alive than the meager check from insurance, which won't nearly replace the vehicle. Our newer car was also hit at the beach from behind when someone ran into a car behind us at a stoplight. Luckily not bad. Hurray for life. Thankfully no one was hurt in these incidents, so that is a blessing on its own. I'll spare you my thoughts on mandated insurance.

Here is a nice picture of the moon from the Maryland shore last weekend. Before any of this madness hit. I don't know what was up with the moon last week, but it made some nice scenes for a few nights.



Sorry to vent a bit, it's actually a nice afternoon sitting here out of the sun, in the A.C. and making a new belt. The last one (store bought) made it about 6 years so hopefully this new leather hold up as long.