Rawtenstall

A short detour on the trip from Sherwood to Liverpool found us north of Manchester in a charming place called Rossendale and a town called Rawtenstall. It was a little confusing as Rawtenstall and Rossendale were used interchangeably. It seems that up-north, a ‘borough’ has much more significance than down-south. So, for clarification; Rossendale, in Lancashire, is the Borough in which Rawtenstall, a town, resides.  All are situated up-north. All clear?

Why visit Rawtenstall/Rossendale? To say hello to my good friend John. John and I worked together way-back-when for many, many years. We decided to meet for lunch at The Whitaker (home of the ‘proper’ scotch egg, and very nice it was too). The sun was shining and sitting in a window seat we had a wonderful view over the park and valley. Idyllic.

Unbeknown to us, we had chosen the same lunch date and venue as the Labour Party and a Gothic wedding.

Enter stage left, Jeremy Corbyn and associated attendants. We mused as to whether he was the father of the Gothic bride, complete with a jet-black wedding dress (the bride, not Jeremy). But it seems the two events were not connected. Or were they?

Not only did old Jer (as I’ve now come to know him) invade the building, he ended up on the adjacent table right behind John. John leant over to have a quick word about the latest labour employment policy document while at the same time surreptitiously taking a selfie. A short conversation later about the state of the nation and my ‘proper’ scotch egg was served. I lost interest in Mr. Corbyn and engaged in egg and sausage heaven.

The Gothic bride and groom spent an inordinate amount of time wandering back and forth across our view looking for something. Odd that Jeremy dropped his fork so often when they approached.

Three hours later, another friendly lunch under our belts and a wonderful time had by all. Great to see you John, don’t forget to visit us in Winchester.

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