Summer Thoughts (10 pics from '25)

Here's my fourth photograph to mark 2025. I knew I'd turned a corner when I was well enough to leave the house and get away for a few days. Starting with #BlogCon25 in Bristol and then Whitby, it felt good to be sleeping in a bed that was neither mine nor the NHS's. I'd follow it later in the year with sorties to Stranraer,  London, Blackpool, Southwold and most recently the iconic XGenerationX tour which took me & Steve to Hebden Bridge, Glasgow, Nottingham & Leeds.

The tea hut in a chilly Whitby was framed by a brilliant blue sky; whilst pressing the shutter it was easy to fast forward in my mind to next year when, hopefully, the sun will be warmer and I'll have to dig out my passport in order to see it. Ah, thoughts of Summer. 

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James Clarke's style was made for the KPM label: richly orchestrated, laid back and very Henry Mancini. 

James Clarke Summer Thoughts 1967 

Takes me back to the place that I know

A few days away with the Number One Son and his betrothed had been on the calendar for ages but still it managed to creep up on me unawares. I love it when long weekends do that. Despite the weather not always being clement and the fact we were a man down for the first night, we still had a fine old time. Though we will be back in the Spring when the weather gods will, hopefully, get their shit together and all squad members will be 110% fighting fit. Natalie had never been to Whitby before so we showed her the sights, including: the slots, The Abbey, The Black Horse and the Passage to India. The top photo is her and James walking down the one hundred and ninety nine Abbey Steps. And the photo below is one Natalie took of us on the beach at Sandsend (thereby recreating a shot of the Medds taken in, roughly, the same spot in 2014).

The final day of our trip became quite emotionally charged when we bumped into a friend we'd not seen in eight years: it transpired that Adele has not been enjoying the best of health lately and has a number of serious operations lined up. As always in these situations I didn't really know what to say. I hope I said the right things but all I really wanted to do was hug her tightly. So that's what I did. Here's the last picture I took of her when she came to visit us not long after we'd moved back to Nottingham in 2017. I hope everything works out, Adele. J x.

Behind (10) Bars

English pubs may well be closing at a rate of 20+ a week but, in all fairness, a lot of those falling by the wayside had probably outstayed their welcome anyway. That's not to say that a few babies haven't been thrown away with the beer slops, but, if you don't use them, you'll lose them. Nothing's so sure.

Here are ten that I've used on numerous occasions over the last few years (with a couple of exceptions) and each and every one has a certain quality that makes a return trip a necessity, not an option. That they all sell sensational beers is a given. No, what makes these establishments the real deal often won't get mentioned in beer guides and bucket lists of hipster bars you must visit before you die.

Without further ado then, here are, in no particular order, my ten favourite pubs/bars in the UK (well, nine, actually - the tenth being an honorary English pub which sneaks under the wire, in what I will have to refer to as the Overseas Section).

And, so that you know, this is not a forum for gushing five hundred word critiques. I will endeavour to sum up each hostelry in no more than a couple of sentences.

* Knott Bar, Manchester

The Number One Son lives in Manchester and, for me, going in this cracking little boozer on Deansgate is synonymous with seeing James. Added to which they've got a splendid Ramones tour flyer on the wall, and their fish finger sandwiches are to die for.

* The Harrison, London WC1

It's no secret that my former business partner and I named our company after George Harrison. So it was hardly a coincidence that when we were working (or playing) in London we sought out this hidden little gem tucked away behind the Grays Inn Road. And we still go back to this day.

* The Lamb and Flag, Worcester

This is now the only pub on the British mainland where I'll drink Guinness. The snug at the back is like stepping back in time, and, I'm told, Robert Plant has been known to slide in for a dust cutter.

* The Baltic Fleet, Liverpool

There are two pubs on this list that I've only been to the once and this is the first one. This beautiful little drinking establishment is home to the Wapping Brewey. And they hold an annual sea shanty festival - but don't let that put you off! We're trying to schedule a return visit later in the year.

* The Black Horse, Whitby

If you're a shrinking violet or you're seeking anonymity in a backstreet boozer, this little drinking den in the old own probably isn't for you. You sit cheek by jowl with fellow patrons so getting embroiled in a lively discussion is as natural as walking up to the bar to get the next round.

* Reid's Bar, Lurgan

In my humble opinion this diamond in the rough - Lurgan is not a pretty town - would not be everyone's cup of Nambarrie.  But, if you can, prise yourself away from Belfast, take the (not so fast) train twenty miles into Co. Armagh, disgorge at Lurgan, make your way to Reids and get Raymond Murray to stand you a pint of Smithwicks. Tell him I sent you.

* The Crown, Belfast

Or to give it its full moniker - The Crown Liquor Saloon. When the IRA were blowing up the Europa Hotel for fun back in the seventies, The Crown, which stands directly opposite, never had so much as a cracked window pane. And what (stained) window panes they are. It's owned by the National Trust these days a so that makes it a real treasure, indeed. You'll find me in the third booth from the front door.

* Room With a Brew, Nottingham

Nottingham's newest addition to the micro pub scene and one that we only discovered for the first time a couple of weeks ago. The beers, from Scribbler's Brewery, are all literary themed and the walls are adorned with images of Penguin paperbacks. We went in for one and came out four hours later - says it all really.

* The Adelphi, Leeds

Leeds may or may not want to be part of the Northern Powerhouse. What it really wants is more pubs like the Adelphi. Again, when James was billeted in Leeds for eighteen months I would often meet him in him here for a couple after work; so a sentimental choice maybe, but you'll struggle to find a better pint of Leeds Pale in the city.

* The White Horse Tavern, Greenwich Village

A pretentious choice, I grant you, but if I lived in Manhattan I'd probably make it my local. Dylan Thomas used to hold court in there. Bob Dylan freewheeled in there many a time. Next time you're in New York City be sure you give it a coat of looking at.

Sisters: standing on their own two feet

Megan & Jenny: doing it for themselves 

My favourite sister-in-law and the current Mrs. Medd dragged themselves away from the kitchen long enough to spend a few hours at the seaside today. The weather held ('it's just like being abroad') and both the long walk on the beach, and the ubiquitous fish and chips, ensured a good day was had by all.
Even the men folk.

Life's Too Short

That's what we keep telling each other. And now Daisy is getting in on the act.

I'm looking for the wessel

It was Saturday lunchtime and Lee and I were blowing the froth off a couple of cold ones, when in walks a total stranger and makes his way to our table. He reached for his inside pocket and pulled out a faded black and white photograph. Pictured was a very old ship. 'I'm looking for the vessel' he said pointing at the photo profusely. 'Do you know where it went down?' I looked at Lee. Lee looked at me.

If only he'd been Russian and couldn't pronounce his Vs.

All at sea

I guess this is what happens when they only ask you for a fifty pence deposit; I'm surprised they're not all out at sea blocking international shipping lanes.

It's not rocket science

I have a new toy. The Prof gave it to me when he came back from a land down-under. However, to get the full effect of a boomerang you need space: plenty of open space. Such is our Summer this year we had a big old empty beach to ourselves on Sunday last; the tide was out, the deckchair attendants had been rained off and there wasn't a soul in sight. Perfect conditions. Playtime.


Throwing a boomerang is easier than you think; catching a boomerang when it comes back to you (and come back to you it does) is not. It's impossible. It will find you like a heat seeking missile; sticking your hand out to retrieve it is foolhardy, not to say downright dangerous. We were lucky we weren't decapitated - you can't take your eye off it for a second. If you do it'll have your eye out. Nothing's so sure.

So, to sum up: anybody can throw a boomerang. Nobody can catch one. And never turn your back on one. I'm hooked.

Seaside Shuffle

It's getting warm; time to go to the seaside. That means hopping on the (steam) train, a walk in the sand, a couple of pints and fish and chips sitting on the harbour wall. Train home.

Gotta go, the train leaves in half an hour.