Pensioner Potter

For the young at heart

12, July, 2018: Thursday’s Potter. 

One presumes it took one person to take this image so by one’s reckoning someone’s missing from the party? Is it a fact that that someone mishandled his footing and tumbled from view and ended up in a pile at the bottom of the Cloud or, was it otherwise in the shape of the group just getting fed-up with Unknown’s panderings and so dissposed of him in a dastardly way?  

This image has nothing to do with thisThursday’s Potter, other than it includes Margaret and John Kav, whom are mentioned in Dave’s report. ( if one dosen’t Recollect Kav, he’s the one wearing the fetching headgear ), which, and at first glance, gives the impression he’s on some kind of Safari, which would be utterly false under the surcumstances considering there’s no sight of any wild beasts in the shot, unless, god forbid, one mistook any of the party present of such an accusation.


We met at Mossley Church car park. The organiser received much abuse for arriving last ,even later than Grant but with 2 minutes to spare.


His day got worse when he refused to start before John K and Margaret arrived ,both who were stood within 2 feet of him. Finally 9 of us headed off over fields ,along the canal and then up to The Cloud trig point.


Margaret did her usual balancing act. Photos hopefully will be provided by Grant in due course. We then meandered back to the car park via the Bridestones, Timbersbrook and sheep farm ,repairing any damage in the Chappell Centre after our 7.4 mile escapade.


David T (Congleton Branch)

10th, July, 2018: Tuesday’s Potter.

Here’s an interesting piccie taken by the reliable Grant. But who are they waiting for ? Well, one must confess it’s for the webmeister: the poor sod was suffering in the heat. The good news was they didn’t have to wait long. Though, dare one say they wouldn’t have minded considerinng the conditions?

A fair troop in fair conditions descended on Church Lane, Gawsworth for a little 8. 5 miles sally over parched fields, watering holes and an unforgiving stretch of Macclesfied Canal, where the sullied water didn’t prevent one ’s thoughts of indulging in its depths, such was the desire to cool-off in the day’s heat.

One would have thought the months of sunny weather without rain would have instilled a modicum of acclimatisation within the body but, alas, it hasn’t.

Still, surely there must have been others out there suffering in the heat if only to make this one feel equal on terms? If not, never mind as Dot did a splendid lead, counting the group out, then on its return:

The fact 2 of the troop ended up doing their own thing wasn’t surprising as under the circumstances it was forseen.

I just can’t Bear this heatwave........

I’m really browned off.

5th, July, 2018: Thursday’s Potter.

The Troop savouring the moment.

It was another beautiful warm day as ten of us set off from the Tin Hut Coffee Tavern. We set off up the steep hill, but didn't venture off to Sponds Hill, as that would have been too much climbing. No, we went down to West Parkgate and on to the Play Area. Disappointingly, there were children playing there, so we had to pass on that activity. We then came back via the Summer only route with a lovely view of Lyme Hall and up through the Lyme trees. Our charming hostess at the cafe was in great form, telling Jim and Grant that they had to sit at a separate table. She was messing with rebellious types and they asserted their rights to sit with their fellow Potters. The blackboard menu was full of its usual misspellings. My particular favourite was chicken mardass.


Dave Shoesmith.

An old Tuesday’s Potter.  


A scene above Trentabank Res’, Mac Forrest.

A little taster of what we had from a last winter’s Potter: about four months of cold, windy, and very wet conditions. 


Keeping a winter theme in mind may help one to cool-off in these difficult days of sweltery summer weather. 
So, the Webmeister’s been sifting through some old piccies of the time he lived in the Czech Republic, where it  wasn’t un common to have tempratures hovering around the minus 30 deg’s in winter-time.


Bloody cold in other words.... but it still had its attractions.     

Vrážné the village in question to the north-west of Czech.

Forgotten already the name of this small village, which resided about 5 miles from ours. Ah, it was called Horní Hradiště.

Vražné frozen in time.

Locals playing on thick ice.

Living in this village was like another era. If say a pet dog or cat became rather ill they’ed take it out of sight and dispose of it in a carnal way and wouldn’t dream of using the services of a vet where money was concerned. Which, one supposes, had its attraction, though brutal.

And cheap beer flowed freely from evening onwards and, this wasn’t uncommon lasting till early hours when one would find farmers staggering from the beer parlour to the fields and pissing on the bales as they went. Such was/is life in this part of Bohemia. 

3rd, July, 2018: Tuesday’s Potter.

Sponds Hill Trig.

Pete, led on this little scorcher around the happy valley of Harrop Fold and the famous farm, where all manner of interesting things carrried on over time, including the abode of a recent Chancelor of the Exchequer, whom departed when his office expired, or should we say when it expired him ?


Pete, said he wasn’t feeling 100% due to an upset stomach so an easy run was in prospect which proved a relief for us all.


The heat of the day showed its ugly side by melting the tarmac on the high end of Bakestonedale Road. It was about there where Grant had a funny turn: heat induced ?... one’s unsure but, it was enough for the unfortunate chap  to curtail the run and head for cover down with the cars at the morning’s venue. That move must have prompted two others of the troop to depart with him as that was the last we saw of them till the finish.


Then it was off to Clarrence Mill Cafe and their expensive fare: though one must say the food is fit for consumtion and their Victoria Sponge worth dying for.... well almost. 

28th, June, 2018: Thursday’s Potter.

3 happy faces

A little taster of what’s to come regards to these colourful, well-fed looking potters ?

Potter pin-up girl, Dot, spending a few quiet moments going through her feng shui routine in appropriate surroundings.

Under clear blue skies and a blazing sun, a handful of Potters gathered at the lakeside rendevouz. Grant arrived in due time, to find only Dot and Pete in attendance. And so it stayed - just three souls - until past ten o’clock, when Pete declared it was time to go.

We set off away from the dam, ascending to the hillside road, intending to take a path leading away from the local school into the hinterland. Flexible as ever, Pete decided to take an earlier path and we travelled along track and way until we met the end of the other footpath. 

This led us to a narrow lane, that in turn presented us with an unexpected obstacle - a nettle-covered stile. Intrepid as ever, Dot forged a path through the nettles and the two hardy men followed.

The fields we then traversed were dried hard and well-poached, so making progress a careful venture. It was with joy that we came upon another track that led us gently to the way back - and welcome shade. There we met two bird-watchers, who took our picture.

Satisfied we had photographic evidence of our adventure, we followed the route of the Rudyard Lake summer series race and headed towards our destination - the lake cafe. After only a brief inspection of the sad-looking hall on the way, we pressed on and finally made it back.          

We were ready for our mugs of tea and bacon butties (just coffee for Dot). And who should appear on two wheels to join us but Brian from Wilmslow, looking ever-the-adventurer in his nifty lycra outfit. A fitting end to a testing outing. What a pity only we three were there to enjoy the running.



My ex-wife’s still missing me. But her aim is steadily improving.

26th, June, 2018: Tuesday’s Potter. 

From the Edge.

Oh for a little rain and less severe sunshine to dampen this stifling heat ?: was it really only a few weeks ago that we were whinging on about the rain and constant mud lapping our calves? I’ve just noticed the mercury rising to 31 deg on the outside weather station: so unusual here in the Uk but, not so in the Czech Republic and its close neighbours in Eastern Europe, where it can go beyond 40 this time of year. Horko is a word they use for hot weather in those parts; it’s also a word they use meaning a queer, which, one supposes, could imply as a gay day.

And that’s what we happened to have on this morning’s Potter from Finlow Hill, where the clear-as-a bell views stretched over to Shutter’s and the azure blue beyond. A fair troop braved the heat to meet on this treat and tread a shallow furrow around the delights of Alderley’s attractions. It soon dawned on people that shady places out of the sun proved most popular to populate, so We devised a leafy route around the verdent area that probably covered 80% of the trail and a blessing to those who do suffer running in the heat.

We counted them out and also in, then descended to the Wizard Cafe for an al fresco binge under an old oak tree, where its broad branches hung down low over the table as if wilting in the sun. Jimbo was fortunate enough to have sat at the head of affairs, nearest to the tree’s trunk, where one imagined a Wizard may well appeared at any given moment and whisk him off to somewhere different, or turn him into a frog.

Such is life when out on a Potter.

21st, June, 2018: Thursday’s Potter.

Waiting with anticipation.

Bow Stones in the background.

Snapper Neil in control.

Report to follow. 

14th, June, 2018: Thursday’s Potter. 

Here’s an amusing image taken by Woody on Thursday’s Potter while in the Goyt Valley. As one can see it’s as clear a picture as one would expect for a place like this, though Its content is quite puzzling:

Are the troops really lost in navigation, or are things as they really seem? It may be, that those present are thinking of other things rather than studying maps? Is It possible Grant’s perusing a menu for apres run? And Kath’s pining for little Al and Stan, whom she knows will be back home on the naughty step.

While Tow’s mind’s dwelling on the Van on the drive and whether it’s worth taking it for a spin to the Lakes soon, or maybe even to Spain?

And there’s Jimbo cast in thought, perhaps, puzzled by his Italian lingo taking precedence over the English matter he thought he knew best ?.... Who knows?.... Who cares? We all care!... don’t we?

Lost in translation

Spot the Potterers, whoever they are ?

And still they ponder

12, June, 2018: Tuesday’s Potter

A green lane ?

What a gay day for larks ascending and cows taking to the moon. Such thoughts spring to mind on balmy occasions like these when Dot takes the lead, you’ll know it’ll be a pleasant squeeze. Mind you, one bets the femme hadn’t been sleeping too well due to thoughts of overgrown footpaths on the route she had intended, which must have prompted the gal to get-out-there and mow parts of the way, to the extent it was a pleasant surprise to come across these narrow swaths of finely cut grass to aid our progress.
She’s such a star you know she may have got five but, there was the odd occasion a star came under attack; by a stile..... they’re mostly by these things. It’s the nettles and undergrowth, you see, they’re the main culprits; they tarnish the stars to a point they become worthless- not counting for anything: except a stinging of course.

No stinging though at the Tegg’s Nose Cafe, where several of the potterers gathered round a table and exchanged all manner of gossip and enlightenment. Grant was there as usual with the largest plate, which isn’t surprising really as he’s a growing lad: this time it was a generous helping of Beans on Toast topped with something one thinks. One can sense the pleasure this character relishes his food, no matter what it consists of. Extraordinary

Becky swinging over a Beck

Becky swinging over a Beck

Becky swinging over a Beck

Becky swinging over a Beck

Honza pointing a finger at someone.

Grant savoring the moment.

A dificult stile.

Almost a collective.

Almost or nothing.