I met an oldish chap on the climb up Turkey Nab once and he told me this was Dorothy’s Stone. I wished I’d have pressed him why now.
A mixture of thoughts.
After the gloom of the overnight mist, the blue is refreshing and joyous. It’s enazuring or turning azure.
An old word that is particularly relevant today is ‘ocky‘. It’s a Northern word from both sides of the Pennines meaning to lie, or tell untruths. And so we get ‘ockier‘:
“Ah nivver knew him to be a ockier”
From the 1898 English Dialect Dictionary:
Or if you prefer a more eloquent word ‘mendaciloquence‘, the action of telling lies in an artful way.
And finally a poem. By Ian McMillan, the Yorkshire Bard
The 6th Of November
A date that nobody recalls
It sits in the Week
Alone and unique
As yesterday’s rocket still falls.
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