I have difficulty concentrating, enthralled as I am by the dexterity of her lips as she mee-maws her way wheezily through her memories.
She’s seen it all, but long before this northern town became infamous for the proclivities of its taxi-drivers and politicians, Alice sacrificed both her hearing and her lungs to Ellenroad Mill, labouring stoically in its noisy, linty environment.
“Times were hard,” she reflects, “but folk pulled together.”
She glances at her TV screen, where elected representatives of all persuasions once again make a virtue of their naivety and treachery.
“Daft ha’p’orths…” she snorts, “…need their backsides tanning.”
This week’s offering will have more relevance to the UK faction of Friday Fictioneers, who will probably recognise the town (my birth-place), the dialect and the politicians in question. The photo is from Quarry Mill, a working mill museum in Cheshire, close to Manchester Airport. Well worth a visit. Thanks to Rochelle for allowing me to share it with you, and for her continued dedication to our group.