It started so well. I had just turned 76 (and that was only the trombones, da-dah!) when 2020 beckoned like a new bride. I wasn’t to know this would be The Year of the Plague, and I’d be lucky to survive it.
I had so many plans. Places to go, people to meet and things to do. In January, I travelled to the famous Leander Rowing Club in Henley on Thames for a reunion of fellow student journalists from the 1960s.
En route back, I managed to fit in a visit to the historic Great Western Railway centre at Didcot, a must for puffer-nutters.
Brexit came and went at the end of the month, but I scarcely noticed it because of the storms that battered Airedale, and at the end of February I was back on the road, writing about foodbanks in Leeds.
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