Reblogged from Geoffrey David West:

Ron Porter from Pixabay

Charles Dickens walked up to the bar, accompanied by some friends, who were all wearing their finest outfits: frock coats, tall ‘stovepipe’ hats, fancy waistcoats, while the women in his party were decked out in hooped skirts, crinoline and bonnets.

I was sitting at a table towards the rear of the old pub with my business partner, Dave. We were discussing our latest project, the renovation of Apsley House, an old derelict property in a village on the outskirts of this town, Rochester in Kent.

“I reckon all this re-enactment of days-gone-by is ridiculous,” pronounced Dave, shaking his head as he looked towards the ‘actors’. “It seems wrong somehow, pretending to go back in time, and making a big joke of it all. The past is the past and I reckon you should respect it, and leave it alone. I mean, no one wants to go jumping into the future, do they? So why do people always have the hankering to go back to the past? I reckon it’s morbid.”

Continue reading (or listen to the audio story) at Geoffrey David West