Before the latest dreaded lockdown, in the halcyon days that were Tier 2, Joe and I did our bit to ‘eat out to help out’ by holding our “business lunches” in some of Sheffield’s delectable taverns.

One such eatery was The Summer House at Dore.
After one particularly long lunch we ambled back to the car, parked illegally I suspect, in the train station car park. I got in and started the car but realised Joe hadn’t joined me.

I jumped out fearing that he had slumped insensible to the floor but he was nowhere to be seen.

Then I heard his dulcet tones coming from the station.

“Come and have a look at this.”

I walked through the gate to see him stood precariously close to the edge of the tracks gazing through his hands in the shape of a frame.

“Now this would make a great painting” he mused.

And so it came to pass.

The small but beautifully formed original was completed over Christmas.
I must remember to take Kate at the Summer House a signed print if we’re ever aloud to eat there again.