tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37400848.post-83740933763849518542008-05-05T13:21:00.000+01:002008-05-05T13:21:00.000+01:00After graduating from college in the US about 30 years ago, I gave myself a present and flew to Europe for a six-month hiatus. At some point I found myself living with a coal miner's family in Peterlee, south of Durham. My host, Joe, was a hearty, generous soul and even though I only understood every third word we found a commonality in our love of Guiness and got along famously.<BR/><BR/>Until the day he invited me to the lake shore. At least that's what I thought he said. Joe didn't own a car, and it was much too cold in September to dip my Septic Tank Yank toes in the North Sea, and the Lake District was too far to walk.<BR/><BR/>On the appointed day we walk to Peterlee's business district, and entered a modest brick building which I recognized as the local coal miner's union headquarters. Up three flights we walked to a modest convention hall.<BR/><BR/>Where I saw my first leek show.Heraldbloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07067342515765043878noreply@blogger.com