Well its not realy cursing through my veins, but it is part of the very spirit of which im made.
Let me take you on a journey through deepest darkest county durham (gods country) in the 70's and 80's when i was just a wee nipper with a snotty nose and holes in the knees of trousers.
My grandparents lived in a coal mining village called murton in the heart of the durham coal fields.A very bleak place not too far from the sea , which often blew up a storm to cut through you like sheffield steel.
Anyway i loved the visits to nana and grandads little house that clung to the side of a hill on the east moor estate (wembley) along with about 8 streets rising up to the railway line,which led from hawthorne shaft to god knows where.
There was always a warm loving welcome when we went through the big green door into nanas compact parlour/kitchen.always a "get yer coat off pet and get a warm by the fire".aaaah the coal fire, such a rare thing these days but very much the norm in those days.
Dinner was always served up with love and care from the very best fresh ingredients from woods terrace bought that day and transformed into a hot steamy platefull of joy and sustinance.
After dinner we always played gin rummy, a card game that kept youthfull minds busy for hours,then the old black and white telly would go on for the news and that nights offerings from 3 channels.
After a few hours viewing it was supper time,a mug of hot cocoa and a bag of tudor crisps while nana put the hot water bottles in the beds.
I tell you this,climbing the stairs in nanas house was a freezing experience till you jumped into the huge bed feeling the warmth of a mass of blankets and crisp cotton sheets.