What is the plural of daddy longlegs? Daddy longlegses? Daddies longlegs? Neither seems very satisfactory. Anyway, these two members of the genus Pholcidae were either about to square off with each other — or possibly mate. As I type this the following morning, I’m looking at the same spot in the corner of our living room, and neither of them is there now, so it was either a devastating battle or a good party.
The second day in a row with an explicitly circular theme. The scene appeared during my first use of C’s treatment room as a work venue for a few weeks, in which time some changes have indiscernibly happened among the decorations and words to ponder.
Ahhh. Rubus plicatus, one of the countryside’s great free bounties. They have found evidence in the stomachs of prehistoric peat bog victims that we’ve been eating these beauties for thousands of years. Who am I to go against such tradition.
The plum tree seriously needs pruning, and now is apparently the time…. this information being imparted by Peggy, fellow member of the allotment society and knowledgeable in these matters. Expect some documentation of the subsequent surgery, at least, once we get our pruning saw. Yes, this would be a nicer photo without the water butt, but it is what it is.
Everything has become so messed up during the Great Fear that standing in a field on a glorious, sunny day with a couple of dozen other people is now considered less ‘safe’ than, say, driving down the M1 or operating heavy machinery. But I still welcome the return of some level of competitive sport, something this country (and others) misses more than it realises. My first football match for 147 days, or 21 weekends, and the first pre-season friendly for Oxenhope Recreation FC, the guys in orange, against Keighley Athletic. I guess it’s about a 50/50 chance whether the season to come will actually be finished, but for now, I don’t care.
Here is a house occupied by someone with several problems. I’ve been passing it for a couple of years without it changing much, and there is evidence to suggest it’s been developing like this for 23 years. Thing is, it has, as a result, become a tourist attraction, and this probably just adds to the occupant’s paranoia. I will forego identifying its location, although it’s not round where I live.
Somehow the little guy on the pedestrian crossing sign just adds to the concept. We are now all islands. Or, supposed to be, by official decree.
An innovative approach to keeping oneself, one’s beer and one’s smoking materials free from moisture. The weather could not decide what to do this afternoon.
A dull day in every sense. Also the last day of life for this chilli plant, which as you can see has put all of its efforts into this single great fruit, and spent itself like the one-hit-wonder pop group. The chilli went today into a very nice curry; and the plant, with our thanks, was put out of its misery.
The square reflected in the roundel, these posts standing outside the Shoulder of Mutton pub, happily reopened, after not just the c*r***v**** crap but the floods of Feb 9th as well. You see, we need economic activity here. Which is why this new ‘local lockdown’ has had no discernible effect at all.
This is a kind-of self-portrait: look closely enough into the mirror and I’m there in the background.
