Even had I not mentioned the weather conditions in the title of the post, it wouldn’t have taken much effort to figure them out. Hauled myself into Manchester for the first time in a week to be encountered by this ongoing crap. All the umbrellas that are in evidence were just a reminder that I had forgotten to bring my own, so after the 2-mile walk to the office, I then smelt like a wet dog for most of the rest of the day.
While I try to keep this blog non-political there need to be occasional exceptions, and this is one. With our local council, Calderdale, having been taken over by neo-fascists last month, they have declared that ‘foreign flags’ are not to be flown from council property. Thus, a flag that had flown for some time in Halifax in solidarity with Ukraine has been removed, for example.
I decided the other day, bollocks to that, and ordered a specifically foreign flag — that of Albania — that has arrived and will be flying from our house once the best way to sort this has been worked out (hence the canes) and, also, when it stops permanently raining. The flag is that of Albania by the way. Why? Because I like it. And it suits the wife.
One of those which may look as if I turned it monochrome, but I really didn’t. The light hits the… well, the lights, on the main road through town very well on evenings at this time of year. The steam is an added touch — though why we need this in mid-June, just ask the British climate gods, I guess.
A somewhat unexpected spell of sunshine (of which June has so far seen very little) got both me and this little feller working up in the allotment for a while. It’s good to see the bees getting busy and I suppose the same is true of me as well.
If you’ve no idea what the title of this post is referring to then obviously you do not play cribbage. But you might be able to work it out. I get two for a pair as well. No, I am not playing solitaire — the wife has just slipped away for a moment. She won this particular game, 3-2 (we know each other’s strategies so well now that basically it all comes down to the luck of the deal — that’s my excuse anyway).
If I feel like reconnecting with nature I don’t have to go far. Over the road, into the woods and up to the old millpond usually is enough. There was a time a few years ago when this looked like it was drying up entirely, but its lower parts now seem to be developing into a natural swamp, and quite attractively.
Attending a ‘Names Festival’, along with a grand total of fourteen other people, seemed a hassle-free way of bringing the working week to a close. These are all names, of the four others sat at my table: three in Chinese and one in Bengali. It was suggested I add my own name, but we just have that boring old single script to work with and it was written out on my name badge anyway so I kept myself an invisible presence, at least in terms of this particular, ephemeral document.
It’s time these went into the garden, to be honest, but in the last few days the rain has come down and grubbing around in dirt is less appealing. A few days ago I noted there was not going to be much variety on here for a while, and so it has proven; a sixth post in the last seven from Hebden Bridge, and the third to have been taken in or from the house. You can tell it’s our place because of the grubby windows: and apparently they were cleaned on Monday.
This is a self-portrait — logically I will be on it somewhere, and you may discern me under the red umbrella nearest to this shiny ball thing. I’m in the garden early — but then again I started work early (7:45) and sat upstairs marking for several hours. Semester 2 is now officially done, though, as far as I am concerned.
Being 42 