For 25 years there have been seasons of outdoor promenade plays in Williamson’s Park, Lancaster. This is this year’s, and the first such performance I’ve seen. We were told not to photograph it, but when faced with a scene like this I bent the rules slightly — this is not actually the performance, the audience were just starting to gather at this point. I also hope it’s considered free advertising. What a spectacularly staged piece of work.
Looks nice? It isn’t. This is Himalayan Balsam, Impatiens glandulifera, introduced into the UK by some Victorian gentleman who, if he was still alive, should be made to crawl around the country stuffing the consequences of his marketing opportunity up his bottom. This is the major invasive weed around here, possibly even the biggest local environmental problem we have right now. I’d say ‘if you see this plant kill it’ but apparently the expert advice is that even that might just make it worse (as if it were a hydra, or something). The only answer seems to be to develop a taste for eating it — which no other UK species has yet managed, hence the problem.
This is also how I felt this morning after our night out in Liverpool. I hope this woman didn’t miss her train — she was asleep in the cafe at the railway station for some time.
As if there hadn’t been enough art last week, a trip to the Mondrian exhibition at the Tate in Liverpool. “Please don’t take pictures of the art,” we were told, “but you can take pictures of the view from the windows.” Well, OK then — here’s a bit of both.
Had my evening meal with my parents over the border in Lancashire and captured this on the way back. Pendle Hill is 1,827 feet high, but to be honest, looks higher, particularly when one is closer to it (this image is taken from many miles away). Its name is actually the same word repeated three times; Pen from Celtic languages, ‘dyl’ from ‘hill’ in Old English, and then ‘Hill’ from Modern English. So its name basically means ‘HillHill Hill’. It is most famous for its association with the Pendle Witches, one of England’s more notorious witch-hunts.
Wandered out this morning on some inconsequential errand or other and took a shot of some random vista with a cat in the middle distance. Said cat then came straight over to me and virtually demanded that I did its close-ups. Well, who am I to refuse.
A day at home, no work, no responsibilities, no worries. I have no idea how to caption this photograph — so I’m not going to worry about that, either.
Located under the arches of one of Leeds station’s approach roads, the Cockpit is surely a familiar place to anyone who has been a student at Leeds University in the last 25 years or so. I had my 30th birthday party in this club — quite some time ago.
She’s certainly going for it as if it might be. Like us, this lady was in the departure lounge of Fiumicino airport, but, I suspect, leaving her home country rather than returning to it.
Last full day in Rome. The Forum was the heart of the ancient city and this picture is meant to epitomise some kind of glorious decay, the ruins of the Eternal City left to moulder pleasantly away, returning to nature or whatever. Of course it’s nothing like this. Really it’s just a big park with thousands of tourists swarming over it daily. But it does have a certain grandeur. It’s been a good trip here, a fine city, I recommend it should you ever get the chance.
