I don’t know who or what has been the oldest living creature to feature on the blog: there has been one confirmed nonagenarian (Clare’s gran) but more likely it’s some tree somewhere or other. But I can now declare this lamb to be the youngest. If this had been born much before 3.50pm today I would be surprised. The caul is still very obvious and being cleaned off by the mother ewe. It’s eyes are open, and it was beginning to move. Quite a sight in fact.
I went out on a walk today: the last day, officially, of my Easter break. I saw no reason to stay at home. I don’t know quite why I like this picture, except that it was one of those that worked out as anticipated; this is the picture I hoped it would be when I pressed the shutter. The road is the A1, a mile or so east of the town of Chester-le-Street, in County Durham.
The baby chard happily grows, waiting inside until things warm up — which going by the weather in the last few days, might be a while yet. I, on the other hand, just wait inside, not feeling like I grew much today, in any sense.
Football is for me a way of exploring the world, including parts of it that lie near my home but which I’ve never previously had cause to visit. So tonight — my first-ever trip to Dewsbury, a largish town lying between Huddersfield and Leeds. The town centre shocked me somewhat: a post-Brexit, post-Covid vision of dereliction, 90% of the old retail units either abandoned altogether or shuttered up until next week, at least (but it all looks more permanently damaged than that). But across the river to the south, some signs of life in the cold winds. It’s only from below that true recovery ever stems.
A pleasant, sunny, but surprisingly cold Easter Monday, Hebden Bridge and all points around being swished by a breeze straight off the North Pole. Did anything biblically happen on Easter Monday? Or is it just a modern excuse to give the plebs another day off in lieu? Either way — Heptonstall was looking good, as it always does. It’s been there for a few hundred years, it’s had time to bed in.
The world — well, Hebden Bridge anyway — is getting back to it, and in these developments I can see nothing but good. We should be able to give our money to a few more retailers that have been unlucky (or unpolitically active) enough to be classed as ‘inessential’, but more important is that people are just coming out anyway.
Now here’s a fairly unique combination: witnessed on the edge of Burnley this afternoon. But as I typed the title of this post, it struck me that it sounded like one of those ‘what 3 words’ geolocation things. So I tried it, and magnificently, “goalie.pylon.llama” does correspond to a 3 x 3m square of land on South Island, New Zealand, to the west of the town of Greymouth — as this page proves. There could be a whole new game in this.
Robins succeed because they’ve commandeered the ecological niche entitled ‘we really don’t give a shit about those human creatures’. We turned over a pile of compost on the allotment and this fearless chap was picking it over before we’d moved five feet back. He got the best pickings — woodlice, centipedes, worms — everything else was just in his wake. Birds! Ignore the humans! Be the robin! You’ll not regret it.