What these socks of hers say about Clare I am not quite sure, but hey, we’re still married after 22 years (nearly). So tacitly, I guess I approve. (The text on the one on the left starts: “Being an adult is…”; the rest you can work out for yourselves.)
Into Manchester for the first time in 16 days. The city centre has busied itself, at least in the afternoon. Campus is still a wasteland, however. The government and administrators in their wisdom have decreed that they will only consider letting students actually meet their professors and each other after it’s far too late to make a difference this year. Optimistically the finishing touches get made to the new Engineering building but whether this white mammoth will ever be used to its full potential remains to be seen.
Should I have retouched the ‘exclamation mark’ at the top? I did consider it. Maybe it’s symbolic.
Although I quite like the image of this guy’s golden sunglasses, the significance is more carried by what is visible behind his head; that table sits, as did we, in the beer garden of the White Swan in Hebden Bridge. Yes folks, the pubs are open again — if you want to wrap up and go al fresco, anyway. Hurrah for that at least.
Plenty of work to do after Easter, which today meant another day locked in the house with limited photographic opportunities. The knowing look on the face of this rook was the best I managed, and even then it’s somewhat out of focus. But then again, that also epitomises the day.
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.
That’s a big lens. Perhaps he’s compensating for something.
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.
Time for a forage….. No, I’m not telling you exactly where this stash is. Somewhere in Hebden Bridge. I will say no more.
