One’s things for sure about the weather of 2026: our fruit have loved it. The apples are the last in the series but like everything else, there’s plenty of them and they taste very fine. The ladybird seems content enough, too.
We both had work to do. Mine involved reading, and eventually giving a grade. The insect perceives the notion of ‘work’ rather differently and would rather be off this slidy glass surface and back somewhere with, I guess, food, or maybe just less light. Our paths coincided for a short instant.
Any intimations of drought round here were washed away some time ago, and if there is to be any ‘Indian summer’ this year then it ain’t turned up yet. This Sunday was a day full of showers, including the one pictured here. But it’s probably good for the roses — as is sometimes said. (I assume this is a rose, though I’m hardly one of the world’s great botanists.)
I mused the other day that pigeons were one of a few species who I feel do alright out of humanity, and I think that one reason is that we provide them with so many useful little places of settlement. And I pick the word specifically, because these two look very settled to me, able to rest and not worry about some cat or hawk feeling that they’re a possible source of dinner. Home is under a railway bridge, many feet above the road: I only spotted these two because I was on the top deck of a bus. I like the various colours and textures on this shot.
One suspects that, like pigeons, rats and algae, fungus are (collectively) species that ultimately benefit from dealing with the wastes of humanity. There may be more than we suspect of these little colonies, awaiting the moment to launch the takeover.
The place of rescue — a skip, it seems, destined for landfill. The rescuer: Dex, that’s him behind sporting the P hat. The ultimate fate of this bear? No idea. It will probably never be seen again. The red-eye effect makes me wonder if, in fact, this is some heavily-disguised surveillance camera.
“Right you ‘orrible lot!”, cries the sergeant-major at the back. “This is the tidal limit of the Ribble right here and we will take no prisoners! Keep an eye out for that tidal bore which is due any minute now…. YOU! At the end! Wake up laddie!”
Hey, I’m sure gulls are as attuned to the hydrodynamics of their local area way more than any human. I had to look that stuff up on Wikipedia, but they knew it already — food is on its way upriver.
Diamond is as much part of the Railway pack as anyone, whether human or canine. She’s getting old now, as you can tell, so is not out as often as she might be — something that will come to be the case for all of us, in time, I am sure.
Weirs are the creation of engineers, and this one, on the River Dee in Chester, is nearly a thousand years old, built by the Normans. On the downstream side, the tidal estuary begins. The main beneficiaries of this are those upstream who are thus defended from tidal flooding, and the local birdlife, who find in it a very convenient place to go fishing. The one at the top has just eaten, in fact, but is still hanging around for more.
It’s quite a while since I was last in the Blue Pig, a.k.a. Midgehole Working Man’s Club, which is partly because this is one of those drinking establishments that only opens by the grace of God, or more precisely one of a small group of volunteers. If you head up that way you just take your chances. If entry is achieved, though, one can investigate some of the many literal illustrations of the name that are collected inside: these are just three of a few dozen.
