I’m not convinced about all the technicalities of this shot but it was done with an extremely long zoom (x80 at least) and in that respect it’s pleasing enough. We don’t really pick up any of the details on the wings of the Cabbage White but let’s not get too ambitious, eh — at least, not with my kit.
“I dunno mate. It gets worse and worse. Look at these scraps.”
“Know exactly what you mean, Bob. You just can’t get the humans these days. Must be global warming or summat.”
“Well, let’s see what we can get out of it before that twat over there decides to muscle in.”
With no posts for ten days perhaps you thought I’d finally given up the ghost, or at least the blog had — but no, ’twas that old staple, “computer problems”. Not entirely solved now, so bear with me, but I shall start on the catching-up process at least. This encounter seems quite a while ago now, but one can see the basic curiosity-mingled-with-sheer-terror that this little dog exhibits, faced with this giant Newfoundland. Yes, they are the same species. That’s genetic engineering for you.
Let’s get on with another year, shall we? Three fowl (I assume, one duck, two geese) drifting by serenely on the Rochdale Canal is not any metaphor for life that I can think of, but it is a way of representing a peaceful (birth)day.
On we go then, with the next thousand, or four thousand, or whatever will be this blog’s allotted span. The illumination of this web, in some lost corner or other, was the most attractive option for today.
It’s nice when interests coincide. Behind one goal at Atherton Laburnum Rovers’ Crilly Park stadium, there was growing today a whole run of plump, ripe blackberries, of which this was just a small part. Luckily for me I had a collection vessel, which was definitely filled before I settled in to watch the game.
You might have noticed that a nice round number approaches, in terms of the number of days I have been doing this. But that’s for tomorrow.
This pigeon nest has been under observation for a couple of days now, seeing as it resides just above the outdoor seating area in the pub, and for the duration, this fledgling has been receiving plenty of encouragement to leave it. Every so often it comes out, slithers around on the roof tile (some seven feet above the ground) for a while, cheeps in an alarmed fashion, then goes back inside. Mum, or possibly Dad, seems to be getting rather fed up with the whole thing. I can’t say I blame it. My one was off like a shot, first chance he got.
Ben gets some Him Time, and seems thoroughly contented by the experience. As the amount of white around his muzzle attests, he’s an old man, and at some later point in our own lives I guess we’ll all crave this kind of attention.
Perhaps, like this wasp, we are all trapped, aware of the world beyond the glass but frustratingly unable to reach it. But perhaps, again like this particular insect, there is a way out (undepicted here) at the bottom that we just haven’t found yet, we just need to change direction.
It is plastic, but it does look very realistic, particularly sat on a cushion outside the pub in the sunshine. Many passers-by were seen doing double-takes. Why was it there? Just one element in a range of junk (hence the pile behind it), passing through.
Being 42 