Wire Man — his official name, according to the ‘information sheet’ he dutifully carries — sits in one corner of the Albert pub in Hebden and has done so for some years now. He is quite an interesting creation, but he doesn’t do much. Visitors like him at first. Then they get annoyed that he is basically occupying two seats in a prime spot, particularly on busy weekends (and they’re all busy at present).
Bringing a fun (but unphotographed) afternoon to an end with a good meal out. The tilt on the shot is intended to be artistic and spontaneous, but really just reflects my intention to not be too obviously taking a photograph of the table next door to ours.
Enmeshed in the first major bout of marking of the year, today was the first day for quite a while where I never left the house, so you weren’t getting anything unusual. Dinner wasn’t eaten until 8pm, so this was a definite slow cook, but this particular recipe needs time. And plenty of herbs.
Look, it’s got my name on it (on the pink bit), my handwriting and everything. The ideas were those of everyone around the table however, and things are not yet finished, either. I can occasionally still be motivated to think about things that matter to my employer — and thus my students — rather than me personally.
The fire in the pub has been lit some two or three weeks earlier than last year. This is a good thing.
November opens with a far more interesting day than October closed. A day off work was called for, with Clare’s company. This is taken in the Bradford Industrial Museum, which is free to entry, easy to reach from home and has been there all the 23 years we’ve lived there, only I’ve never been there before. Worth a visit though.
On this shot, the game is to spot the asymmetries that are not the fault of the photographer. As in the puzzles in magazines — how many can you see…? I have at least six that trouble me.
A dull and drizzly day, and I didn’t go anywhere, thus limited opportunities for photography. I did notice this creature sat in its cage above the bar, the sort of thing that’s probably sat there forever but never been seen. It’s not a raven, of course: it doesn’t even particularly look like one. But allow me the cheap and indirect Halloween reference.
Clare’s birthday was yesterday but it passed without comment on here. We took each other out tonight though, including to the movies to see The Creator. Verdict? Well, it’s a damn fine-looking movie, that’s undeniable but a) it doesn’t always make a great deal of sense and b) in true Hollywood style, it takes some complex philosophical and ethical issues and treats them as mere trivia. As I followed C up the aisle on the way out, and the other two guys went through the box of old posters, I was none the wiser as to the point of it all.
Wetherspoons, the pub chain, are a company of ambiguous attractions: but one thing they do have going for them is good taste in premises. The Old Picture House in Stafford is magnificent. I suppose it would be great if it were still a cinema but at least it is in use. And yes, I was in there at 11.25 in the morning, but hey, so were several other people.
Another weekend in London — the third in three months — ends where they always do, namely King’s Cross station. This war memorial stands facing platforms 1-3, and has always interested me firstly because my name (Whitworth) appears on it twice, with an unseen pillar to the right of this shot commemorating Whitworth, F. and Whitworth, W. A., who as with everyone else named on here was an employee of the Great Northern Railway lost in action. I also like this just because it looks good; it was unveiled just over ten years ago, when the station was rebuilt.
Being 42 