Yes, I did first type ‘2023’ as the date in the heading. Don’t we all do that for a while? But 2024 it is, and as it starts off in a work sense, here’s my definite aspiration for the year expressed on the cover of the work diary I quite deliberately bought back in November sometime.
Believe me, I’m one of these middle-aged guys who has gone the other way when it comes to hair loss, and I don’t need any. Not on my head and certainly not on/in my eyebrows, ears and nose, thank you very much. But clearly there is a market for the stuff, at least among the women who shop in the Arndale Market, Manchester. And there was me thinking they did it naturally — like me (last haircut, 2/10/19 and still counting).
For the last few weeks things have been very uneventful thanks mainly to lots of work plus bad weather. Today was the first day of my Christmas break — but we still had the bad weather, and mainly for that reason, it remained uneventful. But I can sit on the bed and watch DVD double bills like this in mid-afternoon and not feel guilty. In the background, Sick Boy delivers his speech about ‘first you’ve got it, then you’ve lost it’ while Renton looks out for air rifle prey. You’ve seen Trainspotting, right?
A busy stint of work comes to an end — this is Manchester’s third appearance in a row, and that hasn’t happened since April ’22. By the end of the working day I needed a pint, and the City Arms on Kennedy Street has definitely become the Manchester Pub of Choice. I’m not the only one who thinks this either, as it’s usually busy like this, but the beer is high quality. Note the old typesetting frame stuck randomly to the ceiling. Anyway, I probably won’t be here again until well into January — my work in this specific city is done for a while.
Prof. Alexander’s bust has long graced the entrance hall of the building on Manchester’s campus that bears his name. This kind of thing happens most years, to be honest. He seems to bear it with stoic dignity. I don’t think he looks all that unhappy — a bit resigned, maybe.
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.
Being 42 