I have got it down to working about two Sundays a year, and today was one of them. Appearance on campus before 9am on the ‘day of rest’ allows the experience of the virtually empty car park, and its mysterious ‘T’. Maybe it was once an arrow, but not any more. A recent run of interiors continues.
The independent retail institution that is Affleck’s Palace in Manchester seems, thankfully, to have survived all that virus-related crap and remains the place to go if you want to buy just about anything that is a little off-beat (and see its previous appearance). There are dozens of stalls like this. I wasn’t in the place to pick up a gas mask, however, in case you were wondering.
“I know I present as red. But inside there’s that little bit of green that’s always been on the verge of coming out.”
On Lincoln’s only previous appearance on this blog (10/3/20) the outside of the Cathedral was depicted: today I (and Clare, visible as a slightly blurred figure on the left) went inside. The interior is just as impressive, particularly considering this was all raised to the glory of the Almighty more than 700 years ago. As I noted on my previous post, this was the tallest building in the world in the Middle Ages, a title it held for at least 230 years. You don’t have to be particularly religious to recognise that with this place, the builders really made a statement.
Ignoring the currently redundant mug and bowl, we have: sugar; syrup; lemons; and wine. The pancakes are on the way — after that, nothing else is required for a while.
The weather this week: long spells of heavy reading, becoming marking; some intervals of lighter reading. When this report was written, in 1985, it was commentary. Now, it’s history. Same words, different perspective.
After a spell of wide-ranging vistas and skies, all I saw today was this room, reclaimed from Joe now he has returned to Scotland. The implements of a day’s work are all in place. And my hair did need a brush. Outside, just more rain, anyhow.
There really isn’t anything happening at the moment; and not a great deal to be done about this, until the weekend anyway. In the pub, our landlady feels the need to retract a statement presumably made over the Christmas period. The grammar is not mine, no complaints please.
Radiohead had a track on the Hail to the Thief album that basically screamed, ‘The raindrops!’ for a few minutes. I know the feeling. Train strikes don’t help either: there was no reason nor encouragement to leave the house today.
Taken at the same time as yesterday’s shot — and only five minutes after Monday’s. This is as near as I have ever got in 11 years to three consecutive shots at the same time of day. I swear I don’t do these things deliberately, even in the most boring periods.
Opening time at my local pub is 3pm on Tuesdays, and a nice thing about arriving early is that I get to light the well-laid fire. The lump of lava on the right is a firelighter doing its job: within a few minutes this whole construction will be alight. Sometimes the interest is in the details — such as the paper to the left, what series of numbers goes 3, 10, 50, 70, 100 I wonder?
Being 42 