On 6th October last year I was hauling myself up Yewbarrow in the Lake District and about to go to Canada for a week, but no similar adventures are taking place at the moment: this is the sixth shot out of seven to be taken in Hebden Bridge and the fourth in a row indoors. But at least the garden is producing. The monster fruits to the right may or may not be a function of these being pictured in a silver bowl.
This is so 20th century, somehow. But perhaps more recent than that — I know Pauline has had a name change in the last 10 years, but not that much longer. Still, it’s been a long time since this was a communications medium to which anyone pays attention.
I’ve had my eye on Joe’s room for 15 years or more….. and now he’s moved out, it’s mine. Let’s start the necessary conversion work with this nice shade of blue, shall we?
It’s increasingly easy to find excuses not to go out on a Saturday night, or indeed a Friday or any other night, at least if ‘going out’ means ‘being expected to move energetically in response to the promptings of rhythmic music’, i.e. dancing. But I just about managed it at the Trades club this evening. And it was welcome enough.
This is nothing whatsoever to do with today’s global media event, which I could not have spared the time to watch even if the desire had been there: declaring a national holiday at short notice is all well and good but it didn’t mean the jobs went away. Not least the new Mac, that is still in the process of being shaped to look as much like the old one as possible. Though no thanks to Apple, for taking away most of the useful ports on anything they shipped after about 2017. That’s another £64 to the Cupertino coffers for the umbilicus one now needs even to look at all that data sitting on the backup drive.
Of all the days over the two weeks since I effectively lost my access to photos, this was the dullest and least eventful. Getting a shot of C’s coat, left as she went to buy a drink, and somehow imagining that it looks like her shade or phantom, was about as exciting as it got. Sometimes Thursdays are like that. One cannot always get the hang of Thursdays.
I was just passing, honest. The crowd who were in the foyer of University Place next door were doubtless heading here shortly after I did so, ready to spoil the pristine purpleness of the carpet, at least. But I’m sure the posters were interesting.
The drive home. The convenience of Abington service station on the M74, two and a half hours from Dundee, and usually three hours from home: unless the bastards close the M6, like they did this weekend. But that’s a different and undepicted story. I hope, at least, that this couple, also heading south, still felt affectionate once they got home.
Back to Dundee then, and back to the storage facility, in which, a few weeks ago, the contents of Joe’s room in halls were deposited. This place reminds me of nothing so much as that scene in Matrix: Reloaded where there are all these ‘back doors’. I expected a hundred Agent Smiths to leap out at us.
The absence of recent posts and the aforementioned ‘computer problems’ are here represented by a crap photo, but that just epitomises it all. Still, I’m back up and running again now, 11 days later. Kind of.
Being 42 