This was the view looking up from the dentist’s chair in which I spent a not-entirely-enjoyable 40 minutes this morning. Could have been worse I suppose — and would have been, before convenient local anaesthetics were invented.
In my mind’s eye there is a perfectly symmetrical version of this shot. But in the absence of its reality, this one will do.
This was the third of eight railway stations passed through today (nine if you count Wageningen bus station) as I travelled from a small provincial town somewhere near the centre of the Netherlands to a small provincial town somewhere near the centre of Great Britain (Hebden Bridge). And so ends my 11th complete year of doing this blog.
In Donegal one sometimes feels one has gone back in time. Definitely, the tourist facilities need to catch up a little. Our B & B was kind of rustic, as you can see.
I’m only joking. Actually this was a scene in one of the reproduced historic Irish cottages in the Glencolumbkille Folk Centre. This village, out on the west coast of the world (well, Europe anyway), thereby becomes the 400th different named location to feature on the blog. (See the stats page if you really want the full list.)
On 30th January 1972, not more than a hundred yards from the Bed & Breakfast where we are staying in Derry, the British Army killed 14 citizens of its own country, and wounded 14 more. It took decades, but in 2010 it finally came out how the Estalishment massacred these innocent people, as this quote from a radio conversation between a soldier and his officer reveals: “This chap is clearly unarmed, but can I shoot him anyway?” (The answer was yes.)
The Museum of Free Derry now stands more-or-less on the spot where this atrocity took place, and I’m glad it’s there, and doesn’t depend on state funding. The present bunch of ruling morons are as likely to encourage moves towards a united Ireland as they are anything else. Sadly, I’m English, and can’t secede with them.
Summer at uni, a time to get renovations done to buildings (like the Ellen Wilkinson) which sorely need it. A scaffold and a red tool box set off the view from up on the third floor landing. It would be nice if I was on a proper summer break by now, but not yet: ten days to go.
Property is on the mind at the moment. It’s nice to have an excuse to pull out the collection of deeds to the house; when we moved in here 21 years ago we inherited this huge envelope full of documents, the oldest of which (the one at the bottom of this shot) dates back 210 years, to 1812 — although our house was built around 1890, the plot of land on which it stands was first enclosed and sold in that year. Anyway, I love these deeds, their copperplate handwriting and archaic terminology (‘messuages’, ‘indenture’). Should we ever sell this place I’m going to pretend these don’t exist, and keep them.
Every Thursday, for years (floods and other arbitrary closures allowing), the Hebden Bridge Picture House has had a weekly Thursday morning showing known as ‘Elevenses’. Attendees get complimentary tea and biscuits. I think in all this time I have only made one of them, but today was the second (the film being Brian and Charles). There was something quite decadent about going to the movies and being out before lunch.
And seat C8 is MINE. It has my name on it, literally — with Clare’s on C7. If you ever get there before me and sit there, believe me I will be looking evilly at you throughout the picture.
File this under the ‘Someone Else’s Art’ category — specifically, these stained glass windows (of which there are four in total) were created by Tom Denny in 2007. They celebrate the life and work of poet Thomas Traherne, who wrote in the 17th century but was not discovered and properly published until the early 20th century, when it was decided by those who decide these things that he had anticipated Romanticism by about 150 years. I’ve never read the guy, but the windows are worth seeing.
I am in Oxford to consult an archive of material relevant to St. Helena, collected by the late Trevor Hearl, who, it appears, knew absolutely everything there was to know about the island — and as you see here, was prepared to offer his opinions to civil servants on their ‘Efficiency Reports’.
This is not the sort of thing you see in every pub visited. But The Griffin, in Amersham, certainly takes its food preparation seriously. The ray in the back of this drying cabinet was enormous. However, I hold back from recommending this establishment thanks to its charging me £7 for a pint, which even for the Home Counties is outrageous.
Being 42 