And that reader was me, today. Third and, for now, last day working at the National Archives. What’s in the files and boxes? Well, let me get on with writing the book, and some of it, you will find out.
This agreeable piece of whimsy sits in the Cafe Torrelli outside Kew Gardens tube station. I don’t do advertising on here but lunch was pleasant, and I ate better than this guy seems to have recently.
Some might say we haven’t had enough rain in 2025 and probably they have a point, but there’s been quite a bit lately, and today it was obvious even at 8.20am that there was going to be plenty more. So profoundly uneventful was today that this is basically the same shot as on last Monday — only without the boots and with more water outside. But I had work to do, so what the hell.
Post-Sunday lunch card gaming. Clare demanded to play cribbage for the first time in a long while. Only the Brighton & Hove Albion cards could be found. Didn’t faze her – she won 2-1.
This Japanese restaurant certainly solicits some kind of comment from its customers — most of its walls were like this, not just this one. And the wife (Friday Night Date) and I were very satisfied too, good food. I don’t do advertising on this blog but you might look in the High Street area of Manchester city centre if you want a decent ramen. I know this shot is overly pink but I did do my best with the white balance.
Another less-than-exciting day: I am spending most of this week marking dissertations. One thing about the Railway is that it’s always had a very decent juke box. I don’t remember exactly what track was on at 4.40 this Thursday afternoon but whatever it was, this person was not the only one tapping at least one of their feet to it.
However you interpret the title of this post, as I get older the idea of a Day of Recovery is becoming more appealing. I needed it — and the boots certainly did, after Friday’s sogginess and then, two days stuffed into a pack. I think they’re feeling better after a day sat around doing very little. As am I.
This pub at Manchester Victoria station has not been opened all that long (a couple of years by now, I think) but it has rapidly become a Pub of Choice in the city. I don’t do advertising on this blog, except when I do. The dog belongs to one of the regular bar staff: when she’s working, it just hangs out, happily enough, with the rest of us.
St Magnus — originally Magnus Erlendssen — was one of the Norse Earls of Orkney. Apparently someone thought it was a good idea at the time to set up a kind of power-sharing agreement with his cousin Håkon, which lasted only as long as it took Håkon to capture Magnus and stick an axe into his parietal lobe. However, as Magnus was considered something of a pious dude and all-round good sort, after his nephew Rognvald subsequently deposed the usurper, he built this cathedral in tribute. This is pretty good going, as most of us these days will get a post mortem on Facebook and a few ‘likes’. I dunno, progress, eh?
Being 42 