I took my students around the library today, hoping to look at it with active and fresh eyes, at least, that was the plan. I’m trying to do the same with this photograph. Not one of them admitted to having used microfilm before as an information medium — and it’s a good 10 years since I did, and then only once or twice.
Incidentally it’s a year to the day since I arrived in New Zealand.
Had to do my 10 minutes in this place today, to get processed through the system in a certain way. But it needs doing, and it’s something to photograph. I remain around home, Hebden Bridge, for a considerably stable period, relative to my usual movements.
God I’m bored. Someone get me out of this house. Meanwhile, here is a picture of our shelf, which I’m sure has enormous source material for the (pro or amateur) psychologist, or indeed, just the person who’s curious about my CD collection.
Was still functioning at about 25% of normal power today, but this was an improvement. Dragged myself out in the afternoon and then immediately faced another sign of my deteriorating capacities — a fitting for my first pair of reading glasses. Well, it comes to us all.
Well, today was a photographic challenge — because since shortly after taking yesterday’s shot I have been feeling ill and spent almost the whole of today in bed. This burst of sunlight onto the back of the bedroom door is therefore the best you get today. You may yet get the same tomorrow. And why does the door have two handles? A legacy of when this was Joe’s room and he was still just a toddler.
This place is a godsend early in the morning, and rarely empty. I’m not normally round this corner, but for once I had my cup of tea sat down at the tables inside instead of on the train. Earliest shot for a while, since late November in fact (and only the fourth shot before 7.30 in the last 12 months). It’s still dark outside at this time.
Snapped for no other reason than I liked the image. There is no deeper agenda. Another pleasantly sunny winter’s day in Manchester.
With 40 minutes to kill in King’s Cross station on our way back from Brighton, I entertained myself by watching these activities. When the new King’s Cross was opened a couple of years ago this little memorial had been installed seemingly by the builders, and was left largely unmolested; when the Harry Potter shop opened and colonised it shortly afterwards, and started charging visitors to get their mitts on the trolley, the queues, absent before, started appearing. QED.
I have a weekend to catch up on, and a very good weekend it was. Here, in London on Friday night, is where it began — specifically the ‘Princess Louise’ pub on High Holborn, a great old-fashioned Victorian drinking palace with tiles, etched mirrors, little booths and snugs and good beer, what more does one need? (The flare to the bottom right of the image is a bit distracting, but I think I get away with it.)
Such is the name of this fast food joint, our one of choice partly because it is next to the Railway pub, but also because it does do good food, well made. I don’t cook every night you know.
Being 42 