Saturday 7th December 2013, 3.00pm (day 835)
We did our bit for the local economy with some local Christmas shopping today. Did we buy the Star Trek Barbie & Ken? Well, that would be telling.
A day working at home, which I haven’t done for a while. By this time in the year the morning sun is too low to get above the hillside behind, and the house will only see afternoon sunlight until February. There’s a reason all our living rooms are on one side of the building: the bathroom, like the kitchen, is on the dark side of the house.
This is one of those places that is either totally empty or heaving with people. Better this way, I think. A study in colour and form from the University Place building on campus.
Second evening in a row at the pub – naughty, naughty. A birthday celebration for our friend Steve, these are the remnants of his very nice birthday cake going up in smoke. Yes, we could have recycled. But it’s cold out.
Well, the ceiling of the terminal building anyway. The plane’s a model, in case you were wondering. Back home after four enjoyable days in Russia.
Made no greater excursion into the outside world than yesterday, and the weather was worse too, with this being perhaps the darkest and gloomiest day I’ve experienced since January. Racking off the blackberry wine was about the most interesting thing that was seen in the day. Ahhh, alcohol. It’s all just the excretions of yeast, you know. Fungus poo, in other words.
The refurbishment continues of the building recently named as one of the 10 worst railway stations in Britain. A mundane shot to mark a day with a good number. As well as being day 777 of the blog it is also 22 years to the day since I moved to Yorkshire.
Well, this has been a fairly unreconstructed weekend — a Friday night out and a Saturday afternoon in the pub, too. The results in the Championship are nothing to speak of at the moment, however. But that does not mean that going out is unenjoyable.
John Owens made his fortune in the early 1800s, it seems in two ways — first through cotton trading, and secondly by “keeping no company whatsoever” and spending every evening in, reading books (according to contemporary accounts). On his death, with no children — unsurprising, with those habits — he left a substantial sum of money towards the foundation of Owens College, now a part of the University of Manchester, and also made it a condition of his will that no student nor member of the faculty in that institution would ever have to “pass a religious test” to achieve their status. He might not have been much of a party animal, but at least he had a sensible lack of zealotry along with it.