There are plenty of reasons today to withdraw from active engagement with the world, and offer up a shit photo that highlights a slightly pleasing aspect of the day (29 million is a pretty good score on this machine). And, so, I do.
You’ve gotta like this movie. Not all the jokes work any more, by any means, but Young Frankenstein must be the finest parody-homage of any genre, ever. And at a completely decadent time of day, too, thanks to the Hebden Bridge Picture House’s Thursday morning “Elevenses” deal.
“But… I had nothing to do with all those emails! I told them I don’t know anything….!”
“Shaddup. When they come for us, you’re going first.”
In the brilliant 1980s TV series Edge of Darkness (which I really must watch again some time), there is a scene in which the hero evades his pursuers by deliberately running into the Barbican Centre. It’s an in-joke, but it works: forty years on this is still a rather difficult building complex to find one’s way around. Even as I took this shot there were two young American tourist types stood to my right, debating just which of the concrete ramps and overpasses and underpasses they needed to try next. But what the hell — I still like the place, both to visit and to photograph, and it does give good statuary.
I have put in plenty of hours already this week and there are still two long and busy days to come. So no, I don’t really care that I was in the White Swan before 4pm today. And, I’m sure, nor does the other guy.
Another lecture, only this time I am facing front instead of at the front. For several Mondays over the next few months I will be a student again: the subject, you can see for yourself. ‘Hogwarts’ is, in fact, the Historic Reading Room of the John Rylands Library; a spectacular setting for a class, and somehow appropriate (though this was opened in 1901 and is detinitely not a medieval construction). But by next time I hope they’ve turned the heating on. Mr Rylands himself, or his statue, at least, pokes up behind the screen.
Conferences are not the most exciting arena photographically, but at least this photo proves I am here to work — or at least, to listen to the outcomes of other people’s work.
It is still September. It is still the first half of September. But the Gospel Oak pub, in Tipton, West Midlands, cares nothing for such pedantries. Here, it is Christmas already, so they can advertise their seasonal ‘wear a shite jumper’ dinners (starting November 11th, if you’re interested). There is something deeply depressing about this.
Four pounds of blackberries, all foraged from the roadsides within 200 yards of home, have just been combined with four pounds of sugar. Four pounds of sugar is a lot. But, an hour or so later, there were six jars of very nice jam ready to see us through the winter. Making jam may seem a terribly middle-class thing to do but it ain’t hard, y’know.
I have several times tried to capture a version of this shot, but it’s never really worked before. I’m quite happy with this one, though. Most of the thirty or so people who were watching have already departed and yet still the credits roll, down to the stage where only the assistant catering key grip’s mother is still watching them. The movie? Trap — which, I suppose, was OK, at least for a while.
Being 42 