Another County Top walk, this time up to Brimmond Hill, the summit of Aberdeen City — not very high but a good view. The woods below it show evidence of much damage from the storms that hit in November last year; the trail marker here seems to be expressing its opinion about this fact.
It’s been a long time since I went to any kind of live theatrical performance. The last time one was depicted on here was probably 30th December 2018 (The Producers, in Manchester). In large part we can, of course, thank two years of The Great Fear for this, and that also explains why there’s been no Hebden Bridge Burlesque Festival since 2019. But this has returned, tonight was the finale, and as they needed some ushers (glorified fire marshals) I got to put on a suit and go and see it for free. We were allowed to take photos only at the end, so here’s the one chance I got. This woman, CeCe Sinclair, was the MC, and a bloody good job she made of it. She did it while not wearing much, but that’s burlesque for you. A better-than-average Sunday evening, anyway.
A Tuesday morning in Manchester. Either I was having a major case of déjà vu, or this same guy was still sat in the same spot when I came back past this point in the afternoon.
From Luddenden — setting for yesterday’s blue-sky picture — to London, which is rather bigger, but in which the weather continues to be very pleasant. The blues seen here come partly from the sky but also this glass, which was a vivid blue and caught the eye. Clare gets on, at least in part, for the second time in three days and soon will be surpassing Joe in terms of the number of blog appearances overall.
Golly, an academic conference. Face-to-face, with real people — the first one for me since Bucharest in January 2020. And plenty of evidence as to what we’ve been missing in the travesties that are the ‘virtual conference’ (of which I have only managed to do one, and that briefly, basically because I liked the people that organised it and didn’t want to let them down). Discussion, spontaneity, conversations in the lunch queue, empathy. To the neo-liberal interests, tech giants and health fascists who say we can all do it online now — I say, get stuffed.
It’s Sunday afternoon in the Railway. Meaning, it’s Karaoke Afternoon. This is a regular Sunday thing, like church. And the singing is no better. The arrival of the m.c. — here, about to start his set-up — is a sign to head to a different part of the building, out of earshot.
At some yet-to-be-defined point in the future, there will come a day when not only do I have nothing in particular to photograph, but I also don’t manage to take a usable photo of nothing in particular. Today came close, I have to say. I therefore feel it necessary to fall back on this selfie taken in the morning, for no particular reason. I did think of calling it ‘selfie in red shirt’ but then I went monochrome so even that is somewhat indulgent. At least you can check on how I’ve been aging recently. Clare thinks I appear ‘terribly serious’ here but I guess that’s just what I look like at the moment.
June 2022 will mark 25 years since I graduated from the University of Leeds, at least for the first time, with my BA (Development Studies with Politics, in case you were wondering). There are now very few people from that time still present in my life on any kind of regular basis, and even they haven’t been seen enough lately, for many reasons, not just the one that is obvious (though it does matter). Doug is one of the few, unseen at all since August 2020 and, on the blog, March 2019 (with this pic, that shows he hasn’t changed much). Great to see him today, though. As we say each time it happens, we should do this kind of thing more often — but will we? That’s up to us, isn’t it.
This is definitely a coven of like-minded females, and they’re plotting something. But I’m confident that they’re of the white persuasion, somehow. It’s the hair that gives away their shared allegiance.
I think this sums up this particular acquaintance. If the guy that you think is Jim doesn’t have a glass of red wine in front of him, then it’s not him.
Being 42 