Jonny handles e-learning technology for our little band of teachers. I am happy with this portrait of him, man in his context and all that. Though aren’t desktops starting to look rather retro these days? All those wires. How 1990s.
On the way back from Bricktastic yesterday Clare made what I’m sure she will agree was a rather poor attempt at negotiating a particular kerb in Manchester, and as a result spent the day in this position, more-or-less. I did my best to nurse. I’m not very good at it (my sister got the nursing allocation in my family, believe me) but today was our 19th wedding anniversary, so I owe more than a few by now.
The sun shows no signs of going away, so rather than wonder when the hosepipe bans and drought orders will come in, let’s just enjoy it — albeit, under cover. Too hot to sit out in direct sunlight for long, even with a beer. Mr John Bailey makes at least his third appearance on the blog.
Hebden Bridge’s annual ‘Handmade Parade’ has featured on here every year since the blog started, and will probably continue to do so. Although it is easy to be blasé about it when it’s seen every June, it remains an amazing outburst of creativity from hundreds of people, done purely for the sake of one performance along the main street of the town, which lasts 90 minutes or so — and for no direct commercial reasons whatsoever. Long may it continue. If someone can look this sophisticated and cool while wearing a large blue cardboard snake’s-head as a hat — then there must be benefits to it.
McGlynn’s pub in Bloomsbury declares this afternoon for the French, before their game against Peru in the World Cup: note the tricolour in the window. What gets me about this shot though is how much Roy Keane looks like a little orange animated version of himself, sort of like Max Headroom….
Two LCD Soundsystem gigs in a year… But being brilliant and versatile, they could play a whole different set than last time in London. No one is ever going to do high-quality gig photography from the next-to-back row high up in the circle and with my camera: but it’ll do to document the evening. James Murphy is a master lyricist (“Drunk girls know that love is an astronaut… it comes back, but it’s never the same”) and superb front man yet always remains a slightly chubby, unshaven fortysomething in yesterday’s T-shirt. Which is why we love him.
Started the first day of my working week in London, travelled to Manchester, finished it at home in Hebden Bridge. This guy may not have left Argyle Square in that time, but I’m sure he was just as productive as me in the end. I like all the vaguely different colours of brick on this shot.
It landed on me. We communed for a minute. I took a photo, it flew off but it had done its job.
God, I’m getting grey. Slowly but surely.
“Come on a walk up Scafell Pike, son. It’ll be fun. You can have the pleasure of attaining the highest point in England,” says I, a few weeks back. I’m sure there were points today when Joe cursed me for letting me talk him into this particular hike — particularly here on Ill Crag, one of the subsidiary peaks nearby, and the first outrageous excrescence of boulders into the journey. This picture can also be presented with the benefit of hindsight and knowing that in fact, there’s worse still to come before the summit — all 3,210 feet of it (978 metres) — is attained.
But he made it. And it was a beautiful day.
A happy 50th birthday to brother-in-law Pete: we celebrated in Manchester and I tried not to dwell on the fact that in 462 days time, I too will reach the half-century…
