Our neice Poppy had her 18th birthday party today, in the building ahead; we got there late, thanks to ths usual rubbish on the train line. Clare brings a dash of red to the scene, meanwhile her Dad, i.e. my father-in-law Dave, makes only his second-ever appearance on the blog in 4,250 days.
Actually this photo started out as more of a picture through the window I sat before, as I had lunch: but maybe it’s subconsciously significant that it didn’t work out that way. I like the ‘cut up’ or collage effect: very Cubist.
If there’s DIY to be done about the house, it’s never me that does it.
An inconsequential shot for an inconsequential day, but it does have one claim to significance: this is the first time I have ever managed seven morning shots in a row. Six in a row has been attained several times but never a full week. Getting through the weekend was the trick, at least in this case.
This place is taking up the majority of my thinking energy at the moment and will continue to do so for some time to come. These maps of how things were in 1988 are not going to play a major part in my cogitations and analysis — particularly not number 7, at the bottom of this spread — but it’s all a useful insight into how things once were: this is why we need records, and archives to store them in.
And yes, I know I have hairy arms and hands. It’s always been the case. This is the first self-portrait since October.
It’s been a while since I bothered going out on New Year’s Eve, and the last one spent away from home was the one at the end of 2014, but this year I did try to reawaken my dormant social animal. Anyway the in-laws were having a party: on the far right is Rachael, my sister-in-law, I think this is her debut on here (even after 11 years, four months and five days). Joe pops up in the background, too. A good time was generally had. Happy New Year to you all.
This blog isn’t here for advertising purposes but I can’t avoid a free plug for the magnificent Eagle Mill B & B in St Ives, Cambridgeshire. Everything about it was fine, but having a bath placed on a pedastal, open to the rest of the bedroom, was the crowning touch. Excuse, therefore, the gratuitous bath shot, but why not?
This seems a very long time ago now. Another reason that I could not sort out my dead Mac for as long as I did was that we had to run Joe back up to his second year of uni in Dundee (of which more shortly). Two days before, we had the latest in what seems a series of farewell meals. Doubtless there’ll be more, unless of course this time he never comes back at all.
So precisely has my reflection been split by this bevelled mirror (in Frew’s Bar, Dundee) that the sprouting of hair above my ear appears on the lower part. I like this cubist homage as it was an occasion where the shot I sought was precisely achieved.
The English summer weekend. We cook and eat our food outside despite it only being about 13ºC. And there is some obligation for middle-age men to be the ones cooking it: Pete (brother-in-law) started it off, but I braved the flames (below centre) to do the last quarter, or so.
Clare was clearing out a drawer this afternoon, one of those corners in which obscure things gather, to re-emerge after many years. Like this small red pouch which, it turned out, contained this collection of Joe’s baby teeth — the tooth fairy came, and transferred her bounty to this place, it seems. It serves to purpose to keep them, but I totally understand why they’ve not been disposed of.
Being 42 