I did want to get a photo of Joe posted from this weekend; after all we did go all the way to Scotland just to check up on him. Well, mostly. This is the first time he has appeared on here since July 23rd last year.
Another day of data inspection and introspection brings to an end a whole week of much the same kind of stuff, so ending it with a rather ghostly self-portrait seems appropriate. Yes, I’m in a pub (The Albert), though not drinking rum.
I was going to go out of Toronto for the day but last night I managed to slip on a wet floor and bash my head against something that was harder than it: the evidence is not graphic on this photo (I’ll spare you the gore) but it was evident enough. I will live but there was no way I felt like spending two hours each way on a bus. Instead I hung around and recuperated. So there will be no ex-Toronto moments on this trip: 12 days straight through, in which I won’t even have got on a vehicle of any kind, unless elevators count.
Well, we do still have a social life now and again. You wouldn’t necessarily perceive this from reading the blog, though: this is the latest shot in a given day since late November (and it’s still not all that late, though the evening did continue past this point).
From a fake old picture to some real ones. These were taken in around 1945 when my Granddad, Harold Whitworth — my father’s father — was serving in Egypt towards the end of World War 2. He’s the chap with the dapper moustache sat down next to the guy in the turban; and the one on the left of the other shot. (Mildly dubious it might be to dress as a native stereotype, but I have photos of myself doing much the same in Fiji.) Anyway, these are the kinds of family references that now seem obligatory when visiting my parents for the annual-Xmas get-together — last year it was the family tree; in 2023, the box of very old photos.
I don’t honestly remember Granddad ever saying much about his experiences in the war; he was certainly not one of those ex-soldiers who go on about it to anyone who will listen. In these pictures it all looks like an extended holiday, but I’m sure it wasn’t.
The woman in question being Clare, of course. We both adopted this position all day in fact. I liked her little ‘light cave’, and should point out the dubious fluffy mascot to lower right.
A Friday night out, in the kind of lighting which makes taking photos with my point-and-click gear an activity dependent mostly on luck. Great action shots of people dancing don’t really emerge. But this photo of Clare getting the first beers of the evening is at least notable for this being the point when she overtakes Joe as the most-often featured person on here — a status that, all things considered, she will almost certainly now retain.
After yesterday’s smorgasbord of photo opportunities, today was the first photowhack for a while — that is, this was the only picture I took today. But it is representative; the plum tree is needing some serious attention at the moment. Current rates of production are over a kilogram, or 2.5 pounds, every day. If you want some plums, take them off our hands, please.
Did I mention Joe was back here for a couple of weeks? Well, here he is. The blanket was not unreasonable considering the recent weather. Great encouragement to spend an afternoon in. The movie — Gimme Shelter.
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.
Being 42 