This afternoon something about the look of Geri on the other side of the pub made me think ‘white witch’ — which (witch?) is of course a compliment, white witches are the good guys. It was mostly the hair, I think.
The week ends where quite a few of them do. Neither Steve nor Dex look particularly enthused by the prospect, but the weekend remains young.
Now I’m at home, the risk is run of having nothing particularly interesting or different to photograph — and that was certainly the case today. With apologies to my friends gathered around the fire for the usual Friday evening transition, who are of course interesting (most of the time) but maybe not all that different, at least, not to me.
My Monday afternoons as a student continue, though the next one isn’t going to be until February. It crossed my mind today that we are being taught in much the same way as we would have been a thousand years ago, had we been doing much the same in an abbey somewhere. Look at examples of other people’s writing, be told about some idiosyncracies and abbreviations, and then do our best to reproduce it all. We don’t get handed a quill pen and some parchment, which is a shame, but then again these were valuable items in medieval times and perhaps not to be wasted on students just starting out. It does work if one merely wants to learn to write, or rather to copy: but although I admit my Latin is getting a bit better, there is no interpretation here. What does any of this text actually mean, not just in translation, but really mean for anyone’s life? Beats me. But for that, I guess we would have taken different classes.
Not only did I not leave the house today but I barely left this room. From 9am – 4pm at least my study, and (more specifically) the laptop within it, was the nerve centre of an international network of researchers, contributions from (at least) the UK, USA, South Africa, France, the Netherlands and — most importantly and relevantly — St Helena. Here, the Chief Minister of the latter territory, Julie Thomas, makes her introductions to the day. I have spent quite a bit of time and effort on getting this 2-day event organised and I am very satisfied that it all worked out. As far as we can ascertain this is/was the first online conference specifically devoted to the little island on which I have recently spent plenty of time.
I have met Julie by the way. If all Chief or Prime Ministers or Presidents were like her the world would probably be a better place.
You might not be able to tell this from the photos posted but, work-wise, it’s been a very busy week. Time to let off some steam on the Friday evening. Of course, because we are all middle-aged these days, these high jinks amounted to little more than Stan surreptitiously stickering the back of Mark’s hat, but that is about our level these days.
How Goat are good? Sorry…. How God are Goat? Surely the best band ever to hail from Sweden. OK… maybe the second, but only in more general popular opinion.
A typical Sunday afternoon scene in the Railway, Hebden Bridge. The crow is a bit of added Halloween ambience, but otherwise, we could be on any weekend in the year…. and this guy is here, every weekend.
Calling a band an ‘institution’ is something of a double-edged compliment, as it suggests they have been around a while — and the local Hebden Bridge institution that is (or are) the Owter Zeds were, indeed, celebrating their 40th anniversary at the Trades Club tonight, a gig I came all the way back from London to attend. And plenty of fun it was; if you like a bit of ska, you could do worse. The sax player gets on the blog for the second time, the first being over 10 years ago, when they were mere striplings of just 30 years’ experience.
Those of us who drink in particular pubs regularly may or may not have A Spot. I wouldn’t say I do, even in the Railway. I have been found in most of its corners, at one time or another. But Tony is someone who has A Spot, and here he is, in it. If he sat somewhere else we might not recognise him.
Being 42 