C is here to run in the Midnight Sun half-marathon, talking place Saturday night, and was obliged to pick up her number today. Along with ten thousand other people, it seems. Well done to the people sorting through all those bits of paper with RFD tags stuck on them.
This is a self-portrait — logically I will be on it somewhere, and you may discern me under the red umbrella nearest to this shiny ball thing. I’m in the garden early — but then again I started work early (7:45) and sat upstairs marking for several hours. Semester 2 is now officially done, though, as far as I am concerned.
Today was a public holiday, although whether this was actually being observed in Scotland was a matter of opinion (Joe had a class at uni today for instance). Either way, on a sunny day, work didn’t seem like a priority, and I was certainly not the only one taking some form of outdoor exercise this morning. If you find this place on a map (the glen in question being Campsie Glen) you will be able to work out where I and this gentleman took it. But not at this specific point in time. I was just setting out, but he could be at any point in his day.
One of those occasions where it’s a case of — yes, I’ll go with that. There is nothing more to be said.
There’s something terribly familiar about this scene (and there’s me just noticing that ‘familiar’ and ‘family’ have the same root). Only it doesn’t happen all that much any more: this is Joe’s first appearance on the blog since our Christmas trip to Dundee, and his first in Hebden Bridge since early August. We did spend some time talking to each other, by the way.
Out there, there might have been some news going on, but I was having nothing to do with it. It was the last day of my teaching semester, so I hauled myself into Manchester once more, managed a couple of shots in the vicinity of Victoria station, and that was it. This one is a combo of colours, shapes and hair. Yes, the post is annoying, but I’ve already cropped out quite a chunk so in it stays.
Professor Ernest Rutherford, originally from New Zealand, was awarded the Nobel Prize in 1908 even before he conducted, with Hans Geiger and Ernest Marsden, the famous experiment where a bunch of alpha particles were fired at a sheet of gold and some of them bounced back, which Rutherford allegedly said was like firing a missile at a sheet of tissue paper and having it come back and hit you. From this was established the existence of the atomic nucleus, not to mention the original Geiger counter. For this reason Prof Rutherford is one of those former ‘Employees of the Month’ that the University of Manchester likes to big up. But in this case, why not? (Incidentally the room in which this experiment took place is still there, although no longer a laboratory — last time I looked it could be booked as a meeting room.)
The glass of wine is not mine; in fact, nor is it Steve’s, sitting opposite, and, in part anyway, making his fifteenth appearance on the blog (thus coming in at one per year on average). You can tell it’s him: he’s the only person I encounter regularly who habitually wears this much jewellry. Drinks were just migrating to this point in space, well lit by warm sunshine. Shame it’s not the weekend, but possibly tomorrow will be little different.
Why the fans of Ashington FC turned up at today’s game (at Brighouse) dressed as chickens is a story I was told, but in some ways it is far too tragic to relate here: let us just say that it was to do with a practical joke from the past that may have gone wrong. Beyond this you do not want to know, trust me. Connection corner: this is the second time Ashington FC have made it onto tbe blog and, as the visiting team on both occasions, they were just as successful as last time — this is also the second time that, at Brighouse, there has been a picture of a grown man dressed as a chicken. What this says about me, Brighouse Town, and non-league football generally, I know not.
Being 42 