This amount of light, sunshine and relative warmth at 5pm are definite signs of spring. The equinox is past us, the nights are only getting longer. Not that Gus looks all that happy about it.
Made one of my occasional forays into the sports media world. High enough to be obliged to display the corporate sponsorship, although no endorsement of any product is implied…. Emma Hayes is by now surely the longest-serving manager in any of the senior English football leagues (having been in charge of Chelsea in the Women’s Super League since 2012, and won it the last three seasons), but she presided over defeat today, 2-0 to Manchester City. In the press room afterwards: “Q: What went wrong today, Emma?” “A: We lost.” Nailed it.
I think I might finally have provoked the students into some independent thinking. They were talking about something, anyway.
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.
And so ends February 2023, a varied month for me, some very interesting periods and some deadly dull ones. Photographically, it ends in a pub on Stoke-on-Trent station, mainly for lighting reasons. Though the beer was quite good too.
This week Clare has also been away, and remains there until the weekend. Back home I did nothing other than work at home and was close to having to put up something lousy on here, until later on, I looked over to the wife’s empty side of the bed and saw Frida Kahlo looking at me. Well, sort of.
So little time do I spend on campus these days that I had not noticed the great exhibition of old Manchester rock scene photographs in the main canteen, in University Place. Some superb pictures: notice Ian Curtis to bottom left, the rest of Joy Division above, and then Tony Wilson, Peter Saville and Alan Erasmus (Factory Records more or less) under the relevant sign.
Fantastic to look at; but I wonder whether it’s wasted on the students, most of whom, let’s face it, have been born since 2000 AD and unless they have very cool parents haven’t the slightest idea who Joy Division are or ever were — particularly if they come from China. It’s not a value judgment.
The only thing that most people can recall about St Helena is that it was where Napoleon Bonaparte was exiled for the last five and a half years of his life. I have a lot of sympathy for the guy; after defeat at Waterloo, certain that the Prussians, at least, were going to kill him the second they caught up with him, he surrendered to the British, only to find himself — without trial or conviction for any crime — packed off to the middle of the South Atlantic, and put under house arrest in Longwood House. These days that building would be desirable real estate I’m sure, but, riddled with damp and rats at the time, I wouldn’t want to spend all that time here against my will, particularly not if I’d been in charge of much of Europe in the previous couple of decades.
This isn’t Napoleon’s original death mask, created as he lay in this room in May 1821, having died (conspiracy theories notwithstanding) of stomach cancer, aged 51, younger than me. Apparently, for some bizarre reason, that mask currently resides in the University of North Carolina. But, copy of a copy though this one may be, here the erstwhile Emperor’s face sits in the very room of Longwood House in which Napoleon’s body lay in state 202 years ago. Officially I was not supposed to take photos inside the house, so this is firmly an unofficial shot. Don’t tell anyone.
It’s not actually the case that I came all the way back to St Helena simply to give a 15-minute presentation at this event, but it did, at least, strongly influence the timing of my visit. So let’s depict it as today’s post. My fellow speaker Pedro was here as a ‘digital nomad’ or ‘anywhere worker’, of the sort that the island would like to attract more of, once the new cable comes on line — an event that seems to have been forever just around the corner, but is apparently due to happen in March.
Being 42 