A bit early for a working lunch perhaps, but if it’s good enough for Inspector Morse — a frequenter of the Turf Tavern, Oxford, in both the novels and the TV series — it’s good enough for me, and indeed for this gentleman. One thing about Oxford is that you do really feel the whole city centre, at this time of year at least, is engaged in some form of intellectual pursuit. The environment is wholly conducive to it.
Actually she looks just like the kind of person who I would trust to deliver a really good cake. And it certainly looks that way, though I didn’t try the produce.
Spent the whole day entertaining some visitors from Norway, so they should feature on the daily post. Johannes ponders his beer, Anita brings more, and Catherine seems happy that her luggage — thought lost in the system — has been found. They and their colleagues reminded me that Norway is a place I have not been to lately, despite it remaining the third-most featured country on this blog (after England and Australia); its last appearance was 26th April 2018, as I departed Tromsø airport for the last time (so far). If I made a good impression today, perhaps I will get an invite back…
Well, they can do some work now and again. It’s what they’re here for, after all. This morning, they discuss the book as an information technology — which it definitely is, and if you’re not sure why, then come to my next class. And yes, they are all Chinese and female, which is also the way it is in higher education at this time.
I am not having a dig at UNESCO, activities with whom have, in the past, led me to some interesting places (like Siberia for instance). But this wasn’t one of those. The generally somnolent look of the people depicted on screen here — including myself, managing to not look like I am taking a photograph at this point in time — suggests that this ‘test session’ for an online gig taking place in two weeks’ time was not the most exciting way to get through the post-lunch slot on a Friday afternoon.
Another day when there wasn’t a great deal to do except spy on the neighbours: but I did like the shapes her hands were making.
7:10am on 7/10. People have their observable routines. With teaching having started and my having 9am classes here and there, I have been catching the 6:55am train at Hebden Bridge. This becomes the 7:10 at Rochdale, and each time I’ve caught it, these two have got on. Today, they almost immediately dozed off. I sympathise. They look comfortable enough together, and good luck to them.
There are, by now, a number of ‘digital ghosts’ that haunt this blog. I know of, for sure, seven people who have appeared on here who have since died: both of Clare’s grans, our former neighbour Richard, a professorial colleague at work, and three friends, of which Lynn was the most recent, passing away last month. Her last appearance on here was on 30th May. It’s possibly the only one, although I would be surprised if she didn’t also turn up in the background of some other shots: as, technically, she does here.
So what do the rest of us do….. A wake is the party that they hold for you, the one time they know you can’t come. And then we move on. Eventually everyone depicted on here will be dust, including me: I’m only two years younger than Lynn. Whether I will get the chance to let you know I’m on the way out, is as yet undetermined.
Welcome back to the Hebden Bridge Handmade Parade, which graced this blog on an annual basis before being cancelled in 2020 and 2021: one might say, ‘understandably’, at least for 2020, although I would disagree. But let’s move on from that and enjoy the present incarnation: shifted to September, seemingly smaller, but still with plenty of percussion. I like the way this shot captures the drummers concentrating both on their instruments and on the ‘conductor’ walking in front of them — as any good orchestra should. ‘Drum Machine’ is the name of this troupe, by the way.
Time for the new academic year to get going. Behind us, as I took this shot, the latest clump of aspirants, our objects of care for this year — the new students. Ivy tries to outline the scale of it all to colleague Mark. I think we’re ready for the whistle.
Being 42 