As seen in Sackville Street Gardens, Manchester. It seems a fairly light workout. It’s a shame he wasn’t stood more in the light but maybe it works better this way. I think he knows he’s being photographed.
Time passes, we are mortal. Swifty (Derek) was only seven years older than me — but he caught pneumonia not long ago, and that was it. Today was his funeral. Too many people now who have featured on here who have died.
It’s good to have some sustenance while waiting for colleagues (and Peter is a Professor, a rank I will now almost certainly never attain) to offer their opinions on one’s writing. That paper might even get finished one of these days.
An early morning derailment at Shap, in Cumbria, meant the West Coast Main Line was completely closed. Fortunately we were heading south and not trying to get to Scotland, but I suspect this gentleman was one of the many people in Preston station this morning for whom that was the intended destination.
I am against the exploitation of Halloween when it comes to the selling of vast amounts of ephemeral plastic tat. But we had an invite to a party tonight, the costumes we wore had been worn before and will be worn again — though maybe not that V mask which I found terribly uncomfortable and which, all evening, was worn purely for the photo opportunities. C’s ‘Corpse Bride’ wedding dress was definitely getting another outing, though. Preparations are, here, still in train (pun intended).
Once more, London. I spend far more time here now than I ever did when I actually lived down south. This portrait came about because of noticing the bendiness of the windows on this Central line train. A kind of Daliesque thing? A little bit, anyway.
Can I go any lower with the self-portrait, in various ways? Rembrandt, eat your heart out. Once autumn really kicks in, the stone floor in our kitchen gets too cold without some form of protection.
A nice combination of shapes and textures on this one I think. Not that I am commenting on James’s texture. He’s just having a fag.
An uneventful day to mark the 34th anniversary of my becoming a resident of Yorkshire. I turned up to stay for a few weeks on 10/10/1991 and seem not to have left since. Anyway, that has nothing to do with today’s shot which I include as a prompt for speculation — just what is it that this guy expects to get out of his appointment in the Hair Studio? OK, there is a glimpse of a beard, but surely not one voluminous enough to make professional attention necessary. But what do I know? (Note: white post carefully placed to assist anonymisation.)
Went to Leyton Orient FC, of League One, today simply because I had never been there — it’s another one of those list-making things — a lunchtime kick-off making it straightforward at both ends of the day. Their two dragon mascots were quite endearing and going on the faces of the crowd behind, at least a couple of whom are clearly old enough to make their own judgments here, the locals think so too. They lost the game, though: 2-3 to Stevenage.
A full week of shots in London, then — 7 in a row. But that was the last, for three weeks anyway. At this rate, the capital will overtake the Lake District sooner rather than later and become the third most-depicted place on here, after Hebden and Manchester. I like the countryside, yes, but I must admit to quite liking London, too.
Being 42 