The twice-yearly graduation ceremonies give us the chance to dress up in our finery and enjoy some pomp and circumstance. Opportunities to do that are getting fewer in the world so let’s embrace them while they still exist. And as ever, congratulations to all the students as well.
It’s actually not a bad place to catch forty winks, the train home — I manage it frequently. Like these two gentlemen, I am tired…. but have now just three days left before my summer break.
As predicted on Thursday, the weekend is seeing a family effort with manual labour on the allotment. Joe is contributing his bit, having discovered power tools (namely the hedge trimmer), although this photo doesn’t really reflect this. It’s interesting to compare this photo with another one of him in a hedge, taken in January 2012; that’s what adolescence does to you (visually anyway).
Still in London, and back in the usual haunt of Argyle Square, home of the cheaper hotels around King’s Cross. And a nice place to chill out on a sunny evening, as it was. Like the textures on this shot, and the colours.
Having taken Friday off work because of the funeral Sunday was a day at the desk for me, but at least around lunchtime there was the distraction of the 2017 Handmade Parade, Hebden Bridge’s annual photo-fest. Having featured this event on several occasions before (it’s made it every year from 2012 onwards), let’s add distinctiveness to this year’s entry by featuring Joe in his home-made finery. As ever, hearty congratulations to all who took part, the level of effort and creativity which goes into this totally non-corporate event still amazes me.
On 2nd June my aunt, Anne Morecroft, my father’s sister, died of heart failure — may she rest in peace. Today was her funeral, first at Dukinfield crematorium in Tameside, Manchester, and then the wake afterwards at Stalybridge Methodist church where I took this picture of my other aunt and uncle, Celia and Philip Hall (my mother’s younger brother). That’s the thing about funerals isn’t it: while regretting the reason these events start to become the only time you see your extended family. Should it be that way? Probably not, but I doubt I am the only person for whom it is true. Best wishes to them all, and families everywhere.
I can’t have been getting outside much lately, for this is the sixth consecutive interior shot, and usually exteriors easily outnumber them. This afternoon’s entertainment at the Picture House: Alien: The Latest Franchise (OK, maybe it’s not actually called that); not bad I suppose but these are starting to get like the Nightmare on Elm Street series, let’s just crank out the xenomorph goo again and not worry whether anyone notices the lack of plot or character. Passes the time on a Sunday afternoon I suppose.
I’m sure we all love 3.15am alarm calls, especially after the conference closing party the evening before — when the phone went off, I had very little idea where I was or what I was doing. At least the sun was up — it’s flare encouraging a move to monochrome for this shot featuring fellow attendees Susannah and Coetzee presumably wondering what they were doing up as well, at a time equivalent to 11.15pm at home, thus meaning it was before midnight on the previous day when I started my journey home — to where I arrived 21 hours later. At least the early start let me keep up with the news from the Election.
Farewell to Siberia then — I saw a very small part of it though mainly it was just sitting in a room. Pleasant weather though. But let’s not talk about the mosquitoes.
Election day of course — but I’m still in Russia, this being the last day of the conference here in Khanty-Mansiysk. Daria here was one of the two simultaneous translators who worked throughout the two and a half days. I cannot help but be amazed by the talent of translators generally, but to do it simultaneously — like a Babel fish — now that really is astonishing. Will machines ever be able to do this? I seriously doubt it. Imagine a computer that can translate a joke from one language to another on the spot.
Khanty-Mansiysk lies in the Ugra (pronounced Yoo-Grah) region, the centre of the Russian oil industry — the money generated from same being the reason why a relatively small (100,000 people) and isolated city can sustain a few major conference centres, a national league ice hockey team, an airport, and indeed a life in a region where winter temperatures fall to -50ºC on a regular basis. Linguists may recognise the placename as contributing to the name of the Finno-Ugric group of languages, so if you speak Hungarian, Estonian or Finnish, this is where your ancestors came from.
Ugra TV seemed to think it worth covering the IT Forum that we attended this morning: no idea what is happening with the guy’s hands behind the presenter here, either it was something highly significant to her on-screen appearance, or he was just copping a feel.
Being 42 