Considering that the game being watched involved women footballers, this guy might not even have turned up to play: perhaps he just likes wearing the kit. Dialect note: ‘Eyup’ is Yorkshire for ‘hello’ or ‘what’s happening’.
I don’t feel that I have captured the social aspects of this city, which are considerable, and pleasant. What a nice place, perhaps I will never be back before I die, but if not — (as with many other places, like Saigon and Tallinn and Berlin) — that will be a shame. Viva Barcelona. There are many worse places to hang out.
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.
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.
Had two portraits, of people seen incidentally while passing, that I liked today. This one won mainly by virtue of being in focus, but I did like the other too. She is an elegant presence on Harrogate station, though I shiould add, had just been told off by the staff for vaping. It happens to the best of us.
The Winter Solstice was spent getting the Christmas shopping done in Dundee, which among other things, is the home of D. C. Thomson, publisher of the famous (in the UK, anyway) comics the Beano and Dandy. The latter no longer comes out except as an annual, but for the 75 years that it was published, the character Desperate Dan was in every issue: and here is his statue in the city centre. The other shoppers don’t seem bothered, though.
At least I live in a town that still sustains not just one, but two proper butchers’ shops. These guys must make their entire annual profit at this time of year; I know in advance what it will be like when I go to collect my bird two days before Christmas. (Never a turkey, which is a meat I have never found all that appealing, to be honest.) There is no advertising intention to this blog, so can I also point out that despite depicting one of the establishments here, I actually ordered my meat from the other shop.
One of those where the guy’s profile caught my eye, and the rest of the shot was whatever came into view as I caputred it.
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.
Being 42 