My last scheduled day of on-campus teaching in this academic year. Very few turned up, but that’s OK, it was an optional class. Hopefully they are all off in studious contemplation somewhere, like she seems to be: although quite probably she’s just checking social media while she has her fag.
I pick this one today because I think it’s a nice portrait, though I don’t know these gentlemen and so can’t be sure it captures some kind of essential quality about them. But I see a lot of football these days — the game mentioned in the post title was my 80th of the season and I intend to do a few more yet before it’s over — and I see a lot of people like these, as we’re all in it together.
The Manchester marathon took place in quite warm conditions and Alex definitely needed this assistance as he passed the 26-mile marker, thus, 385 yards to go. By the time she reached this point — over four hours later — Clare was also very much in need of some water, but she made it nevertheless, thus completing her second marathon after Edinburgh in May last year. That’s two more than I have ever done, or ever will do: even at walking pace (like, up a mountain or something) I see no need to ever propel myself 26.2 miles in one day. Well done to all who do so.
There must surely be a kind of terror in the face of the stag and — even more so — the hen parties that descend on certain places every weekend. Liverpool seems to particularly attract them: this is taken on platform 11 of Crewe station, but Liverpool is where they’re going, inflatables and all. Perhaps the photo is flawed because none of their faces can be seen, but maybe that does everyone a favour.
More specifically, skulking right down the far end of it, where the trains never stop. It looks like he may have busted the photographer but actually, looking closer up suggests he’s oblivious to his capture for posterity. I quite like the lighting on this one.
Onto the 7:56 from Hebden Bridge we pack, a cattle truck most days. But the physical intimacy doesn’t mean social contact. Taking photos in these circumstances is some kind of transgression, isn’t it? But wrapped in their worlds, no one noticed.
I don’t know whether St Bernadette’s — the church in the background — was busy on this Sunday morning, possibly it was. Hough End Playing Fields across the road certainly was, although this picture doesn’t capture the fact that at least half-a-dozen sports matches of various kinds were taking place around me at this point. I like the combination of the bright orange shirt and the slight dullness and tattiness of the background.
While we have been teaching in one half of the hotel’s ‘business centre’, the other has been occupied by a large number of extremely attractive models of both sexes, getting ready for the fashion show that occupied the ballroom this afternoon — a specifically Russian event, it seems. I think if I possessed this woman’s shape, not to mention her ability to support her posture on what looks like two narrow pencils, I’d probably become a model too. The guy on the right isn’t badly sculpted either.
I’ve been here before — not just in life, but on the blog, with this picture, taken on my first trip to St Helena. That one is also in black-and-white, and today that aesthetic move relieves some of the more garish colouring, particularly of the Hawaiian shirt of the guy on the left. Who, by the way, keeps saying hello to me as if he’s never met me before, whereas in the past we’ve had numerous conversations. But perhaps I am just forgettable, in a way that he is not.
I try not to put too many football pictures up here but I do like this one, simply because of her face, and the general contrast with the rest of the scene. And it does epitomise the day, with me not having arrived in the city until noon, local time. Either way, the match (Cape Town City v Orlando Pirates) and the general experience were very fine: a great introduction to the country.
Being 42 