Well, here we all are on the early morning cattle truck, pulling into a freezing cold, damp station (voted one of the 10 worst in the country a couple of years ago), and probably all off, like I was, to do something that our employer has decided is terribly important but almost certainly isn’t.
No wonder everyone’s face was like this. Damn sure mine was.
What a terribly glamorous life I must lead, right? Actually, no. I did shuttle over to Amsterdam this morning (one of the world’s great cities – visit, if you never have), but that was for a boring old academic conference. On my way back to the hotel this evening I passed what was clearly a movie premiere and just inserted myself among the paparazzi for a few moments to see what I could get.
Why are people so obsessed with celebrities by the way? I mean here not as actors (see ‘Tom Baker’, two days ago – which I accept is a case for the prosecution), but as ‘personalities’? I don’t understand it. If people are good at acting, fine, admire them for that, but then again there are people who are good at nursing, at controlling air traffic, etc. They don’t get cameras shoved up their arse on a regular basis.
I know how you feel, love.
I’ve never heard a satisfactory explanation for why we call it Boxing Day. Whatever it means historically, these days it usually means, for me, attending a football match if there’s one in the vicinity. Today therefore becomes the Globe Arena’s second appearance on this site (after September 23rd). We did this one rather differently, however; our Christmas present for Carol & Dave, our in-laws, was to sample the full matchday hospitality package, with dinner in the suite under the main stand. Interesting experience.
This lady appears today for no other reason than I think she looks good in this photo. She becomes, begging her pardon, the oldest person so far on this blog.
Another craft fair. I did OK. It’s a two-day event – back there tomorrow. As will be this lady, carding and spinning wool from the local hillsides. Looked like a lot of hard work. Taking photos is much easier – at least physically. Selling them? That takes work.
Solidarity, brother 🙂
The story behind this place is such a long and difficult one to tell – North & Hodson’s book Build a Bonfire will give you the first part, doubtless someone will write the second instalment one day. Suffice it to say that as a Brighton fan making my inaugural visit here this afternoon, when I first entered it, I cried. Just a little bit.
Today’s result: Brighton & Hove Albion 2, Barnsley 0. We won’t mention the failure of Southern rail to get me and a few thousand other fans back to Brighton because of a ‘staff shortage’. I mean, it’s not like they knew we were coming.
Let’s edit out the text that originally accompanied this photo, written last night when I was too inebriated to be lucid and pithy and all those other things I’d like these texts to be. Let me instead just reiterate what a good night it was. The audience were asked not to take photos of the performance and stick them online – so I should respect that – though it’s a shame, as I got some good ones including of the wife making her own performance debut. But the audience were also a sight worth recording. Happy Halloween – a couple of days early, it is true.
Because of it’s ridiculously early start time I turned up to this opening presentation late, and have no idea what is happening here. But what the hell, the shot of this guy with the impressive data projection on his face is interesting enough, and from what I saw of the rest of the presentation, you didn’t really need to know what was going on.
The ‘outtakes’ have been published to mark this, the 50th day of the blog. See the ‘best of the rest’ page – a permalink to which can be found in the menu at the top.
The Conservative Party Conference continues to provide a rich seam. I’m almost sorry I’m not going in tomorrow. Some fundamentalists wield biblical slogans, others manifestos and soundbites. But they’re all basically the same: they lay blame for the world’s problems on anything and everything other than themselves.
Being 42 