I did follow England’s efforts in this morning’s World Cup Final, but I didn’t go watch it anywhere organised, I don’t like watching football on the TV whomever is playing. But they lost, so in lieu of pictures of any celebrations, here is an indication that August might finally be giving summer a go. I don’t know what these flowers are, sorry, but there are plenty of them blooming down by the market at the moment.
Is it a happy, friendly sun or is it a grimacing demon, its head sprouting flame? I’m assuming the former. Not sure why I liked this little corner this morning, but I did. To top left, the ’42’ guy pops another tag into the blog, as well.
The uneventfulness of today was largely determined by this crap. Really, what’s the point in facing it? It is forecast to improve, so I just got on with stuff indoors.
Hebden Bridge has its share of risky parking spaces — there’s the ‘Wing Mirror Two Inches From That 40-Tonne Truck Descending At Speed’ variety and more than a few ‘Garage Perched Precariously On Thin Pile Of Bricks (Above Terrifying Drop)’. But this is a new variety. I assume Storplan have good insurance.
Another day at home, musing on the existence of portals to other dimensions, as possibly manifesting on the Birchcliffe hillside, around the upper floor of 7 Chapel Street I reckon.
Another less-than-exciting week ends with a photograph of similar sort. Life is scheduled to liven up in July but in the meantime, here we still are, Hebden Bridge on a quiet Friday post-work afternoon. Going monochrome helps the interest level a little, perhaps.
Normal rain too, that is, not a thunderstorm (although we did have one of those later in the evening). Can I be the first to come out with that hardy perennial phrase — ‘That’s the summer over’.
I apologise, as much to myself as anyone else, for the uneventfulness of life at this time. The scaffolders are busy in Hebden however; there were already at least four major scaffolding installations visible from home (including next door), and this fifth went up during the day. A growth industry it seems.
Hmmm, a Saturday with no football (yes, OK, I’m aware that there was something going on in London along those lines, but you know what I mean). And the sun was shining. And there was work to do in the garden. All these things made a relaxing afternoon picnic, with wine, just the right thing to do. (Those are my feet, yes. Clare is unseen to the left — I didn’t drink the whole bottle myself, you know.)
The sun is out, and Coach Party Season has opened in Hebden Bridge. QR codes now appear in local shop windows that help such visitors find locations from Happy Valley (despite the fact that most of it was not filmed here). Trinkets are bought. Some pints consumed, perhaps. Then everyone files back onto the bus and goes somewhere else. I picked this shot today just because I like the guy in the middle, caught in some cosmic revelation. Perhaps he has just seen Sarah Lancashire ascending to heaven.
Being 42 