A day at home, between trips away, and watching the beer get delivered to the pub (from across the road, for some reason) was the day’s chief entertainment. Diamond the dog becomes the latest animal to make theblog twice, adopting much the same position as on her first appearance.
At about 3.30am in the morning I was awoken by a distant but continuously ringing alarm down in town, and a sense that I could smell smoke, although both these things only reached the semi-concscious level of awareness. Having convinced myself that if there was smoke, it was external to our place, I drifted back to sleep.
In the morning, it became more apparent where all this was coming from: the La Perla restaurant in town burned down overnight. This morning they were still dousing the smouldering timbers, the town cordoned off as I walked past on my way to the station — so this was the nearest I could get for this bit of reportage. No one was hurt, but I imagine there are a number of people who today are extremely upset.
Monday saw probably the highest temperatures in recorded British history, at least in some places. Today, it was chucking it down, and cool enough to need a jacket when out in the afternoon. The weather in Britain explains a great deal about the country’s psyche. “What comes, will come. Live with it.”
It is plastic, but it does look very realistic, particularly sat on a cushion outside the pub in the sunshine. Many passers-by were seen doing double-takes. Why was it there? Just one element in a range of junk (hence the pile behind it), passing through.
I did very little else other than enjoy some sunshine on this Saturday afternoon; and I was not the only one.
Friday, at the end of a busy week, and the sun was out. I make no apologies for heading for the pub. Others thought the same, as depicted in my camera, and in Mark’s sunglasses.
Well, I was walking back from Old Town — I don’t know where this person’s itinerary had taken them. I am reminded now and again that I do live in a pleasant part of the world. That’s not an accident.
There’s a lot that could be said about Britain’s currently-mandated festivities, but I can’t be bothered. I spent the day finishing off my marking. To note the occasion, here’s some commercialised art, originally from 1977.
The Railway Inn is undeniably close to a main road. But we don’t let it spoil our enjoyment of the outdoor seating; one of Hebden Bridge’s best suntraps. Like the rest of us, Lynn was enjoying it this afternoon.
Being 42 