Even in Manchester, the Rochdale Canal usually looks a bit more aesthetically pleasing. Perhaps this is an accidental draining — it happens, people sometimes leave locks open. Or there is some big clean-up about to happen. Future archaeologists will love all this crap. Meanwhile, the runner on the left ponders whether a) he will be allowed to proceed more than another few yards and b) whether he is about to step on a pigeon.
The moon looks much the same from Bradford as it does from everywhere else, I imagine (until you get down below the Equator, when it does this weird turning upside-down thing), But here we have a nice conjunction, I think. Will it come out unscathed after its journey along the serrated edge? Probably.
Yesterday’s journey home was done with Joe in attendance. Up on the allotment, the hedge needed trimming. A conjunction of child, hedge and the necessary hardware was facilitated. All parties seemed reasonably satisfied with the outcome.
Stop one on a journey to the far north — Dundee. Seen a lot in recent years but with an apartment to use as a stopover, a sensible place to break the journey. I asked Clare about the possible identity of this face and she reckons maybe drag artist The Vivienne; it’s possible. I just liked the image.
Chose exactly the wrong time this afternoon to pop down to town for a bit of food shopping, particularly as I did so without umbrella or jacket. I may, or may not, have taken this one from inside the White Swan pub…. OK, I did. But it was certainly a preferable option at this point in time.
I know nothing of Marvel iconography. OK, I suppose that’s possibly Captain America centre left but that’s as far as I am taking it. So quite who the guy on the right might be, I don’t know, but he looks pissed off enough: if I was the too-relaxed figure in white in front I would be worried.
15th July is the feast day of St Swithin, and according to the legend, if it rains on St Swithin’s Bridge in Winchester on this day it will rain for another 40 days. Apparently there is a certain basis for this: this is about the time of year when the jet-stream kind of settles in and decides where it is going to sit for the rest of the summer: over Britain (we get wet) or to the north of it (we stay dry)? I don’t know what the weather was like in Winchester today but in Hebden it was chucking it down, the wettest day for months, let alone weeks. If the legend is true let me be the first to come out with that old chestnut, “That’s the summer over.”
Originally I was heading for the Scottish Highlands again today, but a general sense that it was not the right time was confirmed by a dubious weather forecast — not for today, which remained a pleasant day, but for tomorrow, Monday, a forecast of wet weather which I already know as I post this seems to have come to pass. So I made the right decision, stayed in Dundee, and went out on a walk anyway, which included this agreeable stretch of woodland growing along what, a century or more ago, was one of Scotland’s first railway lines. Like many such spots it now exercises legs rather than engines, but is none the worse for it.
Great Britain is the only place which tries to do seaside resorts at around 57ºN, and in a location which, as it proved today, is prone to being covered in sea mist (here they call it haar) when the whole rest of the country bathes in sunshine. But Arbroath perseveres. Get a ticket for Arbroath FC — part of one stand of it is in the background, with visiting St Mirren fans — and you can get £12.50 worth of credit at Pleasureland for just £10. Or so we were told.
Well, the header of this blog still does declare “Life, One Day at a Time”. Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, today is a gift. I can live with that.
Being 42 