While running an errand here this lunchtime I looked up and said to Max, ‘Do you mind if I take a picture of your desk? It’s very well-lit’. And so it was. So if you wanted to know what a jeweller’s workspace looks like, here you go: somehow I might have anticipated it being more delicate-looking. But I guess some pretty heavy-duty work is required at times. As well as double portions of caffeine.
First, there was the one Muscovy duck that took up residence at Hebden Bridge canal marina — this one. Then several more turned up (and had a few fights). But for a while now I have only seen one again, not the original one but this all-white one, which has made a couple of earlier blog appearances itself. The others have either died or moved on, leaving this one behind. Maybe it just likes it here. Or, maybe it is terribly lonely.
It’s always nice to eat out on a Sunday lunchtime. Wherever you may be.
Yes, I would rather the box was not there. But one can’t have everything. Otherwise this rain/sun combination did catch my eye as I came home early from work — very early, but then again, it is Friday.
A couple of weeks at home loom, and today was spent entirely there. At least, for blog purposes, I do have things to look at out of the window — mist, and mast.
Six days away from campus and in that time, everything seems to have turned gold. Is that a jacket in the branches at the top? Or the ubiquitous and planet-killing plastic bag? Guess we can find out for sure when the rest of the leaves are gone.
A weekend away, which started (as my weekends away often do) with a Friday night out in London. This morning, Saturday, I walked part of the way to the station, crossing Westminster Bridge which seems to have become one of Britain’s most fortified spots — a place to point the camera away from, and turn instead to this view of the first inklings of autumn colour on the south bank of the Thames. I like the two figures just captured in the bottom corner.
Tensions are clearly running high in the ongoing pigeon-duck war. With negotiations having broken down, the pigeon high command has sent out a brave scout to keep an eye on the mallards. But what it hasn’t spotted is the counter-espionage agent sneaking in from the left.
On the 10th October 1991 I turned up in Yorkshire for what was originally planned to be a stay of a few weeks while I ‘got myself sorted out’. Twenty-eight years later, I am still living here: the last eighteen of those in Hebden Bridge. So let’s make today’s pic a home town shot. This is commercialism again, but of a far less predatory sort than yesterday’s. In the matter of boots, defer to the boot man (Bakunin — paraphrased). I hear the olives on the next stall along are pretty good too.
I did not notice the inaccuracy of the clock at the point of taking the photo. But I can assure you that I could not have been here at 10.15am. If you ask me, the ‘pumpkins’ are also too early. What influence do I have over the ongoing encroachment of The Festival of Utterly Disposable Tat, however.
Being 42 