And still it rains, seemingly without end. The water race at the end of the old millpond in the woods is only rarely filled, and when it is it’s a sign we are once again in the ‘cross fingers and hope’ approach to flood defence. But the town stayed above water — today at least.
Wales is the nearest bit of the world to my house that is not England. All the same, thanks to its particularly pervasive Covidnoia, it has only appeared three times on the blog in the last two years. One of these was as the background of the shot I took from the Wirral in January, and I think, in turn, that spot is the hill in the distance here. Connah’s Quay — which is where this shot was taken from — is a rather sad-looking place, oppressed as many electrical pylons as I’ve seen anywhere: shuttered up and closed down. The bridge rejects it too, taking people past it, not through it.
I’m not a fan of cars exactly, whether as objects in their own right or as subjects for photography. Actually I think they mostly get in the way. But I waive this concern for any car from about 1970 or earlier, like this Morris Minor which decorated the marina in Hebden this afternoon.
As this photo shows, it was kind of wet here today. But it was not the supposed weather Apocalypse, the ‘worst storm for decades’ if you listen to the UK media. A classic case today of how London-centric it all is. This very spot was under seven feet of water on Boxing Day 2015 for example, and on three other occasions since this blog has been running. Check the facts. Nevertheless I was still told (once again) to ‘stay at home’ and that should I disobey this order, the public services would not be responsible for my safety or well-being.
Next week will mark ten and a half years that I have been doing this. In that time people have come and gone: at least two friends who have appeared on here at some point have died in the last 12 months. But new faces arrive in turn. I haven’t known these two as long as some others but now it’s Mark and Yathi’s turn to debut on here.
Umbra in Latin means ‘shade’, a sign that the umbrella was originally designed to protect against the sun. But this was not the application required in Hebden Bridge this afternoon. I believe this outrage against good weather can officially be termed ‘Storm Dudley’.
Another train shot, though this is a portrait of a person rather than a locomotive. Somehow yesterday’s loco just seemed much happier to be where it was. Then again, I sympathise: when is 7am on a Tuesday morning in February a time of vim and vigour?
What goes down South, must come back up North again (at least, unless one wants to be paying hotel bills for an excessive length of time). I don’t know where this train was going, but I was on the 10:30 back to Leeds, and then home.
An early start for me on this Sunday morning, for a walk that bagged me the County Tops of Kent and Greater London (which are very close together in case that sounds like a more significant expedition than it was). Not a great walk scenically, but redeemed by the sight of four deer in the woods. You try capturing these guys on camera, particularly if they know you’re there, which this one clearly does — but he tolerated my efforts for just long enough before scooting away to rejoin his gang.
A substitution at, but not for, Crowborough Athletic FC; however, the guys in the retro black-and-white hoops are the visitors, Deal Town. This was an early substitution due to injury but it didn’t matter, as they went on to win 3-0.
This was a nostalgia trip in one way — the 6-hour journey from Yorkshire being explained by the fact that Crowborough is the town where I grew up, and lived until 1988 (as I have noted on this blog before). But until today I had never seen their principal football team, Athletic, play a game. So this is both familiar and brand new at the same time. And I liked it, though always, whenever I come back here, I am reminded how high up in the air it is (the ground is 550 feet above sea level) and thus how cold, even on a sunny February day. The south-east of England is by no means semi-tropical — northerners take note.
Somewhat continuing a theme from yesterday, but hey. Definitively, the first blossom I’ve seen of the year turns up in the courtyard of the Ellen Wilkinson Building, as it has done before (it’s a finely sheltered spot).
Being 42 