There must surely be a kind of terror in the face of the stag and — even more so — the hen parties that descend on certain places every weekend. Liverpool seems to particularly attract them: this is taken on platform 11 of Crewe station, but Liverpool is where they’re going, inflatables and all. Perhaps the photo is flawed because none of their faces can be seen, but maybe that does everyone a favour.
Red kites (Milvus milvus) were nearly extinct in Britain at the end of the last century but in the 2000s, thanks to some serious efforts on behalf of conservationists, have made a remarkable recovery. If you are aware of the place you might not think that Luton would be one of their strongholds, but that is where this picture was taken, just on the edge of that town. There were a number of them gliding around this afternoon seeking prey, and clearly, Luton is not a great place to be a fieldmouse.
It’s a shame about the foliage but these are near-perfect ripples, and the impression I got was very much that the goose was just sitting there and making them simply because it could. A human equivalent might be holding a ruler down on a desk and making it go bdrrbbrrrddbrrdd. A pointless but pleasing application of physics.
This ‘reading in the pub’ theme has been done before but after nearly 5,000 days some things just come round again. Anyway, taking in James V. Wertsch’s concept of ‘mediated action’ is better done with the accompaniment of alcohol, I feel.
Back to work, and back to campus, at least for today. This was one of those shots where the shapes pleased me so I went for it, and even the red box is fine, it’s part of the composition. The wonky sign is the anomaly, but I could claim that’s deliberate too. (It wasn’t.)
A profoundly uneventful Easter Sunday saw me barely even leave the bedroom, let alone the house. Well, I’m allowed days like that now and again (it would have been chaos in town, anyway). For photographic purposes it was helpful that the sun was shining, illuminating the lettuce leaves on the windowsill rather pleasingly. I’ll go out tomorrow.
My Easter Saturday trip out found me in the Locomotion museum in Shildon, Co. Durham, at 10.30ish. This snowplough looks almost absurdly macho, like it’s Thor’s snowplough (Marvel Comics version). Look at the light beams that shoot off as it steams along! The watching human simply stands in awe and wonder as it zooms past. “Me? Put ME in a museum!? The impudence!”
It’s Good Friday, so as has been the way for many years, the Pace Egg players set up in Heptonstall and do their thing four times over the day, getting gradually more pissed. The 2pm show is the penultimate one: already quite inebriated, blows with swords that seem mock might just be more risky than one assumes. By the 4pm showing I think positive danger might be afoot. Then again, the same guys have been playing these parts for donkey’s years: I have pictures of this from 2011, before even starting this blog, and there they are. I guess they’ve found ways to mitigate the risks over time. Happy Easter.
When buying tickets for football grounds with which one is not wholly acquainted, it might help if warnings were issued to the casual fan: “You are entering an area occupied entirely by people who want to stand up throughout the game and wave flags.” I mean, I admire their enthusiasm and respect their support — but after a few minutes, I moved, somewhere right up the top.
This is Bradford City’s ground; their game against Notts County attracted over 20,000 people to see a fourth-tier game — so someone, somewhere is doing something right…
Being 42 