Went on a walk that was neither particularly scenic nor particularly straightforward, but it did have one saving grace: this beauty hovering over the grass of Cutacre Park, between Bolton and Wigan. What must the mouse feel? Does it know its hunter is up there, waiting for it to poke its head out of hiding just for that one crucial second?
Disturbed while I was weeding the garden, this little fella deigned to pose for its close-ups, but its purposefully outstretched front leg suggests it is definitely seeking to move on and continue its own day.
I seem to have a lot of pictures of people’s backs today, but at leats this one brings in the face of the guy in yellow so offers a touch more intimacy. They’re all still depicted through glass, however: which is perhaps meaningful, perhaps not. We were having a drink before going to the cinema, which stands directly above this bar, but the less said about the movie, the better.
The substitutes of Stafford Rangers FC ponder the fact that, about ten minutes into their game with a team from a lower division, they are already 1-0 down and are going to go on to lose 4-0. OK, it might have been a pre-season friendly but it’s not a great omen for the season to come. And none of these people were even in the starting XI.
I do wonder what the guy on the left of the shot has seen to distract him: assuming all the others are watching the current action on the pitch, he’s certainly not.
The sun comes out, and with it, various bits of English skin that have not had much opportunity for solar exposure in recent months. And it shows. Clare, who has never been one for tanning much, decides to display possibly the whitest legs in Europe as we enjoy an end-of-week beer or three. They’ve some catching up to do on the arms, for sure.
This sits on my usual walking route to campus so I know it hasn’t been up for long. I wonder how many other artists who have been dead for 30 years might still receive such tribute. Or perhaps it is a political message. Perhaps the reference is to hidden subliminal messages in Bobby Brown. Perhaps all those 12 key changes in every track will assist in unlocking the secrets of the tellurian currents. But I’m probably not going to start listening to Zappa — I did try, a couple of times, but it really didn’t work out.
Sometimes Clare gets the final choice of shot on a day and she says that this one has ‘nice colours and shapes’. It tasted pretty good, too. It wasn’t ever going to be an exciting shot today insofar as the most interesting thing that happened was a webinar on pensions: this says a lot about not only the day, but also where I am in my life at this point.
Another railway station, the third in nine days, and two of them have both been here, Leeds: the second-busiest station in the country outside London, apparently (after Birmingham New Street, which has also been on here a couple of times). It spits us out at the start of the day and sucks us back in at the end. Not that I use this for my work commute any more, though I did, up until 2005. But I seem to end up here often enough regardless.
Whatever species of plant this is, it has been sitting, quietly doing very little, in a pot on our window sill (in the lavatory, as it happens) for a good decade or more. This year, without any special prompting, it decided to stretch out this long tendril and flower. Perhaps its time had just come. I doubt it’s been coaxed out of stasis by glorious summer weather, ‘cos we haven’t had any.
I should have returned home after yesterday’s walk, and that I didn’t was evidence of quite how dreadful the buses were in the Lake District yesterday; also that I am lucky I could stay with the in-laws in Morecambe, otherwise I might have been sleeping in Lancaster station overnight. Like everywhere else at the moment, it is a building work-in-progress. I like the blues on this shot.
Being 42 