There only really was one subject for today: day 4,242 of Being 42. The number is only meaningful right here and now, 11 years, 7 months and 10 days (including three February 29ths) since I started, but here we are. I knew this graffito was here, on the road to the railway station at home in Hebden Bridge, but for once it’s alright to choose a shot.
Under conditions of day-to-day repetition it’s nice to have reasons to select shots. This mirror selfie makes it because I realised it has become the 42nd self-portrait to feature on here — and the number 42 has been highlighted whenever and wherever it appears. So you can now see that I am in sore need of a haircut, like many other people. There are worse consequences of the present farce, of course.
I started this blog on 26th August 2011, my 42nd birthday — hence its name. We can now demonstrate that I am 2,619 days old than Clare, who reached that same milestone today. It is right and proper therefore that for this one day she can be both the subject of, and co-contributor, to the blog: as she is, today, “Being 42”.
As subject — above, Clare on the phone to Joe, who has been whisked off to Berlin for the weekend with 25 other 15- and 16-year olds on a school trip (no, I don’t really want to think about it either). We took advantage of this opportunity to bugger off down to London for a couple of days, but this shot is taken in Manchester’s Piccadilly Tavern before we got on the train. And no, it wasn’t deliberately taken at 4.20pm either. Honestly.
And as special guest contributor to the blog — we decided that as I was always going to offer one of her today, she would offer one of me. Here’s me descending to Euston tube station in London, later in the journey… being 42 years + 2,619 days old.
Happy 42nd birthday darling xxx…
2,222 days is a good number. Here’s a shot featuring another good number, one I invoked right back on day one of this blog. As I’ve never changed the (domain) name, ‘Being 42’ this blog remains, despite its title being six years out of date. And to mark day 2,222 here’s the gravestone memorial to the man who publicised the notion that 42 is the answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe and Everything, the author Douglas Adams (died aged 49…), in Highgate cemetery. A very fine spot that I had not visited before; bringing to an end a fine 24 hours in London.
Seen in an underpass near the Brisbane River. Has Banksy been visiting down under? (compare with this image, for example.) Or just an emulator? Either way – no one has yet begun adding street art to the wall. Which is a shame. I’m right with Banksy on this one: why should we be forced to look at inane corporate advertising everywhere we turn, but street art is considered ‘vandalism’ – particularly in an otherwise utterly bland underpass like this one? Well folks of Brisbane, it’s just off Coronation Drive, in Toowong, if you fancy trying your hand.
Feel like I should feature on here some of the nice people at QUT (Queensland University of Technology) who have set up this academic visit of mine and are doing their best to make me feel at home. This is Christine, speaking at today’s launch of the HERN (Higher Education Research Network), in the atrium of one of their impressive new buildings (in fact, on the floor above the Digital Barrier Reef which featured back in early February). There are actually a couple of hundred people in this room at this point, but I like the sense of emptiness in the shot.
Incidentally, I think the following universities have featured on this blog at some point, in no particular order: Manchester, QUT, Charles Sturt, Helsinki, Otago, Alabama, Leeds, Birmingham City, Bergen, Bergen University College (these are two different institutions) and the Academy of National Economy in Moscow. The nicest campus? Er…. probably Alabama.
Apparently so named because they perform the songs of Jacques Brel – but I think ‘Dead Belgian’ is a great name for a band. I don’t have anything against Belgians, by the way – I’ve never been there.
Tomorrow, you may have noticed – actually today, as I post this – will be the 366th day of this blog. Yes, providing I don’t forget to take a picture and post it on Saturday 25th August, I will have completed my original brief: to take a representative picture for each day of a year, from my 42nd birthday on. Hurrah! However, I have decided I am going to continue the blog for at least one more year: I’m doing too many interesting things next year not to document them (mainly going to Australia for five months, January – June). The name of the site will be out-of-date from Sunday – my 43rd birthday – but never mind.
What I will do is post a page of the top 10 photos I think I have taken this year, and also some statistics, for those who are interested (or need a cure for insomnia).
Third day in four out walking, and between them all I have done 43 miles (nearly 70km). On none of them has the weather been great and today was the worst of the lot. It’s time for a rest…
From A. Wainwright’s The Southern Fells (volume 4 of his Pictorial Guide to the Lakeland Fells): page Hard Knott 2:
“On the south-western slope of Hard Knott the rocky cliffs of Border End fall steeply to an inclined grassy shelf, which extends for half a mile and then breaks abruptly in a line of crags overlooking the Esk. This shelf, a splendid place of vantage commanding a view of the valley from the hills down to the sea, was selected by the Romans towards the end of the first century AD as a site for the establishment of a garrison to reinforce their military occupation of the district….
“One wonders what were the thoughts of the sentries as they kept watch over this lonely outpost amongst the mountains, nearly two thousand years ago? Did they admire the massive architecture of the Scafell group as they looked north, the curve of the valley, from source to sea, as their eyes turned west? Or did they feel themselves to be unwanted strangers in a harsh and hostile land? Did their hearts ache for the sunshine of their native country, for their families, for their homes?”
21st century mermaids don’t sit on giant seashells but on plastic drums that may or may not have held toxic waste, and they wear jeans and black tops instead of diaphonous robes. But they still look like they have only one big leg and sit trying to seduce the sailors on the local fishing boats.
Being 42 