My unexciting week continues, but at least I got up to the allotment, where this earthworm seemed surprised at suddenly finding itself atop a slope of plastic, namely, the compost barrel. And, you know, it managed to climb up it, over the edge, and drop back into the rotting food bounty below. Which, on smooth plastic, is not bad going for what is essentially a piece of ligament.
The blossom is out — very early this year, but with that run of warm weather I guess it was to be expected. But it looks odd against the brown of a hedge that seemed to decide it wasn’t actually going to shed its leaves over the winter.
Anyway I’ve decided this is my homage to Jackson Pollock. It looks a bit like one of his drip paintings. Foliage like this doesn’t half eat up the megabytes, though. Of the 2,750 photos used on this blog — three-quarters of the way through my third millennium — this is the second largest in size, at 3.4Mb, that I’ve ever uploaded (most of them come in at about 1 – 1.5Mb). The largest? This one — also with lots of foliage, proving the point…
Excitement and/or variety are not really on the agenda this week, but so be it. I have a crappy cold, anyway. The distinctive topography of my home town is usually good for a picture of some kind, so saves the day here.
This unit knows it must put on a brave public face as it awaits installation, but
inside it is screaming
Tomorrow — or today as I post, that is, 4th March — is Joe’s 16th birthday, so it’s about time he made a reappearance here as it’s been nearly four months (12th November) since he featured. As one of his birthday gifts today we bought him a new suit, as it’s getting to that point in life where some form of occasional sartorial elegance will do one no harm. Eventual choice not pictured here, but he does look dapper in it. I know I would say that, of course.
This monument stands on the north Wales coast, at Prestatyn, and marks one end of the Offa’s Dyke Path, which goes from here all the way down the Welsh/English border to Chepstow on the Severn Estuary, 180 or so miles away. Not that I came here to do any walking, but it is a reasonable spot to while away a bit of time.
Dreadful photo, but a fun night out in the Trades Club. This is about the best that can be done with my camera in such an environment, but evening photos have disappeared from the blog lately and I do want to acknowledge that now and again, I do still have a social life.
A day of significant family happenings, but they were all digital and so left nothing to photograph. Meanwhile, out in the world, the week’s fine weather has brought out these buds: they weren’t here a week ago. A year ago today, it snowed substantially in Hebden Bridge, but no danger of that this February 28th.
Went into Bradford today just for something to do that wasn’t sitting on my arse at home, and it did help me get some writing done. These arches stand outside Forster Square railway station, but above them is a road, not the railway line, which sticks to the lower ground: Bradford is a very bloody hilly city, as I was frequently reminded today. They look like they need something to fill them; like they are a row of little stages, micro-theatres perhaps, waiting for performers.
Two hemispheres… one of them real, atop the Corn Exchange in Manchester, one just apparent. But it balances nicely on the other. Would it be better if the spike pointed right to the terminator? Well, maybe, but then it wouldn’t balance, would it?
Two days in a row of photos at 7:nn am, as well: the last time that happened was May 2017. Must be the good weather making me keen. Or the realisation that I have six months left of my forties, which is true as of today.
Being 42 