Pecket Well is one of the little settlements up on the hilltops above town. Architecturally, it probably hasn’t changed much in a while. Though if that fire was not kept under control it might have lost a barn yesterday.
Today was tough to get through whether photographically or otherwise. This shot means nothing, except maybe to show that it’s getting lighter in the evenings. But only astronomically.
The last time anyone other than myself or Joe was depicted on the blog was 4th January, the afternoon before Bojo the Clown put us all under house arrest again. Since then, portrait opportunities have been very rare. This can almost be considered a crowd by recent standards. Though even the dog now takes its lead from us and remains apart. Who’s going to actually start to rebuild the bridges? It won’t just happen.
It’s Joe, and his generation, that I feel sorriest for right now. He turns 18 in a few weeks yet is spending this time locked in a room with, or rather without, everyone else. At least he’s still prepared to get out into the landscape now and again: here, on Brown Wardle Hill, above Whitworth in Lancashire.
Of course, this is not a model, it is a real landscape above the (awkwardly-named) town of Penistone, in South Yorkshire. But though there area actually two large turbines to the right, it sure looks to me like one is the shadow of the other, cast on the backcloth of a diorama built in a shoe box, or something. And the patchwork of frost and field, the general graininess of the picture…. seems fake to me. Perhaps there is a model railway below, just out of shot.
If anyone in the UK has any better ideas for what to do with this Friday evening I’d love to hear them. Have a good weekend y’all.
Today, it seems, was the 21st day in the 21st year of the 21st century; and that’s about as exciting as it got. Maris Crane (and it is her: the knees are a dead giveaway) was perched on a roof instead of stood in the river at lunchtime, as the water is still flowing pretty fast, though had fortunately retreated from yesterday’s peak. This is far from a flattering shot I know, but I like the shape she makes. (Actually I have no idea whether this bird is male or female, but the identity is fixed for me now.)
Two days of more-or-less constant rain and the Hebden Water looked like this in mid-afternoon. The general approach to flood defence here still seems to be, essentially, just cross your fingers and hope.
The world is still out there, somewhere…. so we’ve been told. Across the valley, there’s a house that doesn’t seem to have removed its Christmas lights yet. Meanwhile, at home, the movie collection keeps a semblance of entertainment ticking over.
… to pubs, or anywhere else, until Our Glorious Leader decides. The only person with whom I had a face-to-face conversation today, family members excepted, was some paranoid stoner who started hurling abuse at me as I walked to the shop. Other than that, deadness. Do we have a government — a society, even — so lacking in wit or intelligence that this is really the best we can do?
Being 42 