A bit early for a working lunch perhaps, but if it’s good enough for Inspector Morse — a frequenter of the Turf Tavern, Oxford, in both the novels and the TV series — it’s good enough for me, and indeed for this gentleman. One thing about Oxford is that you do really feel the whole city centre, at this time of year at least, is engaged in some form of intellectual pursuit. The environment is wholly conducive to it.
Spent the whole day entertaining some visitors from Norway, so they should feature on the daily post. Johannes ponders his beer, Anita brings more, and Catherine seems happy that her luggage — thought lost in the system — has been found. They and their colleagues reminded me that Norway is a place I have not been to lately, despite it remaining the third-most featured country on this blog (after England and Australia); its last appearance was 26th April 2018, as I departed Tromsø airport for the last time (so far). If I made a good impression today, perhaps I will get an invite back…
A day at home, between trips away, and watching the beer get delivered to the pub (from across the road, for some reason) was the day’s chief entertainment. Diamond the dog becomes the latest animal to make theblog twice, adopting much the same position as on her first appearance.
The underbelly of the Mancunian Way isn’t the most glamorous spot in the city, but somehow this combination of graffiti and beer bottles looks relaxing.
A very limited day in terms of photographic opportunities. It was some cherry blossom again, or pub dog Reggie being mildly exploited. But he doesn’t mind this kind of thing, it’s his job.
After ten shots in a row with no people on them, let’s admit I do still occasionally join the social world. And Whitelock’s in Leeds really is a fine place to do it: the blue plaque acknowledging that this is a pub with much history, opened in 1715 and still going very strong. Arguably this place is the best thing about Leeds, and that’s not even to diminish the rest of the city.
The tape marks the legal limit of my world. But I have suppliers who can transfer across it some essential supplies, not least a couple of six-packs of Windhoek beer, from Namibia. Thank you Gareth — who’s also, in the end, the reason I am here in the first place (more on this next week, probably) — and his other half, Jamie. Dear St Helena Government: I didn’t cross the tape.
More food, and more alcohol — note the presence of a bottle of Rochefort 10-year-old, already declared on here as the world’s finest beer. But then, I am on holiday, and food and alcohol is at least part of what being on holiday is all about. Taken in the aptly named ‘Friends of Ham’ bar/restaurant in Leeds, at the start of a trip down South.
Tony pays the boss his dues. OK, so it’s early to be in the pub but plenty of people were; starved of true human contact for so long, there is a great deal of lost time to be made up between friends.
To stop the walls closing in any more than they already are I’ve been making a point of sitting out in a spot by the river in the early evenings, when the weather allows. Just to take some air, watch the ducks (my post of a few days ago was taken from this same point), have a couple of beers. Feel human. Clare joined me for this one and so, for 15 minutes or so, did fellow ex-Railway habitué Bernard, who happened to be passing with a bottle of his own. We talked. As much as anything, we just enjoyed the fact we could see someone else’s face, for real.
Being 42 