Clare reaches the top of the steps that take one up onto the Bowder Stone — a famous attraction of the Lake District that I have never before seen. Its name is tautological, for a big Bowder (boulder) it certainly is; hollow it out, install plumbing, and I imagine a family of three could live inside in comfort.
As you are probably aware, there was some interest in another football match taking place this evening, and we did watch it, but photographically, this is a better representation of the day. Clare takes a look around on the fourth leg of our attempt to walk the Calderdale Way in stages — see also Feb 28th, Mar 20th, May 25th — we’ve just about passed the halfway point. The aim was (although C has been heard to deny this) to get it all done within 2021. Three more legs to go now.
A weekend away with the family. Corse Hill sits in the middle of a gigantic wind farm and although not a dramatic spot, was a nice place to break the journey north to Scotland and did become my 32nd county top — and Clare and Joe have picked up a few as well. C. looks suitably satisfied, Joe’s checking his phone, but that’s what he does.
The first non-English shot since 18th September 2020, which was day 3,312; thus, a run of 259 English-only shots comes to an end.
Morecambe FC’s impressive season continues but even though fans have been graciously allowed to return to grounds thanks to the decrees of Our Glorious Leaders, this is in arbitrarily low numbers, so no chance of getting tickets for the play-off semi-final this lunchtime. A hunt around the local hostelries ended up with Clare (the real MFC fan) and I (the hanger-on) watching it in Halifax. The effort was worth it; they will be at Wembley on the 31st. Go Shrimps…!
Conversation between me and the First Wife this afternoon…. “What are you up to?” “I’m sorting out my life.”
Well, who am I to argue. The dots mean something, apparently. Don’t ask me what.
What these socks of hers say about Clare I am not quite sure, but hey, we’re still married after 22 years (nearly). So tacitly, I guess I approve. (The text on the one on the left starts: “Being an adult is…”; the rest you can work out for yourselves.)
Came as close as I ever have today to simply having no acceptable photograph at the end of the day. Up until this one was taken I had an out-of-focus picture of a halved avocado, and that was pretty much it. C. gets involved today almost as emergency cover. It’s still out-of-focus, but hey, at least she’s smiling.
Saturdays are football days…. still just about. But while we might potentially have been in attendance at Morecambe FC today for their FA Cup tie with Solihull, this is declared ‘unsafe’ by Our Glorious Leaders at this present time, so like the other interested hundreds we had to make do with TV. The local mug and, in the background, Clare’s scarf offered totems of support. But it’s unreal, fake somehow. The trouble is that no one in ‘authority’ really gives a toss.
3,371 days into this blog (nine years, two months and 22 days) and I am buggered if I am going to let this profoundly boring and pointless period see it peter out through sheer lack of interest. But it’s not very interesting, is it. This is the true impact of this bloody virus. It’s made the world so goddamn boring, suddenly. (With no offence meant to my family members, pictured here, who are about the only things that are keeping me sane.)
Being 42 