Our neice Poppy had her 18th birthday party today, in the building ahead; we got there late, thanks to ths usual rubbish on the train line. Clare brings a dash of red to the scene, meanwhile her Dad, i.e. my father-in-law Dave, makes only his second-ever appearance on the blog in 4,250 days.
The cherry blossom in the courtyard at work had been and gone six weeks ago, but the more exposed trees outside the White Lion in Hebden Bridge require more lead-in time to reach full flower. Still, here they are — in time to make the place look good for the Easter daytrippers.
The evenings obviously get lighter through January — though it takes a while for the mornings to catch up. The moon is on the wax at the moment, Boris Johnson is an idiot (just thought I’d mention that) and the weekend is here.
An uneventful day to bring to an end a relatively Hebden Bridge-bound period of the blog, but there are trips away planned for much of the rest of July. Why the monochrome? As so often — because it covers up red blotches caused by lens flare.
More an abstract than anything else, today. Although the swallow (if that is what it was — it was certainly flying like one) gives it focus. I felt like putting up an evening shot, anyway: there have been very few of these in the last eighteen months. Nights out are a thing of the past. Mind you, 40,000 people could be accommodated in Wembley yesterday afternoon — but apparently, going out to the Trades Club is still considered ‘unhealthy’. Enough of this bullshit.
Gosh — sunny and warm weather, and a night out with friends. Embrace both, infeed. But like Manchester, the city of Sheffield is only half-alive, so much is boarded up, shuttered, or simply closed. Huge numbers have been vaccinated and still we are pushed the fiction that everyday life has become ‘unsafe’, that asserting our freedom is selfish. This virus will be around for the rest of our lives. Time to get used to it.
This tree has a noble aspect. I like its seeming formality and the way the guys disport themselves below it in various ways. I like the little cloud fluff that it seems to have caught in the top branches. Pictured in Stockwood Park, Luton — a town which makes a classy debut on the blog (though see also tomorrow).
Media rhetoric suggests we should all be grateful that Our Glorious Leaders have announced a ‘roadmap’ out of lockdown but none of that changes the fact that for now, and for weeks yet, there’s nothing to do. The ducks continue to have a far better social life than us, At least the evenings are getting lighter, the days (a little) warmer.
More football, I know, but it was that, or stay in by myself on a lovely August evening and give you a photo of a bloke loading a skip outside my house. At least the rim-light is good on this one.
I don’t make a point of mentioning it on here but my surname is Whitworth and Whitworth Street in Manchester is a significant thoroughfare that I am obliged to cross each time I walk to and from work. It’s about time I tried for a decent photo of it. Taken while crossing the road — I do try always to cross this street carefully, it would just be too embarrassing to be run over on an eponym.
3.55pm and there’s a sunset cast to the sky…. It’s getting later earlier. If you see what I mean.
Being 42 