These are little light bulbs, surely; strung up by Whomever to anticipate of the coming of spring. Will this be one of those years where it arrives and stays, or one where we don’t see it until May? The fun thing is, in Britain, you never can be sure.
It was a public holiday in the UK — for some. Those that weren’t on holiday included the many people who work in pubs, driving trains or buses, police, nurses etc. And me, who stayed in all day reading funding proposals submitted to the Kazakh government. Well, it’s important to them, at least.
Spending all day sat at the dining table at home would not have given many photo opportunities except that next to me were these sunflowers in a vase. They help August 2020 go out with some vivid colours.
In 24 hours I translocate from Cumbria and its sub-arctic conditions to the tropics of London, where it is about 30ºC. This sun-drenched scene is taken from outside McGlynn’s pub, which has featured on the blog two years ago (as linked). Then, there were people. Now, the place is only half-alive, which I guess I have not yet got used to and hope never to do so.
At the moment, some pictures just need saving up for a day when there’s nothing else to show. The bluebells have been out for a few days now. Is there a flower with a more appropriate name? Beyond the fact that they don’t make a sound, it’s hard to fault it.
We all risk missing spring this year, don’t we. I, however, intend to do my best to keep an eye on its developments. Without a spring, the year will just suck. Well, y’know, even more than it already does.
The last picture from my week in Indonesia, and the fourth one to be taken in the grounds of the Kayu Arum hotel, this time by the swimming pool. Yes, it would be nice if the blue line at the top were parallel with the rest, but hey. This blog is not a commercial venture so any endorsement I offer of a place or company is purely based on my own opinions — and this was a damn fine hotel, peaceful (once the weekend family groups had departed, anyway: and the early morning call to prayer was done), beautiful gardens, good food, etc. etc. If you’re in Salatiga I highly recommend it. Indeed I recommend the place as a whole; I haven’t had face-to-face engagement with a non-Indonesian all week, and feel my life has been better for it. Time to head home, however. Until the next trip.
It’s nice that after nearly a decade and a half working in Manchester that I can still discover some new places. This was one: I just fancied a cup of tea at this point, and surely an establishment named like this can deliver? It certainly could. Inside had to be seen to be believed as well, but I couldn’t just snap away at the customers; the profusion of flowers in the porch does give something of the right impression, however.
It’s not been the most exciting of weeks and local flowers and walls are about the limit of my ambitions for a time. Summer colours perhaps, but no summer weather: the monsoon remains clamped overhead with few signs of it shifting just yet.
It’s becoming harder to crank myself up in the mornings to get the 06:32 — best train it might be, when I need to pull an early start at work, but it’s now still dark even when it deposits me in Manchester city centre, a state of affairs which will last until into February. Some places have the lights on at that time, but by no means all. This should be the last of a run of a couple of months spent only in England, but I’m off somewhere else for a few days tomorrow.
Our exertions of yesterday finished late enough to make crashing at the in-laws’ desirable. Morecambe was still a fine, sunny place this morning however. These flowers may, or may not, be columbines — the identification is hesitant. I like the one in the centre, though, just opening up, stretching its tentacles like a little octopus. Or pentopus maybe.
