I have been looking at this sign for some months now, but only today really understood the implications. I’ve seen dog ice cream for sale, and in the Arndale centre in Manchester there is now a whole stall selling little doggy cakes and pastries. But dog karaoke? Methinks we are starting to pamper our little pooches just that little bit too much. Although I doubt the singing would be appreciably worse.
A pigeon food-fight, a moshpit of grain consumption, of a kind that must say something about how evolution will progress for this species, though what that is, we don’t yet know. The one in the middle seems to be staying above it all, however. But probably he’s just taking a quick breather.
As with most of the rest of Europe, we haven’t had a great deal of rain in 2022, but it certainly came down today. Time to check the drainage…
This afternoon I paid a first-ever visit to the town of Pontefract, which has a significant amount of history, as is first of all indicated by its name of almost pure Latin — pontus fractus means ‘broken bridge’. Its castle was once the second-largest in the country and in its dungeon, King Richard II was starved to death in 1400.
But while I did take pictures of some of this history, in the end I am going with the surreal sight of these mannequin’s legs at the local footie ground. The absurdity of life and its trivia, and all that.
A fairly standard ‘tourist’ shot of my home town, but what the hell, it was a nice day and it does look good from this particular angle. I nearly took it monochrome, but that meant the two figures on the bridge became very camouflaged, and I think they set it off nicely.
I know this photo is technically dubious though I do quite like the way they arrange themselves on it. It’s chosen more to symbolise the fact that, including today, there will be eight Tuesdays between now and Christmas where I will be obliged to be in Manchester at around this time, facing 9am teaching duties. For now, it’s still light, even when I get up, but that won’t be the case for long.
The Truss regime unveil their new approach to sustainable transport solutions for the North of England. Quiet and clean, these devices will doubtless prove a more than adequate substitute for TransPennine ‘Express’, and its present business model of dissuading absolutely everyone from using their services, at any time. “We think this will do for that scabby region up towards Scotland that we don’t give a toss about”, said Truss’s new Transport Secretary, who no one can remember the name of. “At £104.85 for a single ticket to Leeds, I’m sure the people of the North will appreciate the value-for-money that our investments in their transport infrastructure and welfare….. Whaddya mean you’re ungrateful? We’ve got some big tax cuts for the top 1% of earners to pay for!”
Welcome back to the Hebden Bridge Handmade Parade, which graced this blog on an annual basis before being cancelled in 2020 and 2021: one might say, ‘understandably’, at least for 2020, although I would disagree. But let’s move on from that and enjoy the present incarnation: shifted to September, seemingly smaller, but still with plenty of percussion. I like the way this shot captures the drummers concentrating both on their instruments and on the ‘conductor’ walking in front of them — as any good orchestra should. ‘Drum Machine’ is the name of this troupe, by the way.
It’s increasingly easy to find excuses not to go out on a Saturday night, or indeed a Friday or any other night, at least if ‘going out’ means ‘being expected to move energetically in response to the promptings of rhythmic music’, i.e. dancing. But I just about managed it at the Trades club this evening. And it was welcome enough.
Today was a pleasant, sunny morning, all the way in to the final stretch of the walk to campus, when suddenly everything became covered in a light and melancholy mist. It didn’t last long, but at least gave the locality a bit of atmosphere.
Being 42 