Perhaps, like this wasp, we are all trapped, aware of the world beyond the glass but frustratingly unable to reach it. But perhaps, again like this particular insect, there is a way out (undepicted here) at the bottom that we just haven’t found yet, we just need to change direction.
Property is on the mind at the moment. It’s nice to have an excuse to pull out the collection of deeds to the house; when we moved in here 21 years ago we inherited this huge envelope full of documents, the oldest of which (the one at the bottom of this shot) dates back 210 years, to 1812 — although our house was built around 1890, the plot of land on which it stands was first enclosed and sold in that year. Anyway, I love these deeds, their copperplate handwriting and archaic terminology (‘messuages’, ‘indenture’). Should we ever sell this place I’m going to pretend these don’t exist, and keep them.
After several days of inanimate objects it was time to put some people back on the blog and the choice today was between two groups of roughly similar size, dressed in red, celebrating something. I could have gone with the footballers of Campion FC who were witnessed winning the ‘Yorkshire Trophy’, a pre-season warm-up tournament but they put in the effort. However, let’s instead go with this one of these postal workers, clearly celebrating the end of their working week in the Rose & Crown pub opposite the main sorting office in Cleckheaton. And they put in the effort too, all the time in fact.
Monday saw probably the highest temperatures in recorded British history, at least in some places. Today, it was chucking it down, and cool enough to need a jacket when out in the afternoon. The weather in Britain explains a great deal about the country’s psyche. “What comes, will come. Live with it.”
Every Thursday, for years (floods and other arbitrary closures allowing), the Hebden Bridge Picture House has had a weekly Thursday morning showing known as ‘Elevenses’. Attendees get complimentary tea and biscuits. I think in all this time I have only made one of them, but today was the second (the film being Brian and Charles). There was something quite decadent about going to the movies and being out before lunch.
And seat C8 is MINE. It has my name on it, literally — with Clare’s on C7. If you ever get there before me and sit there, believe me I will be looking evilly at you throughout the picture.
File this under the ‘Someone Else’s Art’ category — specifically, these stained glass windows (of which there are four in total) were created by Tom Denny in 2007. They celebrate the life and work of poet Thomas Traherne, who wrote in the 17th century but was not discovered and properly published until the early 20th century, when it was decided by those who decide these things that he had anticipated Romanticism by about 150 years. I’ve never read the guy, but the windows are worth seeing.
I am in Oxford to consult an archive of material relevant to St. Helena, collected by the late Trevor Hearl, who, it appears, knew absolutely everything there was to know about the island — and as you see here, was prepared to offer his opinions to civil servants on their ‘Efficiency Reports’.
My perambulation around the southern parts of England continues. Academic that I am you might have expected Oxford — undoubtedly one of the world’s greatest seats of learning — to have featured on here over the last 11 years (nearly). Its rival Cambridge has done so, and I have to say I do find that the more attractive place of the two. Cambridge has rural charm whereas Oxford is really just a middling-sized city with, admittedly, some pretty fine buildings. But on a sunny, pleasant Monday morning, it’ll do.
Like this gentleman, I felt that a ramble in the Chiltern hills was a fine way of spending a warm, sunny Sunday morning (and I got another County Top out of my efforts, if you want to read more). Unlike this gentleman, however, I did it in clothing: this bloke really was stark bollock naked other thank his pack and shoes. This shot is a rear view only but I can assure you he was letting it all hang out. I hope he had sunscreen. He looked rather grumpy about it, all things considered.
This is not the sort of thing you see in every pub visited. But The Griffin, in Amersham, certainly takes its food preparation seriously. The ray in the back of this drying cabinet was enormous. However, I hold back from recommending this establishment thanks to its charging me £7 for a pint, which even for the Home Counties is outrageous.
Being 42 