Out there, there might have been some news going on, but I was having nothing to do with it. It was the last day of my teaching semester, so I hauled myself into Manchester once more, managed a couple of shots in the vicinity of Victoria station, and that was it. This one is a combo of colours, shapes and hair. Yes, the post is annoying, but I’ve already cropped out quite a chunk so in it stays.
It’s the new year, and thoughts turn to those of health and happiness in the months to come. I think my blood pressure is OK, a little on the high side perhaps but nothing really major to worry about.
Well, we do still have a social life now and again. You wouldn’t necessarily perceive this from reading the blog, though: this is the latest shot in a given day since late November (and it’s still not all that late, though the evening did continue past this point).
Believe me, I’m one of these middle-aged guys who has gone the other way when it comes to hair loss, and I don’t need any. Not on my head and certainly not on/in my eyebrows, ears and nose, thank you very much. But clearly there is a market for the stuff, at least among the women who shop in the Arndale Market, Manchester. And there was me thinking they did it naturally — like me (last haircut, 2/10/19 and still counting).
With 17 of its photos taken in Hebden Bridge, plus one a mile down the road in Mytholmroyd, and then seven more in Manchester: June 2023 has not been an eventful month. Only the trip to the Lake District got me out anywhere in particular. I could embrace the local and familiar of course, but in truth it’s pretty boring at the moment. Anyway, July will be different, at least after the first week. In the meantime, here’s Maggie’s hair, which I do think is quite cool. And I like the way this shot has come out, like it might be a pastel drawing perhaps.
I did very little else other than enjoy some sunshine on this Saturday afternoon; and I was not the only one.
This is definitely a coven of like-minded females, and they’re plotting something. But I’m confident that they’re of the white persuasion, somehow. It’s the hair that gives away their shared allegiance.
Half-time in yet another football match. An opportunity to notice that the bar manager at Brighouse Town has great hair, well lit. That’s all.
My usual policy is not to offer commercial endorsements on this blog, not that anyone’s ever asked. However, I am wide open to making an exception for this business. The magnificent optimism. The “Human Hair, 1/2 Price” sign (and what it implies about Brazilians). The sheer organisation of it. The generous 5% discount for students. People of Luton — indeed all of Bedfordshire — go there now. Don’t do it for me, do it for this guy.
Like many others, I assume — including his old man — Joe has neglected haircutting duties over the last few months. I have pointed out that the barbers’ have reopened, but still, the ponytail remains. Though if he could only take his headphones off for long enough to cut it, that would be a start.
Being 42 