I know I’ve mentioned this before but the station buffet and bar at Stalybridge really is one of the best there is: it’s worth breaking a journey there just to visit it. And here’s the bloke in charge. Clare was mildly peeved there was no lunch to be had today but other than that it kept up its reputation.
Considering that the game being watched involved women footballers, this guy might not even have turned up to play: perhaps he just likes wearing the kit. Dialect note: ‘Eyup’ is Yorkshire for ‘hello’ or ‘what’s happening’.
A week off work thus far, and, including today, three days still to come. Perhaps I could have made more of an effort today, but beer was certainly a constitutive part of Saturday 8th April 2023, so let’s celebrate it.
Seeing as today was Good Friday this seems an entirely appropriate post for the occasion, but I swear that until I came over a rise on Mellor Moor, above Marple, and saw this cross, I had no idea it was there — it wasn’t marked on the map. Apparently it was first erected in 1970. It has a good view of Manchester, you have to say. (Passed on my latest County Top walk — of which there are more pictures on the other blog…)
There only really was one subject for today: day 4,242 of Being 42. The number is only meaningful right here and now, 11 years, 7 months and 10 days (including three February 29ths) since I started, but here we are. I knew this graffito was here, on the road to the railway station at home in Hebden Bridge, but for once it’s alright to choose a shot.
I think that, by law, and certainly by my own moral code, all aeroplane windows should be kept sparkling clean. The one I had to use on our flight home from Barcelona was noticeably grubby, so apologies for the ensuing blemishes on this shot (I know they’re there). Still, the view was good, at least while we were crossing the barrier between Spain and France, that is, the Pyrenees: mountains I have never visited, but they’re on the list. Named, apparently, after a woman who was raped by Hercules, gave birth to a serpent, and was then torn apart by wild animals. These old myths took no prisoners, did they?
I don’t feel that I have captured the social aspects of this city, which are considerable, and pleasant. What a nice place, perhaps I will never be back before I die, but if not — (as with many other places, like Saigon and Tallinn and Berlin) — that will be a shame. Viva Barcelona. There are many worse places to hang out.
On the hill of Montjuïc, which rises between Barcelona’s city centre and the port, there is the site of the 1992 Olympics, much of it feeling rather neglected these days. When we first saw this place my initial thought was that it was something to do with the Olympic village, rows of concrete blocks with what seemed like dark windows in them, all looking strangely moody. Closer inspection revealed why: in fact they were these mausoleums, piled on top of each other like apartments arranged into streets and avenues, with stepladders here and there so families can reach the highest. I’ve never seen anything quite like this before except, to some extent, at Novodevichy in Moscow, but even that doesn’t quite reach this level of stacking.
Two football matches for me today and you might as well have one of them, as the views at both were good — more wide-raning at the first of the day (CE L’Hospitalet) but the close-packed urban scene at UE Sant Andreu was still a good-looking one. A packed crowd of 6,000 — excellent numbers for fifth-tier football. It might not be the Camp Nou but you know, I really do prefer this kind of thing.
I suppose I am reasonably well-travelled but this is still only my third-ever trip to Spain, the most recent being in about 2007 for a conference (hence before the start of this blog), and the first being in 1991 when I went inter-railing round Europe and went to Madrid and a couple of the cities in the south. But I never visited Barcelona, and Clare hadn’t done so either, and so when we were thinking about a destination for an Easter break, this was suggested and so here we are.
When in this place, everyone comes to see this building, don’t they? But I’m not sure I actually like it. It’s fantastic, unique, for sure, but it’s also somewhat mad, excessive, lacking in grace and beauty (something not true of St Basil’s, which could also be accused of excess). The other Gaudi buildings in the city are more attractive. It’s just a personal opinion based on a quick first impression, so don’t listen to me though. I suppose that one indication of the impression is that the cranes poking out of the top look at first like they may be a deliberate part of the design. It has been under construction for 140 years now, and still isn’t finished. Heaven knows what might still be to come.
Being 42 