The 15:35 heads for Ravenglass station, beside the estuary of the river Esk. And then leaves again — without me on it — meaning, I am about to have a first night away from home in Hebden for 135 days, since my trip to Lincoln on March 10th. The walls of the valley were beginning to close in. Here, the vistas are much different. Variety is a good thing. It is good to be on holiday in this mad year.
I too was having a day doing things around the house, but definitely do not share this guy’s head for heights.
Late July, a time of year when certain things are fated to happen. I have time off work and do as little as I can, and the garden begins producing fruit. Fate has done its duty with both in 2020, despite everything.
I went on a Lakeland walk today. I didn’t feel like mentioning this story when using this photo on my walking blog. If you’re having a day full of the joys of summer, and don’t feel like having it spoiled, admire (or not) this picture of the lamb. (The mountain in the background is Black Combe, where several years ago now, I took another picture of a sheep that I still rather like.) Then move on, your day unblemished by tragedy.
Sadly, this lamb is in trouble. A minute after taking this shot I came across its recently deceased mother (I warned you…). Although I didn’t conduct a close inspection, the ewe could not have died that long ago: probably from an attack by a fox or some idiot walker’s unleashed dog. I hope the local shepherds find this orphan before too much longer passes: after all, that is what they do, and are good at. But people, please — keep your dogs on a lead when there are sheep about. You knew that, right?
I went on a walk today along the Rochdale Canal from Littleborough to Walsden. Along that route one passes across the main watershed of northern England, which is marked by this sculpture, and poetry that you may enjoy (although the third and fourth lines are illegible on this reproduction — my apologies). If I were to have passed water at this spot, random chance would have led to it either bouncing to the left, and thus flowing into the Irish Sea at via the rivers Roch, Irwell and Mersey. Or, to the right — to flow into the North Sea, via the Calder, Aire and Humber. A very real line — as the poem says, a “liquid equinox” — but not a visible one, not without this memorial. Nice touch.
Gosh, a human face. I think there’s only been one of those on the blog in the last month — flesh and blood anyway (as opposed to on book covers, or screens). It would be a nicer picture if the awning of Calans’ pub wasn’t intruding to bottom left, but the very fact that I could be in that pub on this decently sunny Sunday was celebration enough.
I desperately need a new pair of glasses. This is because my current pair are six years old and apparently in that time my eyes have improved. If this sounds paradoxical, clearly you are not over forty years old. Maybe I’ll take the pink pair.
Bagged my second County Top in a week, a trip that took me through the urban delights of Wigan, which are more extensive than you might imagine. On the outskirts of town resides this ruin, still proudly marked as ‘Park House Farm’ on the map but now mouldering into decay. Urban explorers — catch it now before it is razed/incorporated into a new housing estate/featured on Grand Designs as a restoration project engaged in by those with too much money. It is presently a spooky, melancholy spot.
I was resolved that today’s photo would depict a living person, after ten days of no one at all. And so it does, in part. Those of us still wishing to use the trains are doing so, casually.
Started my time off with as low key a day as could be managed, even by recent standards. Felt like picking up a good book, which this is, very much so: even if not a very long one. If you’ve never read this, you really should. Pictured also in the foreground, the reading glasses that I now need to make sense of it.
Being 42 