Not an exciting shot. Or a particularly technically adept one. In fact, I can’t claim anything much for this one other than that it was the best I managed on the day. It’s picturesque enough I suppose. Boxing Day, nothing much happened… We got a walk in the woods and some family time.
Well, it may have been snow. Only I and the nearest meteorologist know for sure. A happy Christmas to one and all, wherever you may be, whatever you may have done.
The annual showing of It’s a Wonderful Life at the Hebden Bridge Picture House, and while it continues to attract such a crowd, I guess they’ll be showing it on 24th December for the indefinite future. Remember, ‘no man is a failure who has followers’. Sorry, I meant friends. Friends. Have a good day tomorrow, y’all.
You can tell my holidays have started. Here’s today’s board game, with added murder weapons: the vase, the mugs of tea, the Art Deco lamp.
This little beauty fruited while we were in London, and has several siblings on the way. How far they have come, on my bedroom window sill, since they appeared on this blog as babies at the end of August.
Proud parent as I am, I’m still going to eat it, you know. But not whole. Habaneros are very hot.
Hardly the best photo in the world I know, but it encapsulates the day — the annual pre-Christmas family gathering and Mum’s annual chocolate log. It’s my Dad’s hand helping itself to the end piece. Happy Winter Solstice, at least the days stop getting shorter and shorter from today.
Second monochrome moment of the weekend…
A weekend in London, and a second appearance on the blog this year for the British Museum — well, it’s too big to see on one trip. As you’ll see from tomorrow’s picture as well, I’m in a monochrome mood just now.
I dunno, you wait ages for a garage to come along and then there’s two in a week. Prosaic trading establishments of Hebden Bridge is definitely the theme of the moment.
A dull December day in both senses, spent working at home, so little to photograph. It’s about time Maskill’s got on here anyway; a fine butcher’s shop, which supplies meat from its own farm down the road at reasonable prices. Remember, the moronocrats would rather places like this didn’t exist and we all shopped with Sainsbury’s. That’s why they’re called the moronocracy.
This shot’s not that technically great but I like it because of the two shadowy figures, however it’s also a sign of how dark it remains now until well past 8.30 each morning. Depressing.
Being 42 