Joe bought me a book of Indian-style recipes for Christmas. I wanted to try some tonight, but many of the more obscure spices that were suggested were beyond my kitchen’s existing remit. But we have a very good Asian food store in Hebden Bridge. Now I know what curry leaves and tamarind actually look (and smell) like. Nigella seeds proved beyond everyone, however.
There are worse things to do on a fairly pleasant Sunday morning, whether for the players or the people watching. Or the people taking photographs, not just of the action but also the backdrop: wind turbines and all.
As seen on the canalised part of the River Calder, in Brighouse, early this afternoon. I hope it was enjoying the sunshine, as it gave its demonstration of fluid dynamics.
Let’s have a lot less vehicle-related morbidity and much more healthy outdoor exercise, miles (well, OK, about a mile) from the nearest traffic. Alfred Wainwright, who does know what he’s talking about, describes the summit thus:
here, on the summit of little Helm Crag, a midget of a mountain, is a remarkable array of rocks, upstanding and fallen, of singular interest and fascinating appearance, that yield a quality of reward out of all proportion to the short and simple climb. The uppermost reaches of Scafell and Helvellyn and Skiddaw can show nothing like Helm Crag’s crown of shattered and petrified stone: indeed, its highest point, a pinnacle of rock thrust out above a dark abyss, is not to be attained by walking and is brought underfoot only by precarious manoeuvers of the body. This is one of the very few summits in Lakeland reached only by climbing rocks, and it is certainly (but not for that reason alone) one of the very best.
And he’s right. Even in the mist, this is a great spot. And those two rocks do look like a lion and a lamb, don’t you think? That’s their official name, anyway. (For more pictures from today see my other blog.)
I am sure my day in Manchester was better than it was for the driver of this bike, lying at the junction of Princess Street and Whitworth Street, a place I walk past every time I go to work. So, seeing where the debris lay and knowing this junction and its patterns of traffic and pedestrians and stop/go signals, I suggest that this is what happened here — the bike was coming downhill, down Princess Street, as was its due, and the the car that it hit (bits of which were also scattered around), coming uphill, decided to turn right across its path. Shite driving therefore, lack of attention and care: at least the motorcyclist lived (I checked the story on the Manchester Evening News site), but that’s scant consolation I am sure.
Those of us in exile in the beer garden must have our reasons…. perhaps just misanthropy, in my case. The two women doubtless have their own thoughts on this. But the weather was OK so why not? Is that even a bit of light in the evening sky? I believe so.
The Midland’s second appearance on the blog, after this shot, 2,627 days ago– which is less vivid, and I prefer this one. It’s nice that we’re getting some sunshine, which in the last few weeks of 2023, was at a premium.
Most of these bottles have been sitting on a shelf above our kitchen door since about three days after we moved in, in 2001. They looked good at the time and they’ve just never moved since. The limoncello bottle was added after we went to Rome in 2014, but I think that’s the only change. And yes, our plaster is artfully decaying.
The County Tops project exists so I can find excuses to get about the country, and this won’t be my last trip to South Wales by any means. These lumps of rock and grass will get me back again: these slopes eventually culminate in Pen y Fan (its summit obscured by mist in this shot), highest of the Brecon Beacons and the highest point anywhere in the country south of Snowdonia. I was just driving past today, though — it can wait.
The day had various different, good elements to it, and I couldn’t decide which of them should make the blog: so let’s go with the scene caught in passing, an Other People’s Art moment which I liked a lot. Seems to totally fit the Spanish text below.
Being 42 