After yesterday’s smorgasbord of photo opportunities, today was the first photowhack for a while — that is, this was the only picture I took today. But it is representative; the plum tree is needing some serious attention at the moment. Current rates of production are over a kilogram, or 2.5 pounds, every day. If you want some plums, take them off our hands, please.
I established today that over the last two years I have made frequent promises, on both my walking blogs, that I would soon be going back up Helvellyn, which at 3,117 feet above sea level is the third-highest mountain in England, and which first featured on here in December 2011. Today, finally, I made it and it was well worth it. This was the first walk to count as both a Wainwright and County Top walk; so including this picture, three blogs for the price of one. Am I overdoing it? No, I don’t think so.
Is it a happy, friendly sun or is it a grimacing demon, its head sprouting flame? I’m assuming the former. Not sure why I liked this little corner this morning, but I did. To top left, the ’42’ guy pops another tag into the blog, as well.
I said yesterday that grim as it was, the forecast was for improvement, and the sun duly shone on me and 309 other people who spent their Tuesday evening at the ground of Trafford FC, a few miles west of Manchester city centre. Perhaps not the biggest club located in their metropolitan borough (I’m sure most people could name the biggest if they thought about it for a minute): but a friendly one. I chose this shot today because of the excellent rim-light, but also the woman laughing in the middle. At least — I think she’s laughing.
The uneventfulness of today was largely determined by this crap. Really, what’s the point in facing it? It is forecast to improve, so I just got on with stuff indoors.
Clare, on the right, has her membership card ready for action. The movie, as the title of the post indicates, was Oppenheimer: which is a decent movie, I’ll acknowledge that, but I’ve stopped thinking that any film needs to be three hours long. (Though these three hours were definitely better than the three hours of my life that Beau is Afraid is never giving back.)
Holyhead railway station is one of those that is definitively The End Of The Line. A terminus, a cul-de-sac, all change please. You get off into a tangle of docks and railway lines and have to depend on this bridge to take you over all this and into the town. I like this shot as (unlike yesterday) it was one of those that has turned out exactly as I hoped when I pressed the shutter.
He was inside Nightjar. I was outside, enjoying the first beer of the weekend (and also wondering whether it was about to rain). I didn’t mean to get myself into the shot as a reflection, but once I saw that I had, I decided it might be saying something about me seeing into the future…. if you get the point.
It did rain, by the way. But only a little.
The second picture of the inside of a book in four days, but I am doing a lot of reading at the moment. Anyway, this wasn’t a work book, as the text might indicate — in fact this is an old Doctor Who novel, which I have probably owned for about forty-five years. At some point, it has been merrily munched through, round and round and round again, by some minuscule thing with teeth, making this the first definitive case of bookworm I think I’ve ever seen. At least it didn’t spread, but I won’t be selling this volume on the second-hand market, I feel.
The insect was after the nectar. The flower wants its pollen moving on. I wanted the blackberries, the seeds of which will in turn be distributed. We all get something out of the transaction.
Being 42 