I don’t know why I at first chose to point my camera at this wall (on Abingdon Street in Manchester). It was only after uploading the shot that I noticed the very evident face on the cigarette bin. Kind of spooky, in fact: an inanimate object with a secret inner life, if ever there was one.
It was about time I paid another visit to the Lake District, having missed out on most of the winter, and I was not the only person to be thinking that it was too nice a day to stay indoors. The walkers stand on Knott Rigg, a fairly inconsequential lump that becomes the 306th Wainwright bagged on my second round, so I have 24 to go. In the background, Red Pike.
I notice that this blog, which was started on my 42nd birthday — hence the name — has now reached day 4,200. I am sure that I will think of some way of marking 6th April, which I calculate will be day 4,242.
Life at the moment is having its uneventful spells, and this is the middle of one of them. But at least the immediate locality continues to provide sufficient photo opportunities.
Ignoring the currently redundant mug and bowl, we have: sugar; syrup; lemons; and wine. The pancakes are on the way — after that, nothing else is required for a while.
Almost every time I am on campus I pass by the front of this building — the Holy Name Church on Oxford Road. Today saw a rare excursion around the back, and thus a chance to inspect its adornment of razor wire, a deterrent you’d think a consecrated place could do without. But clearly divine intervention is not something that puts off the lead thieves (which I assume is the point of all this).
I have developed some druidic powers. I can, fairly reliably, summon a robin. It’s quite easy actually — simply go up to the garden, dig over part of it, and wait five minutes. One will usually appear to check over the bounty that has been revealed. This one was quite unperturbed by the presence of both myself and Clare, and has a look on his face that suggests he thinks we should be doing more digging — I reckon robins are evolving to use humans as manual labour, in fact. Perhaps they will be our overlords in a few dozen millennia,
After an acutely stressful journey home last night I had no desire to get on a train today, so picked up my usual entertainments as close to home as is possible. The Yorkshire Amateur League game on the park got some passing attention from others, but no one stuck around for very long — as you can doubtless tell, it was a damp experience. Even I gave up after an hour or so and went somewhere warmer and drier (namely, the pub).
Chosen as much because this was the year’s first outbreak of cherry blossom — at least, in my sight. The position of the photographer on this shot was carefully chosen — Alan Turing’s statue is visible, the litter bin is artfully concealed.
This week Clare has also been away, and remains there until the weekend. Back home I did nothing other than work at home and was close to having to put up something lousy on here, until later on, I looked over to the wife’s empty side of the bed and saw Frida Kahlo looking at me. Well, sort of.
My last day in London, this time. I did the Thames as a subject on Sunday, but I’m doing it again. A glorious morning: the two walkers seen here, and me, were considerably overdressed. I’m not sure that the bridge ahead has a name, but it takes the suburban line over the river to Chiswick. This is a very attractive part of the city, which is why I will never be able to afford to live there.
Being 42 