On 6th October last year I was hauling myself up Yewbarrow in the Lake District and about to go to Canada for a week, but no similar adventures are taking place at the moment: this is the sixth shot out of seven to be taken in Hebden Bridge and the fourth in a row indoors. But at least the garden is producing. The monster fruits to the right may or may not be a function of these being pictured in a silver bowl.
There are, by now, a number of ‘digital ghosts’ that haunt this blog. I know of, for sure, seven people who have appeared on here who have since died: both of Clare’s grans, our former neighbour Richard, a professorial colleague at work, and three friends, of which Lynn was the most recent, passing away last month. Her last appearance on here was on 30th May. It’s possibly the only one, although I would be surprised if she didn’t also turn up in the background of some other shots: as, technically, she does here.
So what do the rest of us do….. A wake is the party that they hold for you, the one time they know you can’t come. And then we move on. Eventually everyone depicted on here will be dust, including me: I’m only two years younger than Lynn. Whether I will get the chance to let you know I’m on the way out, is as yet undetermined.
This is so 20th century, somehow. But perhaps more recent than that — I know Pauline has had a name change in the last 10 years, but not that much longer. Still, it’s been a long time since this was a communications medium to which anyone pays attention.
I’ve had my eye on Joe’s room for 15 years or more….. and now he’s moved out, it’s mine. Let’s start the necessary conversion work with this nice shade of blue, shall we?
I have been looking at this sign for some months now, but only today really understood the implications. I’ve seen dog ice cream for sale, and in the Arndale centre in Manchester there is now a whole stall selling little doggy cakes and pastries. But dog karaoke? Methinks we are starting to pamper our little pooches just that little bit too much. Although I doubt the singing would be appreciably worse.
A pigeon food-fight, a moshpit of grain consumption, of a kind that must say something about how evolution will progress for this species, though what that is, we don’t yet know. The one in the middle seems to be staying above it all, however. But probably he’s just taking a quick breather.
As with most of the rest of Europe, we haven’t had a great deal of rain in 2022, but it certainly came down today. Time to check the drainage…
This afternoon I paid a first-ever visit to the town of Pontefract, which has a significant amount of history, as is first of all indicated by its name of almost pure Latin — pontus fractus means ‘broken bridge’. Its castle was once the second-largest in the country and in its dungeon, King Richard II was starved to death in 1400.
But while I did take pictures of some of this history, in the end I am going with the surreal sight of these mannequin’s legs at the local footie ground. The absurdity of life and its trivia, and all that.
A fairly standard ‘tourist’ shot of my home town, but what the hell, it was a nice day and it does look good from this particular angle. I nearly took it monochrome, but that meant the two figures on the bridge became very camouflaged, and I think they set it off nicely.
I know this photo is technically dubious though I do quite like the way they arrange themselves on it. It’s chosen more to symbolise the fact that, including today, there will be eight Tuesdays between now and Christmas where I will be obliged to be in Manchester at around this time, facing 9am teaching duties. For now, it’s still light, even when I get up, but that won’t be the case for long.
Being 42 