Despite the various depredations of different kinds of Authority I am trying to affect a state of relaxation, and this gentleman, by the River Ouse in York, seems to be someone I can aspire to right now. I assume he’s not eaing the ‘ice cream for dogs’ though (see sign).
On we go then, with the next thousand, or four thousand, or whatever will be this blog’s allotted span. The illumination of this web, in some lost corner or other, was the most attractive option for today.
I was looking around today for some kind of shot that represented the milestone I have reached today — four thousand days, which is, now you know, about three weeks short of eleven years. No big round numbers particularly revealed themselves, though I did look. But these trophies will do — I feel I deserve some kind of award, if only from myself. There have been times when I have felt like it’s been going long enough, particularly on those days when I’m staying at home with little to see. But usually, on the horizon, I can see something else ahead which keeps the interest going — like right now, with a holiday to come and then a (work) trip abroad… Let’s not give up just yet then. I would lose that little bit of creativity that I am currently obliged to display each day. And I’m not dead yet, either.
It’s nice when interests coincide. Behind one goal at Atherton Laburnum Rovers’ Crilly Park stadium, there was growing today a whole run of plump, ripe blackberries, of which this was just a small part. Luckily for me I had a collection vessel, which was definitely filled before I settled in to watch the game.
You might have noticed that a nice round number approaches, in terms of the number of days I have been doing this. But that’s for tomorrow.
This pigeon nest has been under observation for a couple of days now, seeing as it resides just above the outdoor seating area in the pub, and for the duration, this fledgling has been receiving plenty of encouragement to leave it. Every so often it comes out, slithers around on the roof tile (some seven feet above the ground) for a while, cheeps in an alarmed fashion, then goes back inside. Mum, or possibly Dad, seems to be getting rather fed up with the whole thing. I can’t say I blame it. My one was off like a shot, first chance he got.
An estate agent might still describe this a “Manchester city centre apartment, including private balcony, with intimate views of the River Medlock below”. The reality is that this building has been swathed in scaffolding for months now (certainly since at least early February, as this pic proves), and the Medlock is a litter-speckled concrete drainage channel at this point. I doubt those stairs have much purpose in existence, either.
At about 3.30am in the morning I was awoken by a distant but continuously ringing alarm down in town, and a sense that I could smell smoke, although both these things only reached the semi-concscious level of awareness. Having convinced myself that if there was smoke, it was external to our place, I drifted back to sleep.
In the morning, it became more apparent where all this was coming from: the La Perla restaurant in town burned down overnight. This morning they were still dousing the smouldering timbers, the town cordoned off as I walked past on my way to the station — so this was the nearest I could get for this bit of reportage. No one was hurt, but I imagine there are a number of people who today are extremely upset.
The ‘West Riding’ bar on Dewsbury station ranks up there with the world’s great railway station refreshment rooms. It’s quite as good as Stalybridge’s, and that’s high praise indeed. The random scattering of stuff around it, inside and out, seems natural rather than the affectations of an interior designer. It’s been a while since this piano made any music, but it remains interesting in different ways.
It is, perhaps, a little early to be taking a nap, but it was Sunday, after all. We’ve all been there.
Being 42 