Robins succeed because they’ve commandeered the ecological niche entitled ‘we really don’t give a shit about those human creatures’. We turned over a pile of compost on the allotment and this fearless chap was picking it over before we’d moved five feet back. He got the best pickings — woodlice, centipedes, worms — everything else was just in his wake. Birds! Ignore the humans! Be the robin! You’ll not regret it.
Those nice people in Authority have promised not to threaten arrest for doing something as subversive as going on a walk, on one’s own, in countryside that doesn’t happen to reside within spitting distance of home. So Joe and I went out on a walk. I bagged my 600th Wainwright and Joe, his 50th. (Full details soon to be posted on my other blog.) Both those milestones came on Wether Hill, but that is a rather unphotogenic lump — Steel Knotts, its predecessor in each sequence, was rather better. It’s appeared before on the blog, too: pictured from a distance on 6/2/17.
Anyone in Britain will tell you that the weather over the last two days has been extremely pleasant. I’m off work for a while, too. I think the relaxed appearance of these lambs is something I can identify with. Mum? Well, she’s just knackered.
As Authority has graciously agreed to let us move around a bit (not abroad though — the mind-broadening experience that is foreign travel remains denied to the majority of us, until further notice); I have some friends with whom I need to reacquaint myself. Let’s start with George, making her fourth appearance on the blog. And very pleasant it was to see her, indeed.
Even the traffic warden was somewhat bemused by this saloon ‘parked’ not only on one of the slip roads to the Mancunian Way, but across a pedestrian crossing. However, I suspect the true owners of this car are not — at this point in time — aware of it being parked there. Hey, maybe they’ll beat the tow-truck.
The rain came down, so another exciting weekend day was spent inside, thanks to Our Glorious Leaders still reckoning that indoor entertainment options will cause us all to shrivel with plague, or something. But, won’t this change as of tomorrow? My view is — don’t hold your breath.
And this movie was awful, by the way. I won’t name it. But if you can take what might have been a quite interesting plot twist and still make it as boring as the rest of the day, then that was quite an achievement.
From no direction do these rocks look particularly like a cow and its offspring, but that’s what they’re called. It doesn’t matter; it’s a dramatic spot, with the creatures grazing on the heather above the town of Ilkley, which can become the 339th different identifiable place to feature on here. No, I wasn’t at home.
These cards all reside in the foyer of RTQ, the tutoring service from whom Clare rents her room, which we have both been using as something of an escape during lockdown. Thank you indeed. But hey, can we leave home, legally, after Monday? There are rumours.
Hey, it’s day 3,500 of the blog. It doesn’t take a lot of mental arithmetic to see that I’m approaching the ten-year mark. At my own sweet pace. (As a multiple-of-50 day, the stats have had their latest update.)
Is the picture a representation of how I feel today? …..Yes, actually. It’s a government thing, a Covid thing, as so much has been lately.
There may be a few people, other than me, working in the Ellen Wilkinson Building at this time. There are occasional noises, dimly perceived, as if made by spirits. Shadowy presences in stairwells. But seeing as even in normal times I was usually the only one who ventured out into the hidden courtyard, the annual cherry blossom display is even more personal than usual, this year. We both greeted a warm, early spring day — alone.
Being 42 