Came as close as I ever have today to simply having no acceptable photograph at the end of the day. Up until this one was taken I had an out-of-focus picture of a halved avocado, and that was pretty much it. C. gets involved today almost as emergency cover. It’s still out-of-focus, but hey, at least she’s smiling.
A generally optimistic sheen to the day. Even the unused footbridge in the arse end of Victoria station has had a new coat of paint, and I suspect the pigeons know this somehow.
Every recent Sunday in the town centre has been busy and today was no exception. And the only commentary I would like to add to this observation is that I consider this a good thing.
A walk around the Todmorden area today gave me the chance to see from above the railway line on which I travel frequently to Manchester. The settlement is certainly packed into this narrow valley at this point, isn’t it. But the railway somehow dominates, like it’s the thing that really controls the transport here.
This is the fourth shot in a row taken outside of Hebden Bridge. The last time that happened was over Christmas, in Norfolk — and the time before that, early October. This says a lot about the last few months.
A whole morning spent sitting in my office, talking to my Mac (with a vague assumption that there might be some people listening out there in Zoombie-land). This is what we call ‘teaching’, these days. Overseen by Mr. Jack Nicholson, whose image (or perhaps, more precisely, R. P. McMurphy’s) makes its third appearance on the blog (see also here and here) — as many as my mother, by now. Well, it is a very good movie. And book.
We turned up at our appointed time. We stood at the ends of our appointed lines, waiting to get the call. Some of us read the information sheets we were given, which seemed (to me) to say little more than ‘in the end, we don’t really know what this might do’. Some of us did not. Yes folks, I’ve been vaccinated.
Reyner Street is a back alley if ever there was one. But it looked good today. I doubt the establishment pictured has seen much business lately, and I managed to obscure its phone number, too. Apologies to them.
I don’t pose or stage photos for this blog. But sometimes I do choose them in advance. A year ago today I was walking in the Lake District. When I got home, all had changed. So, today, to mark one year since Bojo the Clown couldn’t decide what else to do and stuck us all under house arrest, here’s a tribute to a certain early 1980s rock album with which some of you may be familiar. The walls must come down, there is no alternative. How this happens is largely up to us: even if Authority will insist it’s up to them.
Joe and I were supposed to be going to see The Who tonight — live in Leeds no less — first postponed from just under a year ago, but now cancelled altogether. Another little pleasure denied us. So in the absence of anything actually happening, here’s some abandoned furniture, on a slope. UPDATE; Clare informs me that this is not a lost object; in fact a number of them have been set up in various places in the Calder Valley, as another place for book-swapping. Lift up the top of the seat, and the books are inside, it seems.
It really is a rabbit; at least, from the front. So, in some ways, this is the first rabbit to appear on the blog. She reclines in one corner of the Yorkshire Sculpture Park, which has been displaying bits and pieces of art in its gardens at Bretton Hall for the last fifty years.
Being 42 