First, there was the one Muscovy duck that took up residence at Hebden Bridge canal marina — this one. Then several more turned up (and had a few fights). But for a while now I have only seen one again, not the original one but this all-white one, which has made a couple of earlier blog appearances itself. The others have either died or moved on, leaving this one behind. Maybe it just likes it here. Or, maybe it is terribly lonely.
Lingcomb Edge is the north-western buttress of the fell of Red Pike, above Buttermere. As I took a shot of the broader panorama, I noticed the three walkers (I’m pretty sure there are three) way over there and zoomed in as much as I could. I like the way the viewpoint has formed the hills and moors behind into waves, curling around the contours of the land.
And no, I wasn’t at work today. If you’d seen the weather you’d understand why. I worked Sunday. Honest.
It’s always nice to eat out on a Sunday lunchtime. Wherever you may be.
Another shot of water caught by sunlight, but here the water is not being naturally produced. Half-time at the City Academy stadium in Manchester, where the under-23 team of the Richest Club in the World were to happily get their comeuppance, slipping to a 1-0 home defeat to Brighton’s under-23s. Which of course I found highly entertaining.
Yes, I would rather the box was not there. But one can’t have everything. Otherwise this rain/sun combination did catch my eye as I came home early from work — very early, but then again, it is Friday.
Dead flower masquerding as frail, semi-transparent moths? Or are the moths getting together for purposes of their own, and disguising their negotiations by masquerading as a flower? Either way, winter comes.
A couple of weeks at home loom, and today was spent entirely there. At least, for blog purposes, I do have things to look at out of the window — mist, and mast.
Six days away from campus and in that time, everything seems to have turned gold. Is that a jacket in the branches at the top? Or the ubiquitous and planet-killing plastic bag? Guess we can find out for sure when the rest of the leaves are gone.
I have to admit to being unable to ride a bike. I am sure family will mention that there was a brief period, aged about 7, where I gave it a go but we never got on. Can’t say I really see the point of them: walking has always seemed more pleasant, and safer, over shorter distances and any longer, let’s get a bus or train shall we? But I’m not anti-bike. I like ‘bike for hire’ schemes (cf. Brisbane, 2013). I know cyclists suffer prejudice due to their chosen form of transport. It’s just not for me.
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When I was growing up in Sussex there were many of these ‘sunken lanes’ around the place and I guess I never really gave them much thought. But seeing a track like this, embedded between two earthen banks, is a sign that the way is of great antiquity. Their sunken nature is not natural, it is the result of erosion, taking place as people and livestock use the track over hundreds and, probably, thousands of years, over and over.
While on a walk in the South Downs today (bagging a County Top), I turned a corner and was suddenly confronted by this most magnificent example. Actually I’m surprised the shot ended up with so much light in it, because to my eyes this was a dark, enclosed tunnel through the landscape, exactly the kind of place where you can picture Frodo and his mates hiding from the Black Rider early on in Lord of the Rings. It’s called Tennyson’s Lane in tribute to the poet who had a house nearby, and in 1905 Arthur Paterson wrote the following about it, words that are still true today:
Trees meet overhead, copsewood surrounds it, and later, it is hedged by high sandy banks thickly overgrown with plant and scrub; squirrels and rabbits, and all other small woodland creatures, disport themselves over it. It twists and turns, and to the stranger appears to lead nowhere in particular.
Being 42 