It is still September. It is still the first half of September. But the Gospel Oak pub, in Tipton, West Midlands, cares nothing for such pedantries. Here, it is Christmas already, so they can advertise their seasonal ‘wear a shite jumper’ dinners (starting November 11th, if you’re interested). There is something deeply depressing about this.
The plums are eaten and gone, but there is still some free food to be found in the garden. The apples are not very big and a little tart but they will do fine in a crumble. I suppose I could have moved the prominent leaf before capturing this one but hey, it’s all part of the natural vibe.
Oh, the dog knows. Probably it already knows more details about the guy’s fish than he does, in, like, two seconds.
If my name were Peter Piper, could it be said that, on this blog, if I (Peter Piper) depicted a pack of pickled peppers, how many pickled peppers were in the pack that Peter Piper depicted?
If English is not your first language and any of that makes any sense, then I congratulate you.
An excuse to see friend Doug, and have him make his sixth appearance on the blog, provided by the fact that Oldham Athletic (known as the Latics) were playing in Halifax, and D. can be minded to raise it for the Latics now and again. The Three Pigeons lies between railway station and ground and is rather obligatory on such occasions (see also here, for instance, which I’m pretty sure is exactly the same table). I like this one thanks to the brightness of the guy behind, who interrupts the dark line of people quite agreeably. It finished 1-1, by the way.
A final hour or so to get some shots of Newcastle as we made our way back to the station. This has gone monochrome for one simple reason: to get rid of the bright blue monstrosity that was the wheelie bin in the middle. Tell me you don’t see it, even now I’ve pointed it out.
This is the second time the River Tyne has been depicted on this blog, but the first time I saw it, it was considerably smaller: this was on my walk up Burnhope Seat in 2020, where I passed the farm of ‘Tynehead’ at the other end of the river. By Newcastle the Tyne has grown fat, big enough to have what is, reputedly, the largest wooden construction in Europe built out in the middle of it — Dunston Staiths, a former coalport. And there it is. I like the lamp-posts on this one, too.
With Joe now living in Dundee we have determined that Newcastle is the halfway point between us, geographically. Hence, this weekend, built around an evening out but also (it being me) a trip to a football match and a chance to laze around in the sunshine on the grassy acres of Heaton Stannington FC (a ground which thoroughly deserves the awards it has received for its beer, by the way).
Of course, the title of this blog has non-geographical implications too, as with all parents and their children. And if you saw pictures of me when I was Joe’s age (21) — this shot, particularly, is like looking at a magical mirror that projects one back in time. That’s me, in the summer of 1991, right there. Only with bigger feet.
Another day when there wasn’t really a great deal to look at, but it was a sunny afternoon with good light, so in the end, something came up. I like how the air behind it seems to shimmer with the promise of a golden summer, but of course all that is in the past — today could have been the last truly sunny and warm day until March, for all we know. And let’s consider ‘post’ as having a double meaning.
Followers of this blog will be aware that I go to quite a few football matches — tonight being my 53rd of 2024 so far — but I try not to let the theme dominate these daily posts. However, Hurst Cross is a fine example of the genre and worth depicting. It’s been continuously in use by Ashton United since 1884 and so is one of the oldest extant grounds in the world, and a perfectly decent place to spend a Thursday evening, if you ask me.
Being 42 