It’s a valid political opinion. Whether anyone pays attention is a different matter.
This has hardly been the most eventful December — not a single photo in the month so far has been taken further than 30 miles from home — but this will change soon enough. Today is also day 4,500 of the blog, a nice round number: I have done one of my periodic updates of the stats, a page which if nothing else, proves quite how anal I am.
I’m still working, and didn’t leave the house today until after dark, so the choice of picture was, as much as anything else, governed by when and where my rather inadequate camera coped best with the murk and gloom. With some help given by the lights of the stadium ahead, this one won. That does make it two car parks in a row, but hey.
These geese literally live in the car park of the Co-op supermarket in Hebden Bridge, and have done for some time. Today, the synchronous exercises: though Gertrude on the right has gone for the ‘tuck’ a little early.
From a fake old picture to some real ones. These were taken in around 1945 when my Granddad, Harold Whitworth — my father’s father — was serving in Egypt towards the end of World War 2. He’s the chap with the dapper moustache sat down next to the guy in the turban; and the one on the left of the other shot. (Mildly dubious it might be to dress as a native stereotype, but I have photos of myself doing much the same in Fiji.) Anyway, these are the kinds of family references that now seem obligatory when visiting my parents for the annual-Xmas get-together — last year it was the family tree; in 2023, the box of very old photos.
I don’t honestly remember Granddad ever saying much about his experiences in the war; he was certainly not one of those ex-soldiers who go on about it to anyone who will listen. In these pictures it all looks like an extended holiday, but I’m sure it wasn’t.
Castleford is a biggish place (45,000 residents) and I’ve lived not far from it for 30 years now, but today was the first time I had visited. (Yes, it was for football.) I was struck by how unreconstructed much of it was, rows of terraced houses and back alleys like this one. Most now filled with cars, spoiling the ambience a little, but this alley was clear, and with a bit of post-production I think this is not a bad facsimile of how it probably looked 60 years ago. There’s only one anachronism — the wheelie bins — but even those I will let pass.
Once more I was in the work cocoon — specifically, the email cocoon — all day, only emerging as the skies looked like this. Another day, then, where there was not much to photograph, but at least it’s the weekend.
The woman in question being Clare, of course. We both adopted this position all day in fact. I liked her little ‘light cave’, and should point out the dubious fluffy mascot to lower right.
A busy stint of work comes to an end — this is Manchester’s third appearance in a row, and that hasn’t happened since April ’22. By the end of the working day I needed a pint, and the City Arms on Kennedy Street has definitely become the Manchester Pub of Choice. I’m not the only one who thinks this either, as it’s usually busy like this, but the beer is high quality. Note the old typesetting frame stuck randomly to the ceiling. Anyway, I probably won’t be here again until well into January — my work in this specific city is done for a while.
Prof. Alexander’s bust has long graced the entrance hall of the building on Manchester’s campus that bears his name. This kind of thing happens most years, to be honest. He seems to bear it with stoic dignity. I don’t think he looks all that unhappy — a bit resigned, maybe.
The last class of the semester, and as I’m on sabbatical for several months next year, the last one for me until late September 2024. And that’s just fine by me. I do — generally — like teaching but it is tiring, time-consuming work and if I want to do some proper thinking I can do with taking a break from it. The last class of the semester also gives rise to the annual ceremony of ‘having pictures taken with one’s professor’ — I make people upset if a 20-minute window isn’t offered up at the end.
Being 42 