Saturday 1st June 2019, 10.05am (day 2,837)
Last morning in Ireland. I mean no inslut at all — quite the opposite — by declaring that this is a country that does pubs very well. However, this guy was starting rather early, it has to be said.
When I was younger, propaganda convinced me that everywhere behind the old Iron Curtain was grey, drab and polluted. This is of course not the case, was never the case. Eastern European cities (see also Prague, Tallinn, more) seem to have this effortless sophistication, a handsome civility that should shame all who voted for the idiocy that is Brexit. Britons have much to learn from such places, the trouble is that 17 million of them said, we don’t want to. (The Croatians have also learned from us though — at least, they have acquired an understanding of ‘the pub’.)
An abstract, really: while sitting in Preston waiting out a train connection. It was good to be inside on a cold, windy day, sharp contrast with the balm of last weekend. There are four heads here, even if initial viewing might suggest only three.
I wanted this week to get at least one of our Melburnian colleagues onto the blog and seeing as Linda has already made it — albeit a few months ago, in Manchester — here is Camille. But it would have been wrong, today at least, to depict her without daughter Gabby, who as she is on her Easter break from school, was obliged to join us today: but very welcome she was, including to the post-work drink at the Charles Hotel.
There are many fine things about Australia. The beer is not one of them. Pile it high and pump it out is the usual approach, and if you find something more delicately crafted, I bet it’s come from somewhere else (probably New Zealand). Ah well. You can’t have everything in a country.
There was the chance of a Hebden Bridge picture this morning, but it didn’t come to pass, which means the one last Monday was the last for a month; I’m off on a substantial trip. The first stage of this was to go to London and have a Friday night out with (amongst others) these two lovely people, the wife and George, making her third appearance on the blog…. a good evening was had, for sure….
This is Sinclair’s Oyster Bar — oldest pub in Manchester, and also one of the most no-nonsense. Which is not to say it’s rough, because it’s not. But you get the drinks you’re given and you pay cash, and don’t expect plates of radicchio on the side. Best pub for Victoria station anyway — I know not only exactly how long it takes to walk from here, but how long it takes to specific platforms.
A very unexciting day today, not least because I had to work for much of it — but by this point, that is over, and there are only two more working days left for me until Christmas. Whether the break will get much more exciting than this, who knows; but as usual at this time of year, I couldn’t really care.