Gaz is a Railway regular, and given enough time and my patience probably all who drink in there regularly have been, or will get, on here at some point. I like this shot, with the glasses behind. It does him justice I think; he’s a nice chap.
No particular reason for depicting this pub — I didn’t patronise it — but I do like the arrangement of the tableau and the way the red door sets off the monochrome. Presumably the mobility scooter belongs to one of the two guys on the right. Although maybe they both claim it and are about to fight over it.
On an uneventful, work-free Friday ungraced by stellar photo opportunities, this seemed to sum things up the best.
Since I posted on Thursday and mentioned how hot and sunny it was, we have seemed never to be more than three hours away from the next storm. I sheltered from this evening’s one under the tarp that has been graciously stretched over the beer garden at the Fox and Goose; it is from this covering that this raindrop rather attractively descends.
There is something statuesque about this jackdaw, I think. Like he’s posing and ready to launch a discus like an ancient Greek athlete. Perhaps that is why I have gone monochrome for the day.
I first met Mariam at the i3 conference in Aberdeen in June 2015. She is Tunisian by birth, but at the time was studying in Japan, so the second time we met was when she served as my guide round Tokyo on a (very wet and cold) day in March 2017. And as she has recently moved to Australia, I met her in Melbourne this April; it was her I was waiting for ‘under the clocks‘ — though that picture is of someone else, which also indicates that despite these different meetings each on different continents, this friend has yet to appear on the blog herself.
Let’s rectify that. Mariam speaks seven languages by the way and is a living example of why internationalism is the way to go. It was great today to finally introduce her to the home town.
The sun appears to have arrived in Hebden Bridge, bringing with it the bugs. But whatever bugs actually are, most of them in a British summer are not usually turquoise, with orange legs.
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.
Friday evening, and Ireland goes to the pub. The inscription on the glass raised a smile.
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’.)
