After 26.5 miles over the last two days — and in warm, sunny weather too — a day of rest was called for. Clearly the June heat is encouraging many people to expose more flesh than is usual, although with the number of stag and hen parties that pass through Hebden these days, this is becoming a more common sight.
I wasn’t participating, just documenting. And out celebrating having finished the end of the latest bout of marking.
No comments to add to this one. Just a portrait of a friend.
For those drinkers that prefer to start earlier, 7.15pm is getting towards the hazy stage of the evening. Whatever party was going on in the other room, at this point it spilled out into our part of the pub, at least for a short time.
The group of humans and dogs who, on sunny afternoons like this one, generally are to be found occupying the seats out the front of the Railway Inn, are very much a pack. And for the canine members, like Diamond (in black livery) and Hugo, this is just fine, it fits their view of the world and each other. I like this portrait, it seems to sum up their character. I am letting it off the blob of flare on Diamond’s neck, too, which does not seem to detract too much.
It’s approaching chucking out time on Monday night in the White Swan but Hugo doesn’t want to go anywhere. He’s quite comfy, thank you.
A week off work thus far, and, including today, three days still to come. Perhaps I could have made more of an effort today, but beer was certainly a constitutive part of Saturday 8th April 2023, so let’s celebrate it.
I don’t feel that I have captured the social aspects of this city, which are considerable, and pleasant. What a nice place, perhaps I will never be back before I die, but if not — (as with many other places, like Saigon and Tallinn and Berlin) — that will be a shame. Viva Barcelona. There are many worse places to hang out.
This amount of light, sunshine and relative warmth at 5pm are definite signs of spring. The equinox is past us, the nights are only getting longer. Not that Gus looks all that happy about it.
The house pooch of the Star Inn, Penzance, doesn’t necessarily take his guard dog duties all that seriously, at least not where the breakfast buffet is concerned. Then again I was the only guest, so presumably he’d decided I was legitimate.
Being 42 