I suppose, to an insect, that the foam layer on top of a glass of beer looks like a solid landing place. But this is one of those risks that if it gets a second chance at it, this will only be because of the benevolence of the putative drinker of said beer, who doesn’t want a mouthful of insect to spoil his enjoyment. Learn the lesson, kid.
I don’t care that I haven’t captured him actually picking up the piece. Somehow it works just fine like this, and chess is an intrinsically black-and-white subject matter.
I do not know exactly what principle of physics this straw is demonstrating, but I will take a stab at it: whether because it is black or not, it has absorbed and retained a certain amount of heat. Enough, anyway, to keep the liquid around it just that little bit warmer and thus precipitate out the bubbles. Sounds plausible, right? But I am guessing.
The sunshine continues: if you hear any Britons complaining about the weather this spring, you have my permission to scoff. This jackdaw seems to be enjoying it just like the rest of us.
This afternoon something about the look of Geri on the other side of the pub made me think ‘white witch’ — which (witch?) is of course a compliment, white witches are the good guys. It was mostly the hair, I think.
On Saturday it will be day 5,000 of the blog, but I won’t be leading up to this milestone with an eventful week. Having done four trips abroad already in 2025, thus, one a month, it’s time to stay at home for a while and Write Up. Writing Up is the one obligation I owe from these travels and the sooner it is done, the better. None of this has anything to do with today’s picture except to offer a reason why I was in the pub again. I suppose today is an effort at a collage, although a very random one.
Am I claiming some status via this pamphlet? No, someone was just making suggestions. Anyway if by God you mean The Planet then I’m all for that.
This ‘reading in the pub’ theme has been done before but after nearly 5,000 days some things just come round again. Anyway, taking in James V. Wertsch’s concept of ‘mediated action’ is better done with the accompaniment of alcohol, I feel.
While there is football here — I saw it on Sunday afternoon — skittles appears to be the principal sporting activity of those who live on Ascension Island, drawing people to the Saints Bar in Georgetown on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday nights. Tonight, The Painkillers team, made up of staff from the hospital, brought their mascot along for support. It didn’t do them any good though, they were well beaten by The Power (they run the power station — you dig?).
Taken from the Saints Club bar: the only pub in Georgetown. I was wondering what creatures had been leaving big piles of poo outside my accommodation, but now I know. Good grief, this place really is the middle of nowhere.
The week ends where quite a few of them do. Neither Steve nor Dex look particularly enthused by the prospect, but the weekend remains young.
Being 42 