The glass of wine is not mine; in fact, nor is it Steve’s, sitting opposite, and, in part anyway, making his fifteenth appearance on the blog (thus coming in at one per year on average). You can tell it’s him: he’s the only person I encounter regularly who habitually wears this much jewellry. Drinks were just migrating to this point in space, well lit by warm sunshine. Shame it’s not the weekend, but possibly tomorrow will be little different.
After a run of travelling, today marks the start of a period to be spent mostly at home, and ended where many Fridays do, namely the pub. There I noticed that the old logs used, now and again, as bar stools have a rather encrusted look about them which was a worthy subject for illustration. In fact there are a number of regulars of the Railway who affect this kind of thing, with me probably among them, these days.
A Sunday afternoon game of cribbage. I won 3-2, by the way. As C pointed out when she first saw this, sometimes a blur is exactly the point of the shot.
Brrrr! It’s cold outside. Get that fire lit!
Hello, friend. The bloody thing is that today was another wake. Too many, too fast.
I do not know exactly how many people have appeared on this blog and subsequently died, for I cannot account for all the strangers who have been in shots. As of today, though, there are certainly at least six such people among friends and family. Steve Cooper — always known in the pub as ‘Little Steve’ (not that the other Steve is particularly large) had appeared three times, most recently on 28th March 2025. He passed away on 6th January aged 63, today was his funeral and then wake at the Railway, where it had to be. Other members of the crew are pictured looking happy, which is the main reason I pick the shot — as the booklet on the table announces, it was meant to be a celebratin, not sorrowful. But Steve will be missed, as will all friends when they are no longer with us.
It’s Friday, it’s 5pm and, well, we’re in the usual place. It’d be great if the golden glow behind the beer glass was some tropical sunset, but sadly not, In fact we’ve barely seen sunshine for two weeks.
A fourth appearance for Hugo, and this portrait sums up his general character as well as anything. Since we last saw him I believe he has lost a couple of crucial parts of his anatomy (y’know) but it doesn’t seem to have changed him much.
It’s just a day like any other of course but thanks to its position in the calendar there does seem a certain obligation to mark it. A modicum of sociability was thereby achieved, though we didn’t stay out until midnight. Jax becomes, probably, the person with the longest gap between first and second appearances on here — that is also her to the right of this portrait from January 2015.
Happy New Year to her and to you all. Of all the places I visited in 2025, Orkney was definitely the best — at the end of that week Clare and I were, virtually, both planning moves there. It’ll never happen though. This picture of Stromness was the last one taken there (August 2nd at 6.40am, the earliest shot of the year) and evokes the memories very well. My favourite picture of the year photographically is probably the one of the guide at the Great Tapestry of Scotland on June 8th in Galashiels — it just turned out very well and as I hoped it would. What will 2026 bring? Let’s find out.
This brand of beer (not mine, but the wife drinks it) has recently appeared at the Railway and the almost unanimous contention among the clientele is that its logo is quite the worst and most inappropriate piece of branding ever seen there — and it appears on the pump, too (an ugly, blocky, monstrous columnar thing that now dominates the bar). Why does a sweaty male figure who looks like a cross between Boris Yeltsin and Boris Johnson — definitely a Boris then — somehow epitomise a Spanish beer with a woman’s name? And did I really have nothing better to photograph on a Friday? Both of these things seem to have come to pass, though.
Being 42 