I did get very close today to the ‘having nothing to photograph’ assessment — but I did get the marking done. Justification for the latest trip to the pub, anyway: I am now officially On Sabbatical. As I ordered the first pint of this period I was reminded that I do like pub regular Jim’s habit of claiming his daily bottle of red wine. But even that, I couldn’t get properly in focus.
Well, it was quite nice for a day or two. It didn’t last. This picture was chosen for today, in part, because Clare insisted I not use the one of her putting on her slippers, but nevertheless this does epitomise the day.
One might think that Jenga and Red Stripe are a risky mix in the first place, but Tom’s ‘reacharound’ move just adds to the tension on this Friday night match-up. However, though the tower did fall — they always do, in the end — it was not for another few moves yet.
The fire in the pub has been lit some two or three weeks earlier than last year. This is a good thing.
A dull and drizzly day, and I didn’t go anywhere, thus limited opportunities for photography. I did notice this creature sat in its cage above the bar, the sort of thing that’s probably sat there forever but never been seen. It’s not a raven, of course: it doesn’t even particularly look like one. But allow me the cheap and indirect Halloween reference.
The week has been a busy one but ends uneventfully. The weather was unconducive to a spell sat outside the pub, so the drinking was done indoors today. I believe this shot was captured through the window; a sensible approach under the circumstances.
Christmas decorations appearing in early November, I have learned to live with. But Halloween ones appearing more than six weeks before the fact? Ah, goddamit. Society is crumbling. (This may, of course, not be a specific Halloween reference but let me grumble.)
Gosh, this year of my life starts with two consecutive nights out. But then again it is a holiday weekend. We are the last ones out behind the Railway, in fact. This picture appeals purely because of the lights.
After eleven different places in eleven days it’s time to spend some time at home again. I’m still not back to work though: that can wait another week or so. Stan generally agrees with this approach to life, I feel.
Where better to end a pleasant weekend than at the Railway’s Sunday afternoon karaoke? Well, OK, perhaps there are several places that are actually better, particularly when Rockin’ Rupert (that’s what he calls himself: it’s written on his hat) turns up, a man for whom the notions of melody, timing and key are just things other people worry about. But he brings props, one of which came out for this rendition of (it seemed to be) Singin’ in the Rain — get it?
Being 42 