The baby chard happily grows, waiting inside until things warm up — which going by the weather in the last few days, might be a while yet. I, on the other hand, just wait inside, not feeling like I grew much today, in any sense.
I wouldn’t usually put up a shot that was so out of focus but it certainly sums up the weather, and it made me smile that I had captured this duck shaking off the rain that fell constantly today. A smile was needed — life is run, at the moment, according to the whim of the weather and this was the most depressing of ‘weekend’ days thanks to the rain. A shame I couldn’t call this page ‘drake shake’ though.
Two days of more-or-less constant rain and the Hebden Water looked like this in mid-afternoon. The general approach to flood defence here still seems to be, essentially, just cross your fingers and hope.
An adequate metaphor for how things stand. Sunshine for now, but about to be swamped by dark clouds once more.
To distract me from going off on one, let’s note that this is day 3,333 of my blog, so one third of the way to 10,000 days. Multiplying up I note that is, roughly, 27.4 years, and so if I’m still posting in early January 2039, when I will be a few months off my 70th birthday, I will have reached day 10,000. I’m sure an actuary could give me the odds for my still being alive (and being 42) on that day. Whether such odds mean a damn in the current situation is another matter.
Today was considerably less mobile and active than yesterday. No football, even: making it the first Saturday I have voluntarily not attended a match since mid-February. The reason? Rain, constant rain, endless, all day. Apologies then for the boredom factor but at least we can still go to the pub.
A foul, miserable day of weather that matched the general mood. September sun has just about sustained the local pubs, but once it stops being very agreeable to sit outside — as it definitely was today — then they will slowly rot away and die, like most other things that bring fun into our lives, presently.
A foul day of almost constant rain, on which even the ducks were taking shelter, unconducive to any great inspiration. The only saving grace was that it was a Friday, and the forecast is better for the weekend to come.
An innovative approach to keeping oneself, one’s beer and one’s smoking materials free from moisture. The weather could not decide what to do this afternoon.
This being a British summer, the balmy heat of Wednesday and Thursday has gone, and it’s raining again. It will do this until it feels like being different.
Old Town sits on the hills to the north of Hebden Bridge. In Christopher Saxton’s atlas of 1579, the first atlas of England and Wales ever published, it’s called The Old towne…. so it’s been around for a while.
I seem to remember praising January 2020 for its weather, and I stand by that. February 2020 on the other hand — that can piss right off, frankly. And this year we get an extra day of it.
