Joe bought me a book of Indian-style recipes for Christmas. I wanted to try some tonight, but many of the more obscure spices that were suggested were beyond my kitchen’s existing remit. But we have a very good Asian food store in Hebden Bridge. Now I know what curry leaves and tamarind actually look (and smell) like. Nigella seeds proved beyond everyone, however.
Believe me, I’m one of these middle-aged guys who has gone the other way when it comes to hair loss, and I don’t need any. Not on my head and certainly not on/in my eyebrows, ears and nose, thank you very much. But clearly there is a market for the stuff, at least among the women who shop in the Arndale Market, Manchester. And there was me thinking they did it naturally — like me (last haircut, 2/10/19 and still counting).
Two years ago, roughtly, I walked into this establishment intending to buy gifts for others and came out having spent far too much money on myself (see this post). Today I ignored its warmth and welcoming lighting; except to capture this shot, anyway.
At least I live in a town that still sustains not just one, but two proper butchers’ shops. These guys must make their entire annual profit at this time of year; I know in advance what it will be like when I go to collect my bird two days before Christmas. (Never a turkey, which is a meat I have never found all that appealing, to be honest.) There is no advertising intention to this blog, so can I also point out that despite depicting one of the establishments here, I actually ordered my meat from the other shop.
Hey ho, it’s September already, so I suppose I’d better go into Manchester, for the first time in four weeks. I guess the health of the city centre retail has held up there better than some other places I’ve been lately, but the huge Debenhams department store on Market Street hasn’t made it, the shutters closed and graffitied, the windows gathering dust.
More junk, like yesterday. But no one would come in if it were called a ‘junk shop’, so the word ‘antique’ is employed to give these various discarded pieces of trash some cachet. But it’s all for show. Take the false teeth visible to top right, for example. However old they are, I doubt they would be employed by a set decorator for some period movie.
There’s a lot that could be said about Britain’s currently-mandated festivities, but I can’t be bothered. I spent the day finishing off my marking. To note the occasion, here’s some commercialised art, originally from 1977.
You still can’t buy socks or men’s underwear in any of Hebden Bridge’s multiple retail establishments, but we do now have a cheese shop. Time for some Wensleydale, I feel. The kid has made his choice too, by the looks of things.
My usual policy is not to offer commercial endorsements on this blog, not that anyone’s ever asked. However, I am wide open to making an exception for this business. The magnificent optimism. The “Human Hair, 1/2 Price” sign (and what it implies about Brazilians). The sheer organisation of it. The generous 5% discount for students. People of Luton — indeed all of Bedfordshire — go there now. Don’t do it for me, do it for this guy.
If anyone in the UK has any better ideas for what to do with this Friday evening I’d love to hear them. Have a good weekend y’all.
