This agreeable piece of whimsy sits in the Cafe Torrelli outside Kew Gardens tube station. I don’t do advertising on here but lunch was pleasant, and I ate better than this guy seems to have recently.
The tour of Scotland, or at least, the eastern-central part of that country, continued with a visit to “Scotland’s Secret Bunker“, which until 1992 or thereabouts was maintained as the home-to-be of government in Scotland were that country (and presumably the rest of the UK) ever to be taken out by a couple of dozen nuclear missiles. It says a lot for the managerial mindset that a significant amount of money was spent on building and maintaining this place, with its various dormitories, a broadcasting station, two cinemas, a canteen (still in use, for visitors), state-of-the-art air conditioning and fire protection and various Monitoring and War Rooms (“Gentlemen! You can’t fight in here, this is the War Room!”). Plus a clinic, as pictured here with its touches of black humour.
That this is now open to visitors, albeit privately owned and charging a healthy price (£50 for the three of us), is some consolation but begs a natural question — where’s the current version of this? Or versions, as there were long-standing and fairly plausible rumours that another one of these sat up on Ashdown Forest in Sussex, near Crowborough where I grew up. And how much do they cost in terms of, say, nurses’ or teachers’ salaries? The place was definitely worth a visit, if only to invoke such questions in Joe’s mind.
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?).
The water is that of the Tame Valley Canal. Above, thunders the M6, doing its rounds just north of Birmingham. Whoever marked the crossing point of these two transport arteries with this piece of work was inspired. Someone else’s art, again, but worth sharing.
There remains a Joe-shaped hole in the house at the moment. But perhaps this shot, taken on a rare foray into his unoccupied room, is evidence that we didn’t pack him off to Dundee after all. Although decomposition has set in pretty fast, if that is indeed the case.
I bet you didn’t pass one of these on the way to your morning meeting. Mine happened to be in the Manchester Museum (last seen on here as the home of the vivid tropical frogs) — so I did.
I see no reason to explain this shot. It’s just an image I liked.
Being 42 