Sunday 29th July 2018, 7.35pm (day 2,530)
On the wettest day for months, and trapped in the house, Joe initiates his parents into bizarre Dice Man-style games of chance, in which the family fortune teeters on the edge of a d20. The wine is Clare’s.
On the wettest day for months, and trapped in the house, Joe initiates his parents into bizarre Dice Man-style games of chance, in which the family fortune teeters on the edge of a d20. The wine is Clare’s.
I could have uploaded another picture of snowy land- or urban-scapes but let’s pay tribute to the people who have made my stay in Tromsø a highly enjoyable and hospitable one. Helene relaxes after dinner, and deserves to, as she cooked it — elk bourgignon apparently, a new one on me but it was very tasty. With plenty of wine to wash it down as you can see (not an inexpensive proposition in Norway). Thanks to everyone for having me…. back home tomorrow morning.

I’m examining a doctoral thesis in Glasgow tomorrow and it’s too far to do as a day trip so I came up tonight. This shot was snapped during a spell of good light on the train, somewhere around Carlisle. The Mac shows that I’m still just about working at this point but it wasn’t to last much longer — then again, you try assimilating Michel Foucault’s The Archaeology of Knowledge past 5pm on a Thursday. But then again I did have wine (as seen bottom left).
At least I had finished my work for the day by this point. Sometimes you just have to like the photo you got, while simultaneously wanting to apologise to the innocent model. There is still wine in the world, at least.
Got completely bored on the flight back from Moscow and started taking photos of my in-flight refreshment. Not an easy shot to get — with a bouncy child on the seat in front and poor ambient light. It passed 40 minutes, at least, and this was the best attempt.
Made no greater excursion into the outside world than yesterday, and the weather was worse too, with this being perhaps the darkest and gloomiest day I’ve experienced since January. Racking off the blackberry wine was about the most interesting thing that was seen in the day. Ahhh, alcohol. It’s all just the excretions of yeast, you know. Fungus poo, in other words.
Blackburn, Lancashire (as in ‘4,000 holes in…’). Why am I here? Because we were supposed to be going to see Blackburn Rovers v Brighton & Hove Albion, but there was some rain and the match was postponed because of a ‘waterlogged pitch’. Despite the fact that their considerably less-well-off neighbours at Accrington Stanley, five miles away, managed to play their game, as did every other club in the Championship today. We’d not come from that far away and were then going to my nearby parents anyway (see tomorrow’s picture), but some Brighton fans had set off from the south coast at 4am; the match was not postponed until 1.30pm. Bad show, Blackburn Rovers FC.
So here’s a picture of a side of a table in the Postal Order pub instead. I quite like the gaudy textures and patterns but at the same time muted colours, set off by that little semicircle of pink.