Saturday, December 16, 2006

Night Has Fallen, Mute And Cold. My Horse Is Crying 

I walked the three or so miles to fetch my car in the style of one of them photobloggers.
My senses alert, my eyes peeled, I would document the world around me on this glorious December morning for the benefit of posterity, and for those unfortunate souls who will never experience Lancashire at first hand. I would try not to get run over in the process.

I took dozens of rubbish photos, and the occasional not so bad one.

Here is a pleasingly cobbled back alley, and here are some bright red berries on a berry tree, which is Nature’s way of going to Asda for a bag of bird food.

This is the church where my Dad is buried, and here are some lights so that pilots might safely land at Blackpool Airport, and here somebody is selling their spare head.

You are discouraged from tipping here, and - my favourite of the lot - here is a horse in a water logged field.
Just like in the song, “It don’t snow here, it stays pretty green,” and to demonstrate, here is Santa, two reindeer, and a wheelbarrow.

When I got home again, Girlfriend had just returned from the library and supporting the new baker’s shop.
I made an excellent joke about how when I open a cake shop, I’ll call it Parkin Mad.
The elder boy added that when I’d sold out of parkin, I’d be able to put a sign in the window saying “No Parkin.” This pleased everybody very much.

The previous Saturday, that nice Kate Manchizzle came round our house with her husband Rich, who I think I kept calling Chris for no good reason. Actually, I’ve been calling quite a few people Chris lately when they’re not. I’ve no idea why.
Rich supports Leeds, and his accent and speech patterns are strikingly similar to those of Alan Smith, which made Girlfriend go terrifically gushy, of course.

Anyway. Kate needed a portrait taking to appear on the contributors page of a magazine she’d written an article for. I was very happy to oblige. I think this is a really nice shot.

I’m available for portraits and weddings and all that stuff, you know.

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