Here’s a photo I took the other day using a film camera in a backwater of a town called Earby, just over the border from Yorkshire into Lancashire. Its of a hapless patch of green growing amidst an sea of tarmac. An oasis of vegetation. The adversity of life growing out of a chink in the armour.

An ecosphere. An island. Transient and fragile.
A passing moment, capture for pseudo ever.

I’ve just got in from a night at the pub with one of my oldest friends (in both senses – I’ve known him a long time and he’s 50 years old). We talked about our fathers, and how perhaps unwittingly they made us who we are. Memories of the formative years. How we miss them dearly. Pubs are good.

On the way home we bumped into Charlie and his owners. Charlie is a sedentary chocolate Labrador who likes my Elsie dog.

This blog post is a bit odd. It’s gone through ethereal thought to emotion to documentation.  Time for sleeps.