Where do you find yourself?
I find myself in the top two floors of a townhouse in Bonn, some 66 steps up from the ground. Looking out of the windows I can see the rooftops of the city and the hills in the distance. I am rooted in the centre of the city, near a large square where people ebb and flow during the day and during the seasons. 10 minutes and I am on the banks of the Rhine which stretches up towards Liechtenstein and down towards Rotterdam. I am in the western regions of Germany, not too far from the Luxembourg border, but there are big stretches of wooded countryside on either side of the Rhine valley before the next major conurbation.
How about you?
In a 1929 semi* in Hull. The street is busy in the day and quiet at night. There’s a sports field at the back – footie in the winter, cricket in the summer. Sky, birds, trees.
And the drummer of the best line-up of the Housemartins lives round the corner.
Could be worse.
(*hurrrr)
It’s funny, have often thought about that song and how it applies to my life.
i am in Kanata which is a (boring) suburb west of Ottawa, very North American with shopping centres, strip malls etc. Also borders on beautiful countryside and I can just about see hills of Quebec the other side of the Ottawa river from my place when facing north. Never thought I would end up here but here I am. Also live in a kind of townhouse with me having bottom 2 floors. Bought it last summer.
At lunch time today I found myself in Brek, a cheap cafe on Strada Nuova in Venice, having a plate of spaghetti pomodoro to see me through the flight back to Essex. Although I have lived in my flat, on the top floor of a 3 storey block about 2 miles from the city* centre and like it very much, I can’t help but feel that it lacks charm compared to Venice.
It’s OK. It’s full of my favourite stuff, I can walk to work in just over half an hour, and I certainly couldn’t afford it if I was starting over now without working much harder than I would ever be prepared to do (it’s absurdly overpriced, as pretty much all property within 100 miles of London is now). I’m having the windows double glazed in a month ow two; you should come and visit.
* We went to see Ross Noble in town recently. He said ‘I was walking through the town …’ ‘City!’ cried the audience. ‘Yeah, right! I bet Amsterdam and New York are quaking in their boots! OK, I jumped on the hop on-hop off tourist bus …’
Well. As it happens, I’m in Barcelona, in a fourth floor apartment. If I step out onto the balcony and turn my head left, I can see the sea. Even in the dark. I’m by the port, Barcelonetta, where there are lots of funky Tapas and drinking joints. Every restaurant offers a wide variety of beautiful fish. Down to the beach and turn left are the exclusive clubs and a casino frequented by most of the glittering football team. The beautiful people spend their days shopping or on the beach, then visit the clubs at night. I’m quite happy to sit with the balcony door open, sipping whisky and gazing at the crystal clear sky, sucking in the night air. Soon to bed.
I hope your mum is having a wonderful time, tigs. Say hello to her for me.
In a field in southern Oxfordshire – or occupied west Berkshire as people who remember 1974 sometimes call it. I’m a large field away from the nearest house and at the moment, in something of a frenzy of strong winds. The ground being flat and uninterrupted makes the winds pretty fierce – it has ripped off the covers from a table tennis table and campervan – so much so that when i first moved here, i sometimes checked the weather to see if this Oz-style tornado was a ‘thing’.
In the day, i can look out and watch the farmer plough the fields in a scene that reminds me of the front cover of the Ladybird Farmer book i was given (and still have) as a toddler. And at night i can play the drums and guitar to my heart’s content without disturbing a soul.
Funny thing. Our front room projects into the street so that there’s no impingement on my neighbours if I play “it” loud. Zmatter of fact you can only hear it outside if you’re walking directly past the the front of the house. Next door have a one year old who has never been disturbed by the da Moose Sound Systim.
Today I have entertained the occasional passer by with a spot of Scientist.
Didn’t Philip Larkin once have a quiet semi in Hull?
(Hurrrr)
Just a few hundred yards away, beyond the trees. Him and his jazz (mags)
Cool. Or not, depending on your take on the old fruit.
I live close to Betjeman’s country stamping ground. Quite a pile he managed to fund.
I love PL, not least because his influence meant that the record department of the Brynmor Jones Library was well worth raiding. He would have virulently detested the way that he is celebrated these days, with kids and cartoon toads… yet the incongruity is oddly appropriate.
Betjeman was the first British rapper when he dropped the seminal Banana Blush. Respec’!
In a ground floor rented single-bedroom flat, in a 3-storey block (with no terrestrial TV signal), on the former site of a truck factory, in a town on the North-Western outskirts of London.
All of the wooden window frames are rotten and are going to be replaced in a few weeks time, apparently.
I’m sitting eating cheese and drinking a nice Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc, having recently returned from a great Mike Westbrook concert in London.
At the computer, cat snoozing in a basket next to it.
Same as it ever was, same as it ever was….
These are great! More please.
I’m in a flat on the third floor of a five storeyed house in a quite posh and rather trendy part of inner city Stockholm, Sweden (just one street away from the really posh, but less trendy part).
When I moved here the area wasn’t posh or trendy at all, it was rather run-down and a bit seedy.
It used to be all sex clubs, hairdressers and the kind of antique shops more likely to be called junk shops – these days the sex shops have made way for interior design shops, the only antique shops left are the expensive kind, and my street has unexpectedly become the hub of a new “foodie” district.
I live in the quiet end of this dead end street, but a five minute walk in either direction will get me to lively streets full of people and I can get anything I’d possibly need in life from all sorts of small and specialised shops within a ten minute radius.
Leaning out slightly from my balcony, towards the left, I can see a glint of water from the big nearby nature park area, which I rarely go to; preferring to pack a picnic lunch and a book and walk the longer route to the island of Djurgården on a sunny summer’s day, to my special bench by the water.
In my flat I sit in my hall/library/study and I was just listening to the newly acquired album from Avec Le Soleil Sortant De Sa Bouche and was thinking how they reminded me of Talking Heads crossed with Goat, and then I came here and found myself reading this OP and writing this description.
Up in the middle of the night for the fourth night in a row, for paracetamol, an ice lolly and a cup of tea. Picking up penicillin for tonsilitis tomorrow. Tonsilitis HURTS.
Have been joined by small friendly cat, but suspect only because I’ve put the halogen heater on. Very quiet here at the far end of our long, dead end street. The only sounds are the cat’s purr and my occasional stifled cough. Social media is so far devoid of company. Now I know how Bri feels.
I’m used to it now Mini and so I plan accordingly.🍷
Get well soon, mini. 😚
Thanks tigs. Hope you’re enjoying lots of yummy tapas, and fish of course.
And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife…I’m sitting in my study with the aircon on, because the temperature’s gone up again to the mid-30s in that whimsical way autumn has round here. Through the window I can see the mango tree, which has made up for its pathetic performance on the fruit front with a huge growth of leaves, giving us a wonderful patch of shade. The tomatoes have made it 10 feet up the trellis and are covered in flowers; the chilli bush is suddenly a mass of bright red chillies. The pandora jasminoides vine (variety Lady Di, which seems a bit weird) is spreading white flowers all over the pergola, attracting bees and butterflies of black and luminescent turquoise. The pawpaws are covered in green, hard fruit; the trick is to catch them before they get too ripe and the fruit bats nab them.
I’m listening to Gil Evans’s Out of the Cool – right now, Bilbao Song. My beautiful wife is catching some well-earned zees after a family gathering this morning to introduce her mum and dad to their new great-grandson. Tonight, I’m looking forward to a couple of bottles of Burleigh Brewery’s excellent 28 pale ale, last night’s leftover chicken massaman curry, and an episode of Broadchurch.
It feels like there’s a storm coming. Certainly the butcherbirds have gone quiet; normally they’re be chuntering away and crisscrossing the garden in search of skinks, cicadas and frogs to slaughter. But for the moment, tout va bien.
I am in my flat in Stoke Newington, which we can only afford because my wife inherited a sum of money for a deposit when her father died. Young sprocklet (8 months) can now pull herself onto her feet using the furniture. She’s burbling with delight as she crawls after her big brother (3 and a bit), who in turn, loves her to bits.
Postman Pat is on.
Wife is still in bed, there are still night time feeds.
How did I get here?
In NW London, looking out on the flowering cherry blossom tree and camellia bush in the front. All quiet for now, the bin men will arrive shortly (and leave bin about three doors down). The street is quiet, the neighbours are good but litter and discarded trolleys are a problem. Today is on the radio, but this will be replaced by the Britxotica box which will hopefully arrive later, as will Grayson the cat scrounging for food.
I live in a 4-bedroom detached house on a tiny development built 25 years ago. It’s basically 2 winding cul-de-sacs around the corner from the busy A6 in Westhoughton, a mile or so from junctions 5 & 6 of the M61. The area is called Wingates, home of the famous brass band.
On a clear day I can hear the roar of a goal being scored by Bolton Wanderers in the Macron Stadium in the shopping & leisure area dubbed Middlebrook. I have very little need to travel to Bolton town centre these days but the ease of motorway travel sees me jetting off to charity shops throughout the North West most days. I can relax by walking my 2 dogs on the nearby moors surrounding Rivington Pike.
It is just me & the dogs now and I should downsize but the place is really my storage warehouse and office space. I’m in danger of becoming that old man discovered under a mountain of records, CDs, books & assorted Disney collectables, weeks after falling from the loft while retrieving boxes to mail my latest eBay sale. The place looks tidy downstairs right now as I’m having a family invasion later but I am constantly afraid the ceilings may collapse under the weight of acquired records.
The view from front and back windows is of other houses. In summer they are obscured by verdant trees & bushes deliberately planted to make me feel like I exist in a green oasis of calm, only disturbed by travelling salesmen & cold callers.
@beany when we moved out of our first floor Clapham flat a decade ago all the vinyl was stacked along the corridor for a week , causing a crack to run along the plaster.
Many years back I had a cupboard above my bed collapse during the night under the weight of vinly. I only survived the ordeal because they slid out sideways and not on top of me. I am relocating where possible to downstairs storage now.
Yep vinyl is groudfloor now
Brilliant…that should get in a film…High Fidelity 2 ?
Don’t upset him.
I will pray for you, @beany. What is a Macron?
A step down from their previous sponsor Reebok. @mikethep
http://www.macron.com/uk/en/
I’m in a hotel in Banff, about as far from the north coast of Scotland as my home is from the south coast of England. You couldn’t actually get much further away without getting your feet wet. Last night we did karaoke and whisky in the pub from Local Hero. We should probably leave town quietly now with our heads down.
Are there two Gs in ‘Bugger Off’?
That’s a village I’d love to visit. If only i wasn’t assailed by bitter stories of Thatch and the poll tax every time i ventured north of the Wall.
We went in search of the famous phone box today – and look what someone had left inside it. Clearly we were not the first.
http://i34.photobucket.com/albums/d125/botlblonds/17353589_1413894018673993_5402216892928755881_n.jpg
What are the chances? Good karma!
Marvelous photo. What surprises me though is that it is still a working phonebox. Most of the old red phone boxes seem to have been turned into mini community book swaps or suchlike.
Then again, who would not want to make a call from the Local Hero phonebox?
If you call (44)1346 561210 you can make it do this:
If anyone answers, say your name is Happer. H-A-P-P… P-E-R
In the kitchen in a terrace house in Moseley listening to R4 drinking coffee before going to Cannon Hill Park for the weekly Parkrun with male minimole.
And you may find me in a maison vigneronne in deepest Languedoc surrounded by a sea of vines all of which are now bursting into life as spring or even early summer arrives.
I sit on the front terrass drinking my cup of Yorkshire Gold (thanks John!) as our two ancient and ailing cats potter back and fore casting evil glances at the collared doves who are once again in love if their constant smooching and cooing is anything to go by. Somewhere in the distance a male hoopoe announces itself to the village and, hopefully, a cute female eager to get started on the new home.
Ella Fitzgerald is telling me Miss Otis is not coming out today and soon Mrs Wrongness will appear with my Saturday instructions.
Letting the days go by, that’s me
Slough to the left of me, Windsor to the right. Here I am stuck in the middle…… wrong song, sorry.
So the view one way is the Slough sewage works and trading estate over The Jubilee River. The other way we can clearly see Windsor Castle over The Thames. I’ll shortly be taking the dog out on the common where I’ll see herons, swans, geese (although they’ve mostly gone) and if I’m really lucky a flash of kingfisher. I’ll also smell the sewage works, hear the constant hum of the M4 and overhead the drone of planes approaching Heathrow. The rabbits are making themselves busy unknowingly playing with my dogs senses. Next week the cows will be out oblivious of anything but the desire to graze. In one corner where the stream bends around the common and all the birds collect and where the cows like to drink I will stand in a moment of quiet isolation ignoring the industrial imposters, drinking in a sense of how things were and wonder for the umpteenth time how I got so lucky.
I live in an old farmhouse and trullo. “What’s a trullo?” I hear you ask. “Look it up you lazy sod”, I reply (a bit rudely, quite frankly). I live in an old farmhouse and trullo in Puglia, South Italy. Puglia is a fab place to live if you can ignore the corruption, nepotism, backwardness, ubiquitous incompetence, racism, sexism, homophobia and doggedly mono-cultural society. Which, as luck would have it, I can! Yes! Shut off as I am in my own little rural paradise. Puglia is a fab place to live if you can ignore the litter everywhere. Which unfortunately is harder to do. My local coinhabitants have a novel approach to refuse: ‘throw it out the car window and be done with it’ is pretty much the standard policy.
Oh and forgot to mention, olive trees everywhere. Red soil, dry stone walls and olive trees. Them’s me surroundings. Nice beaces nearby. If it weren’t for the litter.
What are the winters like? When I retire, I want to be able to spend part of the year somewhere warm but not ridiculously hot.
The opposite of the UK in that here it’s the summers that are very predictable (scorchio!) while the winters are very unpredictable – sometimes cold, sometimes warm, sometimes lots of rain, sometimes very dry, sometimes snow, sometimes sun, sometimes all of the aforementioned.
Snow? Didn’t expect that.
“Consults atlas”
Not that common. But here’s a photo of my front garden on December 31st 2014:
I’ve just read in the Italian news that Donald Trump has announced Puglia as his holiday destination this year. How nice.
bari.repubblica.it/cronaca/2017/03/17/news/_trump_fara_le_vacanze_in_puglia_la_figlia_ivanka_convince_il_presidente_usa-160776580/
“Crosses Puglia off list”
Yes, litter. How a country and people who place such importance on bellezza and bella figura can allow this still baffles me. I recently came across this, and although it’s about Sicily and what the mafia have done to despoil the landscape, thought it might be interesting.
http://www.mimimollica.com/terra-nostra/
Fascinating photos, thanks.
I’ve taken to going for a walk around the country lanes here on a Sunday, picking up litter as I go. The locals think I’m away with the fairies.
That reminds me of a very funny story in David Sedaris’ book “Let’s explore diabetes with owls”, where he becomes obsessed with picking up trash by the sides of the roads after moving to West Sussex, where littering also seems to be a popular hobby.
In his current R4 series he tells that story in the episode broadcast three weeks ago, as he becomes obsessed also with racking up the steps on his Fitbit.
Just listened to it. Thanks. I could really identify with the litter bit. I wish he’s spoken about it more. “You can tell where my territory ends and the rest of England begins.” Oh yes.
He wrote about it in the New Yorker – a brilliant article
http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2014/06/30/stepping-out-3
In the kitchen of our house in Goring by Sea, basically West Worthing. Mrs BP is off to Uckfield for a spa day with friends. My son is at his girlfriend’s house. She’s currently resting after a nasty trampoline accident on Thursday when she was, frankly, lucky not to have incurred life changing injuries. Daughter is trying to find an Xbox game. Not sure what the day holds as it’s grey and damp here. Maybe an hour reading and see if the weather brightens up.
I spent the first seven years of my life in Goring by sea. Chellwood Avenue.
I could walk to the end of the road and there was the sea.
I loved it there. I now live in Finchampstead, which according to the Sunday Times, is one of the best places to live in the South East.
I think I’d rather be back in Goring by Sea though.
I had to look it up but you were very close to the sea and Sea Lane Cafe. We’re up by the shops, about 10 mins walk to the sea via George V Ave.
The Sea Lane Cafe was there when I lived there in the 60s.
I visited it a couple of years ago and it’s a bit more upmarket these days.
Drove past the Sea Lane Cafe this morning on the way into Worthing, doing a roaring trade it seemed.
It’s always busy, even on wet days.
Where rural South Gloucestershire shades into urban Bristol. Five minutes walk one way there’s a village green with the pub, church and war memorial trinity, five minutes further there’s a mainline train station and huge insurance company offices. I’m sitting in what we call the front room even though it’s at the back of the house, looking through French windows at a garden returning to life after the winter. One of the cherry trees is blossoming, there’s red flowers on a the climber dotting up the fence, daffodils are out and to be honest the grass needs cutting, but I reckon I’ll put that off till next weekend. The dog is curled up on her cushion and I am quietly listening to the Julie Byrne album Bingo recommended in the week 10 thread, wondering how much time I can sneak in on the Playstation before my wife and daughter are back from Saturday morning basketball.
Hey @Kid-Dynamite, how are you getting on with the Julie Byrne?
It’s possible I’m going soft in my old age, but I think it may be my favourite record of the year so far. It’s not doing anything new or wildly exciting, but she has that great, deep “singing from the other side” voice going on, and the picked guitar is really nice. She kind of reminds me of Joanna Newsom without the rough edges.
This is quite the loveliest thing I’ve heard in ages:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y-UXtbT0TkY
“I Live Now As A Singer” is also ace.
I really like it @bingo-little. I did need a run up – the first time I listened I didn’t click with it all, but then I had a quiet couple of hours on my own Saturday morning, gave it another whirl and it came good. I’ve listened a few more times since then, and I reckon it’s a keeper. My own favourite is the last track, where the little bit of tasteful electronica creeps in.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FbgBpZLDBU4
Joanna Newsom’s all rough edges, isn’t she? /cheapcrack
It’s not crack, she really does just sing that way.
I know what you mean. It also took me a couple of goes to feel the Byrne. It’s all a bit tasteful, and mimsy, and it has that awful “Zen Moods, Vol 2” cover. But there’s a lot of loveliness in there, and I’m also a huge fan of this, from her previous record.
I am in Amelia Island in Florida – about 25 minutes from Jacksonville Airport. It is a nice resort hotel and I am here until Tuesday for a global network meeting. I flew in yesterday on my 20th wedding anniversary. I look out of my hotel window and there is a pristine deserted beach. I want to walk down it but really more than anything I want to walk down it with my wife who is 4000 miles away. I enjoy my job but increasingly family life becomes much more important.
I’m in the lounge drinking coffee and yawning with the lovely Mrs. T. The sun streams through the windows and I feel almost tearful with relief to be home in civilised Hitchin after a week working away in a grim offshoot of West Manchester.
Sitting on the sofa, while minipaws draws a picture of a pirate ship. No music on (just yet) just the sound of the washing machine on a spin cycle. Domestic bliss, perhaps, finds myself and the family paws (Mrs and mini), with a very poorly hamster and a squirrel living in our loft. Its a three bedroom 1950s bay fronted end terrace (or semi) at the end of a cul de sac about 70 miles from London. We have a big garden that we’ll be planting all sorts in over the next few weeks. How did I get here? That’s a completely different thread, surely?
You really need to get rid of the squirrel. They’re extremely destructive.
We’ve tried being nice to him, now we’re being nasty.
70 miles(!) from London? Must be near somewhere else or is it a secret location?
I imagine the guy doesn’t want to give out personal info on the internet to a bunch of strangers. How odd. 😉
Not asking for his or her address. 70 miles from London without a direction is somewhat vague!
Sorry, didn’t want to sound mysterious. We’re near to Northampton.
Ah Northampton!
I live ten-ish miles from Northampton, though I’m currently sat in a hotel room in Montevideo.
Cobblers!!!
It’s true!!
I’m in my 1950’s suburbia 5 miles away from where I grew up although I had to get here the long way via the other side of the world. The tree and hedge that borders my extensive estate needs a trim and when that is done I will be able to see Solsbury Hill – which i have still yet to climb. Unfortunately I will also be able to see a decommissioned public convenience – which I believe a local resident much admired by Stephin Merritt was at one time going to turn into a rehearsal space, but sadly remains a concrete eyesore. Modern life, eh!
Sat in a small park surrounded by traffic. About to purchase tonight’s bottle of wine then back home for Gardener’s World.#rocknrolllifestyle.
its currently raining so the main road in front of my house is SO MUCH LOUDER….cannot explain that one.
the noise of the local swimming bath demolition has now died down.
the hag living behind me has had a rough night on wine mixed with brandy and is currently comatose.
later she will rise and release her scratty shitpump dog onto her garden upon which it will bark at every noise….especially the police helicopter.
sounds like hell, but…I live in a detached bungalow with space around.
I have loud tastes in music and large speakers.
its heaven….sort of.
FISH.
In my 21st century build 2nd floor flat is deepest downtown Bingley, taking very little notice of the egg chasing on the TV next to the computer (exhausted after the 20 minutes overtime in Paris). Spent a very exciting couple of hours this afternoon in north-western Italy as the peleton wound its way 291km from Milan to San Remo – great race.
Say hi to my brother!
Hi, Dai’s brother!
He’s about 10 yards off Main St I guess in the northern downtown core …
On the Road to Nowhere, I mean Bingley a.k.a. The A650. In my top floor semi home office staring at a wall rather than turning round for a view of Baildon Moor (if I stand up and look past my wife’s desk in the window). Wait, that is not my beautiful wife… oh, it is actually.
I find myself in…..an attic flat, rented, overlooking the charming cobblestoned main street of Szekesfehervar ( Hungary´s ninth largest city, don´t you know ). Opposite , I can see the lit-up facade of the theatre. The pitter-patter of light rain is the soundtrack to the Ireland-England rugby game on the box.
Sitting in my home office (ok, front bedroom) in a 1960s semi *.
(* great gag! – never fails)
Although the road is a bus route, its pretty quiet.
Most annoying this is the recent installation of an LED streetlight at the bus stop opposite – my hall is now permanently illuminated (oh well, saves on electricity I suppose).
Tilehurst is highest point in Reading, and on a clear day from the top of the Tilehurst Water Tower you can see as far as Southampton (seems unlikely, but a good local legend, and always one thats worth propagating).
The Reading Festival site is about 3 miles down the road, and the sounds can usually be heard pretty clearly up here
It’s a beautiful sunny Sunday morning here in Auckland, New Zealand. My hammock beckons on the deck but hammocks aren’t as relaxing as they seem. A good reclining armchair is far more relaxing and if you are needed for anything, you can spring into action rather than fall sideways onto the ground in a rushed, fat mess of indignity.
The family are off doing wholesome things leaving me with a quiet house. I can see Rangitoto from here – a volcano that hasn’t erupted for ooooh ages but the experts say it can blow at any minute which in geological terms could be in the next 1000 years – so you learn to live with it.
Suburban noises to report are : occasional cars, distant dog barking, some tosser with a loud chainsaw or something, cicadas enjoying their last summer chirrups, a light aircraft.
In a federation semi, in the inner west of Sydney. On a rainy Sunday morning, gently recovering from the dinner party last night, with some friends visiting from San Francisco, and the impact of a few bottles of very pleasant aussie reds.
Worrying about the leaking roof and the damage to the ceiling.
The planes taking off from Mascot have been routed over us for an hour or so, as they do a couple of times a day. I look up as the A380’s thunder off to the northwest, in a few minutes they’ll be over the desert.
Kookaburras and cockatoos compete for the worst-sound-from-a-beautiful-animal prize.
As ever in Australia, we have gone from incredible and oppressive heat, raging bushfires, and ecological disasters, to torrential rain, flooding and different types of disasters.
Contemplating a lamb ragu lunch made out of the lamb shank leftovers, and avoiding the thought of the working week to come.
Honourable mention for possums…
im sat at my dining table in our apartment in deepest darkest Radcliffe….I will try and describe..we live in a converted care home with gated car park, our front door is through an entrance on the ground floor then up one flight of stairs through the front door and you reach the kitchen/dining room. Upstairs is the lounge with a lovely sky light and glass floor which throws light into the dining room (plus you can watch the tv from the kitchen) downstairs from the dining room is my music room containing hi-fi and all my records and books and prints on the wall of The Beatles, The Jam and Bowie, plus two more bedrooms and two bathrooms…oh and a veranda leading from the French windows in our bedroom. Every day I pinch myself at how lucky we were to find this place three years ago!!
Just spent a very pleasant evening at a Northern Soul night in Whitefield….it was packed!!
Living in that Pearl of the Lancs Countryside that is Rochdale,I promise you folks its not all Dole Bludgers and clogs,its a much maligned little town,never thought I would end up here, being a Southern Wurzel from Wiltshire.Nice 3 bedder near the River Beal with views ‘t Pennines (as they say).Main claim to fame is that Clint Boon lived 3 doors away when he first got married,unfortunately never got to socialize with him,but top bloke by all accounts.
Sat here at my Pc contemplating how I can go about sorting out my Vinyl collection from 50s and 60s,cassette collection 70s and 80s and CDs from 90s to present all stored in the Loft and what to do with them
In a hotel room in Kampala, Uganda. It’s 27 degrees Celsius but not too humid, despite the rainy season having started. I can hear the sound of rap and reggae music filter into my room from the bar below. I’m glad that I brought some ear plugs with me!
Go to a bar and find some Congolese music
Just thought I’d say, as the weekend comes to a close – thank you, everybody.
Some lovely evocative descriptions in a thread that I never thought would amount to more than a small hill of haricots.
Or you may find yourself..in another part of the world…
Germany in fact, like yourself Salwarpe, edge of a sizeable city, fourth floor “penthouse”, solidly built so my loud and late music disturbs no-one. Suburbia up to the brow of the hill, after which the country and woodland start. Next sizeable town about 3 miles away. Okay here, mostly, just wish the traffic could be lighter/more intelligently organised. No, Germany ain’t perfect by any means. Do let me tell you about their Rechtschreibreform (reform of writing and spelling) sometime.
Oh yes, steps up: 64.
In my mothers house, in Pinner, north west London, after a night out in Soho with friends. Last week was in Dubai, for work. Got home to Berlin Mitte where I live, late last night, then had to fly into Heathrow this morning.
I’m bloody knackered, me.
Pinner! My childhood hood.
You are Elton John and I claim my £5!
@kaisfatdad – oh you’re a Pinnerite? My mother moved here about ten years ago, it’s a lovely spot! I remember the night she moved in, there was a film crew literally next door and Kristen Scott Thomas sneaking a fag by our house – they were filming “Nowhere Boy” with our new neighbour’s house standing in for “Mendips”
At the time I first chanced upon this thread I was standing in the dining area of our semi in “Little Islington On The Downs”. It was built just before the Second World War and its original design made it a little different from a “standard” semi. This design has created handy alcoves for my hi-fi and the CD cabinets. Some of our neighbours may find their alcoves less useful.
Like all the houses of that era in our cul-de-sac our home has evolved from its original form. In our twenty three and a bit years we’ve inflicted a couple of extensions and a porch upon it. The room in which I stood was originally the kitchen. We will finish paying for the whole place later this year.
Our road has grass verges, not wide but not token, and trees. A few years ago a couple of public spirited neighbours got together and organised the planting of some new trees to replace those that had reached the end of their lives (as far as the council was concerned). The one outside our house is doing well. In fact we will have to take action to make sure it does not interfere with our neighbours’ telephone line. Yes, we get our comms from a telegraph pole but Virgin Media’s fibre laying contractors are expected imminently, opening up another option. At the moment I don’t anticipate changing.
From the window of the dining area I can see the South Downs. A ten minute walk gets us out into dog walking countryside. If we go in the opposite direction we can be in the middle of town in a little longer giving us access to an array of pubs. Most of them have merit of some kind and a few of them are very fondly thought of.
Another five minutes gets us to the station from where we could be in London in seventy minutes or so. It’s a while since I’ve been at all. Mrs never goes more frequently, always for work. Normally a brisk ten minute walk gets her to her desk.
I have a forty minute drive through the border country between East and West Sussex to get to my work on the outskirts of “Creepy”. My route is shorter, more wriggly and less stressful that the cut and thrust of the trunk road alternative.
I can’t complain.
At the moment? In a Hotel in Inverness. We travelled up overnight on the Sleeper from Euston which was a fabulous experience. Getting into bed about Tring and waking up in the snowy Highlands was brilliant. Breakfast as we sped past the Mountains was a bit mind blowing to be honest.
Inverness has been lovely today, the islands in the River Ness and the Merkinch nature reserve being highlights.
I’m in southern California, about a mile and a half from the port of Los Angeles.
Half a mile up the hill is a street with a fantastic vantage point where you can, on a clear day, see right down the Orange County coastline to Dana Point, which is about 60 miles south of us. Right in from of you is the port, and about 20 miles beyond is Catalina island. If you turn a little to the left, there’s downtown Long Beach. Turn a little more to the left, about 25 miles away there’s downtown Los Angeles, and to the left of that is the Hollywood sign.
The bridge, the port and downtown LA are lit up like Christmas trees at night. And if we time it right when we walk the dogs, we can see the nightly fireworks display at Disneyland, about 35 miles to the south.
Seems that Afterworders are travelling a lot …
Not where but how. I’m surprised nobody else beat me to this blindingly obvious retort to the OP…