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Don't Eat With Your Mouth Full

Where can we live but days?

steepholm steepholm
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Palimpsestuous City
I'm back from my brief visit to York now. It's one of those places that's so beautiful that it hardly seems worth taking pictures, because to select one beautiful shot is to provoke the question of why you're not taking all the rest. I lived there for four years in 1980s, and while I came to love it for many things I think the main one is its quality of containing innumerable different periods at once, and in jostling profusion. Bath, for instance, has buildings from various periods - a fine medieval abbey, modern office blocks - but it's a World Heritage site because it's basically a Georgian city. York, by contrast, can do Roman, Viking, several different flavours of medieval, Elizabethan, Georgian, nineteenth-century industrial, and modern - all in decent portions and all mixed charmingly together. (It's little weak on baroque, but Homer nods.) I suspect that this is precisely what would prevent it becoming a World Heritage site, because the people who award such honours like all-of-a-pieceness, and I'm heavily into the mongrel aesthetic. Still, poo to them.

I wanted at least to snap the house where I lived for two years as a postgraduate. It was York's first manse, built 1759 (I would occasionally hear John Wesley snoring in my room - or if not him, one of his entourage). Unfortunately they were digging up the road right in front of it, and I couldn't get a good shot. Instead, I took this picture of the pub over the road, which doubled as my living room during that happy time. It too is a bad shot, due to being back-lit, but the penumbra is rather appropriate.

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The church door at nearby Stillingfleet. The church is Norman, but the metalwork (and probably some of the wood) is clearly older. Very Viking, no?

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"Hitherto-unsuspected stately home discovered in Yorkshire!"

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At the back of the Temple of the Four Winds - a tourist turned to stone for photographing cows on the Sabbath.


Omiyage in use.

And now, visits to my mother aside, I'll be in Bristol for a good long time. Up until the end of August, anyway, when I'll be heading west into Wales - past Newport and Cardiff, where the M4 is still a good broad road, past the place where it dwindles into a two-lane highway, and then a dirt track, to the point where it becomes a wild-haired cackling woman who'll carry you over the mountain on her back in exchange for comfits and crab apples - and so south into the Gower. But that's another story...

You and York is a bit like me and Brugge or Canterbury. :o)

Is that cat on the pub wall one of the ones belonging to the York cat trail? Though we didn't deliberately follow the trail, we spotted a few of them while we were there last summer.

Quite possibly - I don't remember it from when I was there before.

It is, yes - there used to be more but they seem to have lost a few.

This version - from May - is rather underexposed.

Black Swan

There's a public allotment about where you're stood.

There is indeed. My old house is about 20 yards behind me, at 8 o'clock.

I can't remember what was behind the Black Swan, recently-ish demolished. Warehouses?

What's that in the icon?

I don't know about behind the Black Swan (it's the pub garden and car park now), but apparently to the right of it since my time they built, used and now demolished a homeless shelter.

That's probably what I'm thinking of - although I had little memory of that area despite walking the walls past there.

The icon is a rather atypical Burton and the top of another shop - I can't remember what that is at the moment. It was a Sussex Stationers/British Bookshops and Stationers. I think it's Pandora now.

Makes me long to get back. It was exactly that sense of different periods living in conjunction that so charmed me. That and the aesthetics.

It is very nourishing, somehow.

Nice omiyage!! (And I love York, but my photos of it never, ever match what my eyes see )

my photos of it never, ever match what my eyes see

Yes, I've had that experience too!