Boys with the blackstuff

Carr Lane on Thursday was an unusual hive of activity as the rush was on to reopen it for Monday. Lorries of tarmac were queuing up and this guy was having fun dumping the old blackstuff on the newly repaired surface while another flattened it with a roller. The road has been completely closed since March and everyone will be glad to see it reopen, yes even me.

Erm ....

More Amy Johnson nonsense in Zebedee's Yard.  Clearly I'm not qualified to pass a judgement on this fine and colourful piece; not qualified at all ... but just one teensy weensy question; why is there a CND symbol lurking in the background?

A whisper of moths

These decorative blobs that have alighted all over town and elsewhere are supposed to be moths. Yeah, I know, you'd never have guessed. Anyhow it's from the same deep pool of idiocy that brought us fibre glass toads to celebrate the death of Philip Larkin; this time the death being celebrated is Amy Johnson's untimely demise in WW2 seventy-five years ago. Nearly sixty of these damn things have been dotted around the place. I've spotted about half a dozen so far and I can assure you I'm not going hunting for the rest. Why moths do I hear you ask? (are you still there?) Well she flew a Gypsy Moth plane, geddit? I know; stooopid. If you're remotely interested in fibre glass lepidoptery there's a gallery of mothy stuff here.

Le football

There's some sort of football championship going on in France this Summer. The England team, joining in with this year's general 'stuff Europe' theme, decided to leave early by losing to that great footballing nation Iceland. So now those who follow the ball kicking game in this part of  the world have all become Welsh. As I write they are playing Portugal, I'm told. It's sad but inevitable that if they lose they'll be that plucky Welsh side but if they win they'll be that great British side. As it is I find football slightly less boring than a seven year old report into the Iraq war. Dewch ymlaen Cymru! as they say down Hessle Road.

Cottingham Day again and again

As ever on Cott Day there's the usual device for hanging children, with a nearby climbing frame so they can fall to their early demise with attendant queues of parents eager to dispose of unwanted offspring.

 

There's the vintage cars lining Hallgate

and people taking pictures of vintage cars on Hallgate.

There's the display of birds of prey who really should be in shade but are left to pant in clear distress in the warm sunshine while crowds ogle them and have their pictures taken holding them.

There's wannabe singers, of course, where would we be without them?

And people taking pictures of wannabe singers ...

There's the large stage with a pretty awful singer who...

...is ignored by a less than appreciative audience;

And there's always a display of vintage motorbikes but by this time they'd had enough and were off home. Just like me. See you next year, same time, same place, same whatever...

Meanwhile ...

... the world keeps on twirling, the birds are still singing and the roses still blooming.

Today is the annual Cottingham Day to which I shall no doubt go if I can dodge the heavy showers with the hint of thunder. This is, of course, high Summer in this green and pleasant land and we expect no better.

Don't look down

So we're waiting on a bus on Spring Bank and Margot starts taking pictures of the trash that abounds in those parts. "What do you want to do that for?" says I. "No reason," says herself "but I bet it ends up in your blog one day"  ... Hmmm

The uplifting theme for the start of July is 'Look Down'.