salisbury
The Hogwarts Express came through Salisbury station just now
This is a lovely Christmas wreath on a lovely Salisbury building…but it looks a bit out of proportion - as if there’s been a Spinal-Tap-Black-Sabbath-Stonehenge type confusion between inches and feet
Just saw this in town.
Salisbury to Norfolk would be a decent walk
To Trowbridge by train today.
In quick succession you go past the White Horse at Westbury, as in Ravilious' painting, and Dilton Marsh, of John Betjeman’s poem
There isn’t a porter. The platform is made of sleepers.
The guard of the last train puts out the light
And high over lorries and cattle the Halt unwinking
Waits through the Wiltshire night.
It’s a sunny-but-cold day in the Shire
Very much enjoyed a folkie night out with Cara Dillon last night. It was just her and her other half, Sam Lakeman, but I really liked the intimacy of that, if that’s the right word
There’s a nice picture of the Salisbury ‘Spoons on the cover of their latest magazine
Saw this on Facebook…..I’m not a huge fan of Fleetwood Mac, but this happened about a 15 minutes walk from where I live, and I really wish I’d been there 🎵
It’s a beautiful thing
Charles Dickens on my hometown
On the occasion of his 212th birthday, this is from Martin Chuzzlewit
Mr Pinch had a shrewd notion that Salisbury was a very desperate sort of place; an exceeding wild and dissipated city; and when he had put up the horse, and given the hostler to understand that he would look in again in the course of an hour or two to see him take his corn, he set forth on a stroll about the streets with a vague and not unpleasant idea that they teemed with all kinds of mystery and bedevilment.
To one of his quiet habits this little delusion was greatly assisted by the circumstance of its being market-day, and the thoroughfares about the market-place being filled with carts, horses, donkeys, baskets, waggons, garden-stuff, meat, tripe, pies, poultry and huckster’s wares of every opposite description and possible variety of character.
Then there were young farmers and old farmers with smock-frocks, brown great-coats, drab great-coats, red worsted comforters, leather-leggings, wonderful shaped hats, hunting-whips, and rough sticks, standing about in groups, or talking noisily together on the tavern steps, or paying and receiving huge amounts of greasy wealth, with the assistance of such bulky pocket-books that when they were in their pockets it was apoplexy to get them out, and when they were out it was spasms to get them in again.
Also there were farmers’ wives in beaver bonnets and red cloaks, riding shaggy horses purged of all earthly passions, who went soberly into all manner of places without desiring to know why, and who, if required, would have stood stock still in a china shop, with a complete dinner-service at each hoof.
Also a great many dogs, who were strongly interested in the state of the market and the bargains of their masters; and a great confusion of tongues, both brute and human
📖
There’s a book of the punk rock fanzine that was local to where I live. Something to ask Father Christmas for in a few months
