salisbury
📷 #mbapr photo-blogging challenge - hometown
I’m not 100% sure whether this is the photo I took, but if not it’s very similar.
The Giant and Hobnob show the oddness of my hometown, I think
I got a bit damp last night marshalling for the Salisbury Hospice Midnight Walk.Terrific event though- congratulations to everyone who did it
<img src=“uploads/2024/img-20240427-232338.jpg” width=“337” height=“600” alt=“A rainy “Harnham gyratory” before any walkers came through”>
This used to be the shop next door to the house I grew up in
Then it was ‘Spire Models’
And now it’s ‘Pi e Ode’
Offering, perhaps, disjointed poems about pastry products 📷
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
