Can You Tell Me What It Isn't?

Or ... Please tell me that's not a UFO over Langley Mill

Now, I know this is a bit off my normal every day whinging subjects but I've been a bit spooked by what I saw - or actually didn't see - on Wednesday night.

The fuzzy light to the right of Venus and the Pleiades

I was out in my usual position on the back yard with my super-whizzo-zoomy camera and tripod, plus my brilliantly-gadgety-app-laden-android-jobby, taking photos of anything that didn't appear to move, and even more photos of things that were meant to be passing over, i.e. Iridium's and other satellites (got an app for that).

Ahem, as I'm still learning and don't believe in reading instructions until I'm desperate - yes, I am a woman, honest - I keep making minor adjustments on the camera and taking photos of the same bit of sky - in this case the moon, Venus and the Pleiades - in the hope that I'll get a brilliant photo. Meanwhile I'm looking at the android phone to see what's due over next and scanning the sky for low aeroplanes as they make interesting subjects too.

Eventually my grumpy old man popped out to see if I was ready for a cuppa and I went onto the front to take a last disastrous photo of Sirius (too much lighting), before going in.

The moon is the bright light (obviously)

I was somewhat excited because I knew I'd got a decent photo of an Iridium flare. I looked at them all on the camera and came to the three I'd taken together and I was perplexed as to what was there.

I went out again armed with my equipment to see if I could recreate what was on the photos, impossible though as we'd moved relative to the stars, and the moon and Venus had moved relative to us.

Anyway what I want or NEED is as many debunkers as possible to tell me what caused these 'light anomalies' on my camera. Maybe it was the moon reflected, an airship over Langley Mill or a moth going past extremely slowly - two 13 second and one 15 second exposures - I can honestly say I saw nothing so I won't be arguing with anyone about 'what I saw'.

I know it's the darkest photo but also clearest of 'it' when tweaked

I went out again last night but I didn't enjoy myself at all, it was possibly too cloudy, I was staring too hard, and then I got the horrible feeling I was being watched - I do have a lively imagination. Eventually I grabbed the tripod by the middle swizzly bit (to straighten it out in one deft move) and ran in.

The photos are exactly as I took them, no tweaking, cropping, anything. Obviously I have done so with my copies, including superimposing them over each other, lightening, sharpening, softening, de-colouring, etc. etc. But I'm still no wiser. So download them (left click on photo to the next page, right click 'save image as' - bigger than just right click), play with them, tell me they're reflections, specks of dust, a four spotted double crested three winged Weeble Turd Muncher walking across the lens, whatever. Just don't tell me it's actually what it looks like to me.

Not a suspected UFO (I hope), this was me trying to recreate the metallic, knobbly blob. The photo number (15) is a coincidence, there are 30 more between 14 and 15, they're from different days and folders.

Oh nooooooo, I've just looked at last nights photos - it's definitely the moon reflected on the cloud ... yeah :)

Update 1st April: (yes I am aware of the date)
I bravely went out again last night (earlier though, so not all that brave) and took many photos of the moon to recreate the first three photos (28th). I nearly did it - OK, I didn't even get very close - but we'll definitely discount the last one (29th) as 'moon reflection' shall we?

However I spent a lot of hours yesterday going through all my hundreds of 'sky at night' photos. I saw absolutely nothing out of the ordinary in any Skegness photos where the moon, Jupiter and the International Space Station feature quite a lot.

Close up of The Pleiades, Venus and the 'thing' (photo 14)

And then I got to the at home photos ... oh dear. Nothing at all odd in any direction except directly over the Nottingham to Sheffield railway lines - all recent (seven) photos - with and without the moon in situ.

So, ahem, are there UFOs zipping from Nottingham to Sheffield over the railway tracks - the occupants having a pause and a jiggle over Langley Mill, to laugh at that daft woman - wearing pyjamas - on her back yard taking really bad photographs?

One photo was taken immediately before this and two after in exactly same position, without the 'shooting star'.

 Hmm, I don't know what to believe, but if there are UFOs passing over, can you stop pratting about and give us a lift to skeggy ...

Heanor Haulage - Still A Langley Mill Nuisance

Not Bad for a company that's supposedly left our village.

I was busy working this morning when I heard that bloody HH crane start up. 'Here we go again' I thought. Mr HH regularly comes to play with his toy, just to make sure it works. Sometimes he actually uses it to move stuff, but nine times out of ten, it just sits there chugging out horrendous fumes. This means that:

1. I have to rush around closing windows.
2. Swear out loud when I remember my sheets are hanging outside.
3. Run outside to fetch the sheets in.
4. Swear again when I realise it's too late, they're already impregnated by filth and fumes.
5. Sit muttering to myself about loss of earnings.
6. Get really bad-tempered and start 'twittering'.
7. Publicly (twitter) threaten what I'm going to do to that pile of junk.
8. Start a headache.
9. Feel sick.
10. Tell all of the above to my grumpy old man when he returns.
11. Try to continue working.
12. Throw bits of work across the room because the fume-induced headache means I can't see what I'm doing (squinty, serious work).

If this gets lit while I'm at home

I cannot vouch for the safety of the crane

The crane was running to itself for probably 40 minutes while Mr Heanor Haulage and his buddy went around collecting more wood for their bonfire to be.

As is my wont when I'm in a foul temper - mostly caused simply by being in this hovel ... and I'm referring to Langley Mill here - I went around the perimeter of Heanor Haulage and took some lovely photos.

Getting back to my moan about this BLOODY crane, my main annoyance is because it's right near our houses, when there's a huge amount of empty space it could be in. Thus no matter whether he actually uses it for lifting - or just fannies about with it as usual - it is always puthering super-filthy fumes and muck for the first ten minutes or so, and should be well away from us.

Plus when Asda and MR HH got permission to foist an Asda upon us, one of the biggest changes for Mr HH, was that ALL THEIR OPERATIONS WOULD HAVE TO BE IN AN ENCLOSED BUILDING WITH THE DOORS SHUT!

So go on then, tell me what he's tw***ing about at ...

The Real Pictorial Langley Mill

As opposed to the one our illustrious council would have you believe:

This is only the bit from the top of Bridge Street, over t'bridge, up Thompson Street, along Upper Dunstead Road (yes Aldercar) and finally back down Cromford Road, with a hint of Station Road thrown in at the end.

If you click on a photo it will open in the same window, click again and it'll be full sized.

This is just inside Heanor Haulage land, it's a disgusting mess which gets worse every day ... thanks to some of the chavviest Chavsda customers.

These shopping trollies are thrown from the bridge at the footpath ... they don't always reach.

The Trolley again ... time you had a locking mechanism Asda.

A lovely view under the bridge. I do believe this land also belongs to Mr Heanor Haulage ... It NEEDS tidying up!

A Langley Mill artist who either fortunately has a short enough name that he can spell it (twice) ... or was practising for 'The Sound Of Music'.

A bit more rubbish I passed on my way ... this is on a public footpath, not some secluded, hidden away spot.

Only the very best alcohol will do for our teenagers ... who sells it to them?

Nice airy roof ventilation, I don't know if this is just derelict or a listed building, but it's certainly leaning a bit ...or was that me?

I love the warning sign on this building ...

somewhat pointless by now.

The same building from the other side ... I think it's past its best.







Smiths Flour Mill, just about the only industry left in Langley Mill ... recently rumoured to be closing.

We've no idea who these containers belong to but they come and go ... Colson has been suggested, but why are they on a derelict pub yard?



Apparently squatters were responsible for setting fire to the insides of this ex-pub ... but no-one I know believed that's how it happened.





A bit of rubbish left over that the council either missed during cleaning up someone elses mess ... or is it a recent addition?




A close up of one of Langley Mill's most beautiful eyesores.






The car wash with no current planning permission to conduct business there ... and still it continues  nine months later.

I Love Heanor

And of course a bit of obligatory moaning from yours truly.

Write in the book about why you love Heanor and get a cookie

There was a bit of a meeting at top o' t' hill in t' market square for people who love Heanor. It was cold and wet but we were all cheerful.

We had our photo taken from the top of the church with telephone instructions from up there about where we should stand to create a heart shape. And for anyone who doesn't recognise me, I was the one in the red coat - and white knickers with red hearts on - holding a red balloon.

Look up and wave that balloon!

I'm glad I went as I do love Heanor and have done since the first day I arrived there in November 1979.

It's still a mystery about who organised the event which came into being through Facebook  and Twitter. Whoever it is could do with following some of their followers on Twitter as there's no interaction without doing so, unlike on Facebook. 

There's a super write up about the event over at TheBestOfHeanorAndRipley  Which saves me writing much.

I love Heanor too

Just as well really as my brain is not firing on all cylinders after last nights escapades by our local yoofs and yoofesses ... shouting, screaming, bawling, squealing up and down Bridge Street and banging on the bridge hour after hour.

Plus Network Rail decided that last night was a good time to hoik up the tracks and/or sleepers with lots of clanking for that special night-time effect, and then spin dry the stones ... well that's what it sounded like. And they move along the track at about two inches a minute so plenty of listening time. My brain fizzled out at about 3.00am.

Then dear old Chavsda woke me up at 7.05am - yawn ...

Odd Numbers, Crackpots And Wrong Feet

Or ... ever so slightly obsessive

I hate odd numbers. This is a problem I've had for as long as I can remember ... I am not alone, I know one or two other odd number haters.

It actually affects every day things, minor little details I know, but they're so annoying. The most common one - and most frequent - is the volume on the telly ... it has to be an even number, it doesn't matter if I can't hear it or it's blasting my eardrums, it will never be left at an odd number.

I constantly count things, going up or downstairs is one example, of course that's always an odd number. In days of yore, I'd jump a step down or stride a step up to make it even. Now that I'm advancing in years I just make sure both feet hit one step. If I didn't do it, I'd have to go back down/up and do it again before doing whatever I went for.

Then there's cracks in pavements or just the lines between the slabs. As a child we'd play a game that if you stood on one or the other, you were a line post or a crackpot. Alas, I didn't leave this behind. At home it's fairly okay as the pavements are tarmacked, but walking at Skeggy is a nightmare, it's slabbed and cracked. I have to watch every step - as well as counting them - if I do stand on a line or a crack with one foot then I have to do it with the other, with the crack in exactly the same position under my foot. If I misjudge it, I could spend half an hour stepping on cracks until both feet are even.

Knitting is off the list of things I can do comfortably as I need to push the point of the needle with a finger on one hand so then have to do it with the other - even though I'm achieving nothing - just to even things up [this is not for the action but the feel on my fingertip], so I give in. Fortunately all my other hobbies and more importantly WORK are not affected even though both hands do entirely different things.

I am ambidextrous; I don't know whether this is natural or forced by a need to be able to do the same things with both hands. It is useful only for ironing and painting - both my sisters are left-handed. I can write backwards with both hands, or backwards with the left and forwards with the right, at the same time.

Numbers ... ah yes, as I said odd numbers are awful, imagine being born in November 1959. So what did I do to overcome this problem? Yes, I made 11 okay as it was double the same odd number making it even, and I'm afraid that - to me - 1958 and 1960 were odd years, seeing as 1959 had to be even. And there's my age, you'll never, ever hear me admitting that I'm an uneven age, I was 44 for four years [a delicious number], 48 for two years, you get the picture. And later this year, woe of woes I'm going to be - as well as odd - a prime number ... again, or would be if I admitted to it.

Phone numbers ... If I've bought a sim card and the odd numbers have outnumbered the evens, I've thrown it away and ordered another, luckily this hasn't happened often but the first thing I do is count them ... odds on my left hand, evens on the right. Fortunately - in my world - zero is even.

As a very small person I'd been learning about left and right, this was when I was either two - or the number straight after. One day we were at the park, my parents were playing tennis and I was wandering around - looking for beetles and stuff presumably - and I noticed my shoes. They were white t-bar shoes with little cut-outs over the toes; they were my favourites.

But oh dear, they were scuffed, one much worse than the other ... the right one, but this couldn't be right because it was wrong so it had to be left. At the time I couldn't differentiate between left and right and right and wrong. I had to make it right. First I walked with my legs crossed, making them left/wrong and right/right. I fell over. So then I swapped the shoes over and wore them on the wrong feet, uncomfortable but preferable.

I designed our kitchen a few years back ... this was a bad idea, it looks lovely because it's as symmetrical as I could get it, but highly impractical ... although I really wouldn't cope with it any other way. I also tiled it, we bought lots of different colours back from B&Q, I spread them out on the floor in a random order. I couldn't stand it. I couldn't possibly have two tiles the same colour touching unless there was a pattern. So that's what I've got. We kept three colours and swapped the rest.

Ahem, ironing. I count all the items before I start, if it's an odd number I'll get a hanky - or three - from the already ironed pile. Twelve is my favourite starting point as it's very divisible. I count in fractions until I've completed the job - ie 1/12, 1/6, 1/4, 1/3 ... nasty one coming up 5/12, 1/2 ... ugh, another one 7/12, 2/3, 3/4, 5/6 ... I can just cope with next one because the job is nearly done 11/12.

I could go on and on about ornaments, plants, coat-hangers, measurements and an overwhelming urge to confess to the minutest misdemeanour, but it'd take days - probably six or maybe eight. Weird aren't I? ...