Barry had mentioned Mirfield were worth a look over that way, and he weren't wrong — the notebook credits him, so I will too. Right boot, brown, rigger sort, no laces to speak of, on the towpath by Ledgard Bridge, half under the arch out of the rain. Which, as I noted at the time, is where I'd have stood myself.
A wet morning, proper wet — the kind where the rain's not so much falling as standing in the air waiting for you. Condition of the boot were poor: sole parting, leather gone soft. Some of them are handsome and some of them are this, and they all go in. The register's not a beauty contest. A parting sole gets the same number of lines as a polished brogue, and if owt the poor ones need the register more, because nobody else is going to give them a second look.
Noted it all and made the photograph — the notebook doesn't say whether it came out, which after this long usually means it did nowt worth remarking either way. I'll have had the flask under the arch with the boot, out of the rain, the pair of us, though that's supposition about me own habits rather than record, and I flag it as such. Home damp. Mirfield were the furthest east of the year bar Emley, for them that track such things, which is mostly me.
Written up August 2026, from the notebook.