Engerrrland. Darwen part one

Land of the Angles, saxons, Jutes. That describes England pretty well one feels; obtuse-Angles, smelling of smoke-saxons, a pithy mysterious cereal crop held in high esteem by someone but largely ignored by most-Jute.

A tall one

Parks. How beautiful they are those three parks in that industrial valley town. But here's a bit of provincial.

Still waiting for no man. Wonder what it's doing for everyman?

This is the town hall clock in the centre of Darwen

Now a pub or eatery

 Looks like it probably housed some local worthies at some time.

Panoramic with the tower in the background

Town hall

 Might have to change that flag soon. Suppress some of the blue in September perhaps.

Unphased

And, by way of contrast here is the Coruña town hall. Still provincial, a bit more imposing perhaps, ostentatious?

Maria Pita

None of which are as beautiful as a garden or,

indeed, a dog.

Today's poem.

A mermaid found a swimming lad,
Picked him for her own,
Pressed her body to his body,
Laughed; and plunging down
Forgot in cruel happiness
That even lovers drown.