I don’t (always) live the high life in the hotels of London, you know… In fact this time I stayed via the good graces of my friend Eric, and here he is seeing me off as I head home once more. Him, and his roses. I was home by lunchtime.
This is the 98th London shot to feature on the blog, so next time I visit it should hit the century mark.
What would have been the best photograph of my day was never actually taken. At one point on my walk through the hills of the Medway valley, I came round a corner and a grass snake and I startled each other — the first snake I have ever seen live in the wild, even including other countries. But my camera was in its bag and it was far too keen to leave my vicinity for me to be able to bag it. Never mind. Instead, I present this mildly sinister hedge tunnel: I can quite imagine some goblins coming along to surprise me in the other direction.
On an evening where the British government spasms idiotically again in a desperate effort to prove its own relevance, it was nice to be out in beautiful sunshine and to get a sense of just why people are prepared to pay large amounts of money to live in Docklands. Stay free, everyone.
I did get into my workplace today, but this is a juxtaposition that seems to sum up several things about the experience.
Hebden Bridge does have its verticals, and we don’t normally see the sight depicted here as our house lies a (scale) inch or so off to the left of this shot. This was taken from the other side of the valley, on the Heptonstall road.
The Leeds and Liverpool canal takes a very roundabout route to link its titular cities. Here it is going through Burnley, a stretch which is a nice bit of greenery in the middle of that what is, otherwise, a workaday town. But it also feels very neglected, becoming swamped in places by algae (a sign that there are too many nitrates in the water) and litter (a sign that some people shouldn’t be let out of doors). This coot takes advantage of examples of both.
Gnomon is one of those wonderful strange words use to name mundane things. In this case, the bit of a sundial that casts the shadow. This particular gnomon sits in the middle of St. George’s Square in Hebden Bridge, and was putting in a brief stint of duty as I took this shot — although this was about the only moment of sunshine in the afternoon. The shop behind — the full name of which you can probably work out — will be either a boutique or a café, as those are the only shops the town really has, these days.
This really was about as much of the world as I saw today. But, you know, not in black and white.
What happened between 28/4 and 1/5/2016 incidentally? Answer: that year’s Hebden Bridge Burlesque Festival. Should you be wondering.
“***!! Goddamn asshole!”
“It’s OK Bob. I’ve got you. Hang in there. Hey fellers! Did anyone get his number plate?”
Into September, and Manchester still seems mostly dead. It’s the cities that seem to have been hit worst by the mass lunacy. Manchester City Council puts up signs saying “Help Manchester on its road to recovery — by staying 2m apart!” This is doublethink. The only way that cities will be helped to recover is when people decide for themselves that they are going back to work there. As I have.
Being 42 