Hebden Bridge’s annual festival of creativity, the Handmade Parade, has featured on this blog every June since I started, and probably will continue to do so. It’s impossible to capture the whole experience in one shot, but I feel the need to show some happiness in the world this weekend, so here’s my choice.
This was Clare’s night out as though I knew of this band I didn’t really care one way or the other about them. However, having seen them, they were bloody good. And Sarah Cracknell (right) is completely gorgeous. It was 1996 all over again I’m telling you. Taking photos of gigs is like football matches though — I take lots, but very few ever work out. I don’t have the equipment and I’m usually stuck in the same vantage point. Still, it’ll do.
Perhaps there is some irony in seeing a band named after a French football team the evening after the announcement of the disastrous referendum result. I apologise to the rest of the planet for the 17 million people I happen to share an island with who seem to think that isolationism is a valid response to the world’s problems. I wasn’t the only one in the room tonight weeping for the future.
I don’t watch TV so I don’t know who the woman on the left is, but she’s clearly something to do with TV presenting because the gaggle of lighting technicians and cameramen seen here are just a portion of the posse of hangers-on, outside broadcast vans, police outriders and so on, that surrounded her in front of the National Football Museum this morning. Anyone care to provide the ID?
UPDATE: Apparently this is Michelle Ackerley — they were filming a piece for BBC’s Crimewatch (hence all the coppers, which I did think were otherwise a bit excessive)
And so home again: London to Hebden Bridge is three to three-and-a-bit hours, the bit depending on how well the train times mesh in Leeds. Time enough today to capture the first blog selfie of 2016, anyway.
He looks comfortable and well-dressed enough to assume this is not some permanent accommodation arrangement. Perhaps the explanation is just that this was another warm June day (though muggy).
A row of tents, from which are emerging a range of nice-smelling foodstuffs each lunchtime, seems to have established itself recently on Bridgeford Street on the uni campus. Probably it is just an exam season thing, but they seem to be getting enough business to make it a viable permanent fixture.
Not every day will be exciting, eventful or photogenic — but I’ve come to realise that does not matter. This shot epitomises today — a pleasant Sunday spent doing not very much, and I feel we are all the better for it.
Another day in London, ostensibly to work (well, I did have one meeting), but mainly to fuel my social life. I took the opportunity this afternoon to wander along the Thames and do the tourist thing, and here’s one of its most recognisable buildings — surely everyone in the world could put a location to this shot. These Italians were chilling out by the river, along with thousands of other people.
Today marked the first time ever I have been to an academic conference and witnessed a play as my after-lunch session; let alone one aimed at teenagers and dealing with the issue of emotional relationship abuse. But I have to say Love Hurts? was very good. Well done to Sue Moffat of the New Vic theatre and her three talented actors. The woman on the right is playing the victim, the guy on the left, her friend (and mate of the perpetrator).
We worked out today that come September it will be twenty years since I met James, we shared a flat in my final year at Leeds University, subsequently he was best man at my wedding (coming up for 17 years ago). We haven’t seen each other much lately as he has lived in Taiwan for more than a decade now, but he passed through Manchester today, as did I briefly. Last time I saw him was 2011 not long before I started doing this blog so today was his first chance to appear on it. I know he normally looks happier than this but that’s what overnight flights from Asia do to the complexion, I guess. Good to see you mate, sorry it wasn’t for longer.
Being 42 