Judging by the number of ads that covered his pedestal (you see only a small portion of them here), this is what this guy does, full-time. But we all have our social media presence, don’t we.
I don’t care that I haven’t captured him actually picking up the piece. Somehow it works just fine like this, and chess is an intrinsically black-and-white subject matter.
Two minutes to go before kick-off and someone, somewhere lets off a flare to add to the atmosphere. The two guys in the centre look pretty tense about it all. And considering their team are about to concede three soft goals in the first 12 minutes of the game that is to come, they were justified — not that they knew that at this point. Final score, Oldham Athletic 4, Halifax Town 0. This lot all go home now and wait for next season.
My last scheduled day of on-campus teaching in this academic year. Very few turned up, but that’s OK, it was an optional class. Hopefully they are all off in studious contemplation somewhere, like she seems to be: although quite probably she’s just checking social media while she has her fag.
I pick this one today because I think it’s a nice portrait, though I don’t know these gentlemen and so can’t be sure it captures some kind of essential quality about them. But I see a lot of football these days — the game mentioned in the post title was my 80th of the season and I intend to do a few more yet before it’s over — and I see a lot of people like these, as we’re all in it together.
The Manchester marathon took place in quite warm conditions and Alex definitely needed this assistance as he passed the 26-mile marker, thus, 385 yards to go. By the time she reached this point — over four hours later — Clare was also very much in need of some water, but she made it nevertheless, thus completing her second marathon after Edinburgh in May last year. That’s two more than I have ever done, or ever will do: even at walking pace (like, up a mountain or something) I see no need to ever propel myself 26.2 miles in one day. Well done to all who do so.
There must surely be a kind of terror in the face of the stag and — even more so — the hen parties that descend on certain places every weekend. Liverpool seems to particularly attract them: this is taken on platform 11 of Crewe station, but Liverpool is where they’re going, inflatables and all. Perhaps the photo is flawed because none of their faces can be seen, but maybe that does everyone a favour.
More specifically, skulking right down the far end of it, where the trains never stop. It looks like he may have busted the photographer but actually, looking closer up suggests he’s oblivious to his capture for posterity. I quite like the lighting on this one.
Onto the 7:56 from Hebden Bridge we pack, a cattle truck most days. But the physical intimacy doesn’t mean social contact. Taking photos in these circumstances is some kind of transgression, isn’t it? But wrapped in their worlds, no one noticed.
I don’t know whether St Bernadette’s — the church in the background — was busy on this Sunday morning, possibly it was. Hough End Playing Fields across the road certainly was, although this picture doesn’t capture the fact that at least half-a-dozen sports matches of various kinds were taking place around me at this point. I like the combination of the bright orange shirt and the slight dullness and tattiness of the background.
Being 42 