An early morning derailment at Shap, in Cumbria, meant the West Coast Main Line was completely closed. Fortunately we were heading south and not trying to get to Scotland, but I suspect this gentleman was one of the many people in Preston station this morning for whom that was the intended destination.
In the 20 years and 2 months I have been working in Manchester I have driven into work precisely six times. Three of those were in the first couple of months: of the three since, two were forced on me due to train strikes (and for those, I parked north of the centre and finished the journey by tram) and the other one was a Sunday morning. There are reasons for this. I’m not usually still in the area for full-on rush hour/Carmageddon but I was there this evening.
If a plane is this high above Hebden it’s already well on its way to wherever it’s going. On the other hand, I haven’t been on a plane since April 13th, coming back from Ascension Island, and won’t be setting foot on one for the rest of the year unless something quite unexpected happening. I guess the carbon footprint is benefiting.
It seems to have happened slightly later than usual this year, though that’s just a quirk of the calendar, but today was the day I could no longer avoid going onto campus and being faced by a large number of people who were not in the vicinity two weeks ago. Yes, it’s the first week of teaching. So be it.
Whatever event was going on in Hebden Bridge Town Hall this afternoon it involved a few dozen identically-dressed elderly gentlemen, weighed down with various medals. By no means all of them had their mobility scooters, but quite a few of them did. Well, good luck to them. I use the shot because I am reminded of the cover of the Dead Kennedy’s Frankenchrist album — it is not to mock.
With the main rail line through Huddersfield closed this month — apparently it’s an ‘upgrade’ though that could mean anything — services are being routed along the Calder Valley line and adding further pressure to an already-creaking system. I was not supposed to have 20 minutes or so of hanging out at Rochdale station today, but here it is.
The tower over there has always impressed me — the building used to be a fire station, so presumably this is an observation tower, from the days before 999.
I’ll go with that. In fact I’d quite like this T-shirt, which is one reason I took a photograph of it. As seen on platform 17 of Leeds station this morning.
Tell me you don’t see it. It even has a tongue.
Day two of the journey home, so a day spent largely behind the wheel. Only at the lunchtime stop, Annandale Water services (it’s been on before) was there the chance for photography. All motorway service stations are places of transience: if anyone stops for longer than 30 minutes, which is about what we managed, I would wonder why. So this little critter shouldn’t be too worried. I’m sure they’ll be back soon enough.
At the start of World War 2, a good portion of the British Navy was berthed in the immense natural harbour of Scapa Flow, the entrances of which were defended by a range of methods including the sinking of obsolete ships in the channels. That these defenses were inadequate was proven when a U-Boat snuck in anyway and sunk HMS Royal Oak with the loss of hundreds of lives. As a result, Churchill ordered the building of the barriers that now bear his name and block off all entrance to Scapa Flow on its western side — though, in a move typical of many public works projects, these were not in fact finished until literally four days after the war had ended. Anyway, the Barriers now act as causeways linking Orkney’s south-eastern group of islands to the Mainland, and the blockships still sit there, rusting away and playing home to the occasional lobster pot.
Being 42 