My, this seems a long time ago now… and even after five days, having travelled to another continent in the mean time, the interminable delay we suffered at Blackburn on the way home still drags out like an ocean of time.
Joe had spent the weekend at my parents’ while we were in Hamburg, so I went to pick him up today. I could have hired a car and driven in two hours, but I took my time, went by train and savoured the day. I’m on holiday, who wants to drive.
Incidentally, this line is a rare example of one that was reopened (in 1995) after the infamous “Beeching axe” originally fell on it in the 1960s. The reopening happened under a Tory government too. Probably because it was a marginal seat, or maybe the party was still run by sane people at the time. Anyway; what you see here are the tracks extending out over a high viaduct over the River Hodder.
And so, after one more morning of definite, but rather vague and low-level, looking back — it’s probably some mid-life crisis or something — we all left my old stamping ground for points more northern and, to tell the honest truth, far more interesting. It’s been nice to go back, confirm the continuing existence of places remembered, but there’s no need to come back again.
One of the criteria for choosing which pictures get onto this blog is whether one encapsulates the day on which it was taken. That is not true of this photo. I had a busy day today, visited my parents and then had a Saturday night out with Clare, in Blackpool – and one could do an entire photo essay on the subject of ‘a Saturday night in Blackpool’ (though I think it might be a job more fitting for a war correspondent than a humble amateur like myself). There was great light today, a beautiful high summer’s day, and I took plenty of photos I was happy with.
Nevertheless, this wins. If the art of photography is not about capturing moments, those coincidences of place and time which raise any experience above the mundane and everyday, then I feel happy with what I’ve done here. This place could not be less exotic really, just a tunnel I pass through at least two or three times a week when I am here in town. But this morning I loved the way the light was spilling down the steps and giving it a warm feeling. This photo is exactly what I wanted it to be when I took it, and that happens only occasionally.
Manchester Victoria station is like the down-and-out elder sister (*) of the brash, terribly metropolitan and far better-off sibling, Piccadilly. A backwater in transport terms already, it was further whacked by the IRA bomb which went off nearby in June 1996, and the roof has leaked, as far as I know, ever since. A couple of years ago it appeared on the list of ’10 Worst Railway Stations in Britain’, an accolade that all of us who use it heartily endorsed, I am sure. Still, at least now they seem to be putting a bit of effort into it. It only took 17 years, but let’s hope it helps the old thing.
(*) Well, it does have a girl’s name.
I took another picture I quite liked this morning, at Leeds station; but it was kinda brown, and the last two have also been very brown. So here is some colour, not to mention shape, on the blog courtesy of the wife’s legs.
Remember, the rule on the blog is — all photos are taken on the day. So I bet I’ve seen more snow than you today, unless you live in Antarctica or somewhere. This is what Norway looks like, on June 9th, at 1,222m (4,000 feet approx) above sea level, from the train on what must be one of the world’s great rail journeys from Bergen to Oslo. And a bargain at 399 Norwegian kroner: and there aren’t many of those in Norway I can tell you. Particularly in the Voss – Geilo section this is a truly spectacular ride. Do it some day…
‘Brua’ is Norwegian for ‘bridge’. This bridge connects the mainland with the island of Sotra, near Bergen. We sailed under it today on the Statsraad Lehmkuhl, a large ship which I occupied with about 300 (mostly drunk) Norwegians, an ambiguous way to spend one’s evening, but the views were good.
The title of this post is used with a mild sense of irony. Because of the role this airport wants to play — a bridge between Europe and East Asia/Australia as well as a destination in its own right — many of the flights seem to land and leave here between midnight and 3am, to fit in with flight schedules to and from countries that have stricter controls on when planes can come in and out. As a result, Abu Dhabi airport was as busy at 1am as anywhere I’ve ever been. I didn’t deliberately get a shot of these two, but was taking something of the decorative pillar in the center of Terminal 1 — as many other people were doing to pass the time — as she turned around. Cropping did the rest, it’s a bit out-of-focus but never mind, I quite like this shot.
And so, thanks to a three-hour stopover, another country, the United Arab Emirates, technically makes it onto the blog, though I don’t consider I visited the place. However, I think this shot is a little more representative than the dull one, technically of Singapore, that I got on the stopover during my flight out just over four months ago. This shot also becomes the earliest on any of the 641 days so far, and one of only four taken before 6am.
Here is my luggage awaiting what amounted to the second leg of my 9,000-mile journey home: the train journey from Circular Quay station to Sydney airport. Circular Quay must have one of the best views of any railway station in the world — accepting stiff competition from Durham in the north-east of England (look it up…) – so you’d think they might clean the windows now and again.
Being 42 