Blackburn is where I have to change trains when going to see my parents and/or sister. But it’s a surprisingly photogenic place. On a sunny day the light hits it perfectly. Today’s picture is like a proof of that concept — if the light can make an empty plastic bag look this attractive, then we’re talking something special.
I’m a little disappointed with the sharpness of the background but there’s a long zoom on it to get the right depth of field so I guess one can’t have everything. The focus is just a bit further forward than intended. Otherwise I like the sinuous sweep of these tramlines, as they come down past the G-MEX centre and head towards the city.
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.
Being 42 