The Rochdale Canal was opened in 1804, so is 222 years old this year. It was closed from 1952 but fully reopened again in 2002. And that means it needs some work now and again, as is currently evident in the centre of Manchester, Canal Street lock having been drained and undergoing a rebuild at the moment.
A state to which I aspire? Well, it would be nice. In fact I’m unsure I even want to be particularly busy with it. But I’m not there yet, and even if I was, I couldn’t live on a boat. At least, not one without a substantial and comfortable bathroom, which, I’m led to believe, most do not have.
Damp, and packing up early. So much of 2026 thus far has been dull and drizzly weather — nothing poor, not in West Yorkshire anyway: other places have had snow, or storms, but not us. We have just remained clamped under the same grey clouds for weeks now.
Whomever stencilled this on Cross Street, Manchester, is obviously referring to the Many Worlds Interpretation of quantum theory — the idea that whenever a decision is taken, both possibilities play out, and so all possible worlds exist as parallel universes. Which is all very well but if, somewhere, I am the King of Norway — or banged up in a concentration camp for some perceived felony or other — or having great sex with Natalie Portman on a regular basis — the “I” that exists in this reality still had to go to work on this Monday morning. Another proposition then — it is what it is.
I didn’t go on from Dubai to China — this is Manchester. The lanterns have all appeared since I was last there a week ago, so get to make their regular appearance on the blog: I think most Februaries have featured them in some form.
A small, but nice thing about coming to work somewhere else is that it changes my commute to ‘the office’, or in this case, ‘the hotel in which the teaching is taking place’. Instead of sitting on a Northern Rail cattle truck in the February rain I get, for a couple of days, to take a 10-minute walk in the sunshine. I can’t just walk through the park though, as currently it is occupied by a food festival, the gate of which can be seen behind the sign. Maybe I’ll have time to check it out on Sunday, but not today.
Yes, I know, the skyscrapers are somewhat on the slant; but it was either them, or the sign. Such is the impact of cheapo gear. I’m impressed my camera still works, in fact: it’s reaching the three-year mark, which has been the historic limit for them since I started taking pictures every day.
I have noticed down the years that one thing that can be guaranteed to astonish foreigners about Britons is the ability of some of them to walk around in clothing that is, manifestly, inadequate for the temperature. I have to say that in this, I agree with them. I could not believe that this guy was wearing only a T-shirt today. It was, to put it bluntly, frigging freezing this afternoon. I was in two T-shirts — a jumper — a big coat — and a scarf, and it was still chilly. Is his blood formed of antifreeze? How does he tolerate this? Words fail me.
I like the Barbican estate in the City of London, particularly on a sunny and pleasant day. If someone were to offer me the chance to live anywhere in London (it’ll never happen) I would choose here, it just seems like a fairly peaceful and attractive spot despite, or perhaps because of, all the brutalism. It’s interesting to look at a map of modern London and trace the outline of the old medieval, walled city: many of the place names make it clear what used to be there — Moorgate, Smithfield, Barbican.
A first-ever visit to Kew, and yes, it counted as work — as the nation’s premier botanical gardens this was a crucial node in the networks of information, learning and capital which formed the basis of the British Empire from the 18th century on, and to which St Helena and Ascension Island were intimately linked. Ahead, one of the entrances to the Temperate House, which at one point was the largest glasshouse in the world, and is still the largest surviving Victorian one.
Actually, maybe there aren’t any vegetables in view here — technically. Tomatoes are definitely fruit and I guess peppers are too. But what the hell. There are certainly some decent ingredients available throughout this city: it sucks them in from the countryside, like it sucks other kinds of capital, financial, environmental and otherwise.
Being 42 