Shops have always advertised themselves. I mean, they have to, don’t they? All advertising is text, and looking at how texts change over time is as good a way as any of understanding social change. This juxtaposition caught my eye: the shapes, the textures and the words themselves.
Yes, it was a comfortably late start to the day but then again I am still teaching until 6pm on Tuesdays. Much more preferable to go in later, particularly as we are, finally, having some pleasant weather.
Our Glorious Leaders often tell us how important it is that we are ‘entrepreneurial’, demanding we assimilate a system of meaning in which only if it is for sale, does it have value. This guy has clearly taken this on board: if I am not mistaken that is a wheelie bin that has been converted into his place of business. It’s not as comprehensive as what might found in the Arndale itself but perhaps he is working on it.
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.
Being 42 