Visited the BBC site today at Salford Quays for a meeting — which was less glamorous than it may sound. Quay House is graced by a whole six-floor-high wall of these little work pods, which are kind of cute.
Often good for a photo, as the canal dry dock is about the last bastion of proper industry (you know, with sparks and grime) in the very centre of Hebden Bridge. It looks old, but was actually put in fairly recently, as I’ve seen photos from the 1980s that show it wasn’t there then.
Second photo in a row of a wall, in effect, though this one made of bricks and mortar rather than rusting corrugated iron. Should the overflow pipe be pouring out near what appear to be a bunch of electrical cables? Probably not, but hey, it ain’t my house.
Hebden Bridge and Mytholmroyd, though considered by some authorities (e.g. the post office) to be the same place, are separated by a clear half-mile or so of space in which there are no houses or buildings on the main road or the path/lane that goes through the woods and along the river bank, the latter being my favoured way to walk between the two. And on that path, it is this rusting, graffiti-covered but still mostly intact cargo container stood in the woods that, for me, represents the moment at which I arrive in Mytholmroyd (though after that it’s still a good fifteen minutes’ walk to get to, say, Joe’s school, which is where I was heading today). It’s been close to getting on the blog for some time now — let’s finally feature it. I like the ‘smiley face’ in the rust to top right.
I can’t have been getting outside much lately, for this is the sixth consecutive interior shot, and usually exteriors easily outnumber them. This afternoon’s entertainment at the Picture House: Alien: The Latest Franchise (OK, maybe it’s not actually called that); not bad I suppose but these are starting to get like the Nightmare on Elm Street series, let’s just crank out the xenomorph goo again and not worry whether anyone notices the lack of plot or character. Passes the time on a Sunday afternoon I suppose.
Not an exciting day today I can assure you, but it was never going to be. Except at the end of the match at Hampden, which I guess was pretty exciting, although it’s been a while since I could really raise it for England F. C.
I’m sure we all love 3.15am alarm calls, especially after the conference closing party the evening before — when the phone went off, I had very little idea where I was or what I was doing. At least the sun was up — it’s flare encouraging a move to monochrome for this shot featuring fellow attendees Susannah and Coetzee presumably wondering what they were doing up as well, at a time equivalent to 11.15pm at home, thus meaning it was before midnight on the previous day when I started my journey home — to where I arrived 21 hours later. At least the early start let me keep up with the news from the Election.
Farewell to Siberia then — I saw a very small part of it though mainly it was just sitting in a room. Pleasant weather though. But let’s not talk about the mosquitoes.
Election day of course — but I’m still in Russia, this being the last day of the conference here in Khanty-Mansiysk. Daria here was one of the two simultaneous translators who worked throughout the two and a half days. I cannot help but be amazed by the talent of translators generally, but to do it simultaneously — like a Babel fish — now that really is astonishing. Will machines ever be able to do this? I seriously doubt it. Imagine a computer that can translate a joke from one language to another on the spot.
The conference I’m attending here has been organised by UNESCO (as was the one I went to four years ago in Moscow) so we get to feel like the United Nations with our own little flags marking our place on the table: spot my Union Jack, there on the left… Cynics might also say that the general absence of activity is also redolent of the real UN, but hey, even they need refreshment breaks now and again I am sure.
If there are any chess fans out there you might like to know that in this room the Chess Olympiad was held in 2010 and will be again, in 2020.
Khanty-Mansiysk lies in the Ugra (pronounced Yoo-Grah) region, the centre of the Russian oil industry — the money generated from same being the reason why a relatively small (100,000 people) and isolated city can sustain a few major conference centres, a national league ice hockey team, an airport, and indeed a life in a region where winter temperatures fall to -50ºC on a regular basis. Linguists may recognise the placename as contributing to the name of the Finno-Ugric group of languages, so if you speak Hungarian, Estonian or Finnish, this is where your ancestors came from.
Ugra TV seemed to think it worth covering the IT Forum that we attended this morning: no idea what is happening with the guy’s hands behind the presenter here, either it was something highly significant to her on-screen appearance, or he was just copping a feel.
Being 42 