Another Friday night passes. Not just an ordinary Friday either, but the last working day of 2020, the start of the run-up to Christmas, ‘Mad Friday’, it goes by many names. And here we are, trying to feel human and social while sat by the river looking at the willows, here illuminated by headlights shining from the car park above our heads. It’s life, Jim, but not as we know it.
Another day with little to record except my further Zoombification, along with much of the rest of the planet. It’s nearly Christmas, which of course will lead to radical change in the current shape of life. But at least I won’t have any Zoom meetings for two weeks.
My penultimate day in Manchester, 2020. A year which has had fewer such days than expected. How often does the place display its appalling street drainage? I think this is a big contributor to the city’s reputation for wetness.
Bojo the Clown has decreed that it’s OK to get some local entertainment at football grounds that expand beyond just being a pitch in a park somewhere. This gentleman, like the other 85 or so in attendance at Steeton v Brighouse on this Tuesday evening, ponders why the provision of tea, snacks, hell, even maybe a pint of beer or two, would have exposed us all to mass infection in a way that keeping the snack bar closed did not (we assume). Answers on a postcard to 10 Downing Street.
A blurred, inadequate shot. But one day will come the day when there is nothing to photograph, and lately I feel I’ve been getting close to that. December gloom, a day spent marking. Out there are people in their little bubbles, and sometimes, a car drives by. Welcome to party season.
Grim weather led to the cancellation of a planned day out and with Bojo the Clown having decreed all other options ‘unsafe’ (while he flaps around in his comedy trousers), we dug out the box set of The Singing Detective and sat and watched its seven hour span through the afternoon and evening. Classic TV, and as it was always a period piece, it hasn’t dated. Joe got through the lot though he seems less than attentive on this shot. It gave the day its main interest, but how I miss other people.
I still proceed with my favoured Saturdays as best I can. Sowerby Bridge FC offer me the chance to still witness an entertaining afternoon’s sport, and despite this being the first ground I’ve seen with power lines extending over the pitch, as seen here. The December gloom was deep and grey, but while this sort of thing can still happen then there remains some light in the world.
Tough brief today, to document a day spent marking, and in meetings, and no light, just a grey December flatness. And we remain in not-quite-life, of course. Everything that Authority feels it cannot control, it has shut down. Bojo the Clown still can’t do something that he’s been campaigning for for half a decade now. On such a day, a shot of, basically, nothing seems appropriate to the mood. Best I managed, anyway.
Surely swans know how good looking they are? This is the Charlize Theron of the bird world. Look at the twinkle in its eye as it poses for the camera.
The reason I came to Bath was to bag another of my County Top walks (see my other blog), the morbidly-named Hanging Hill. That was duly collected a few miles after taking this shot, from the ascent of Penn Hill, a slope of mud with a decent view of the city. During this climb I passed this dog walker, and his companion who seemed for some time to have decided that he was ditching his owner in favour of this new and more interesting person. You can’t just tell them you prefer cats, can you?
Being 42 