Not quite Wordsworth’s multitude but there are certainly a lot of these sprouting outside the Ellen Wilkinson Building on campus at the moment, something the rather random focus point of this shot is intended to capture. This is the 700th Manchester shot to feature on here, by the way.
It’s early in the year to see one of these outside, but here one is, scaling what to it is a substantial crag: actually it’s the capstone of a wall next to a car park. We’re both out and about fairly early, in different ways.
Third shot in a row taken in Manchester, and that’s the first time that has happened since early February 2020. I’m pulling an early one, too. Manchester, in need of some kind of symbol (as everything has to have a ‘brand’ these days), has adopted the bee, and statues like this in a variety of colours crop up at points in the city.
Nearly two years ago today (9/3/20) I was in Manchester and depicting much the same area of the city, albeit from higher up. On the left of this picture, the Town Hall remains swaddled in scaffolding and Prince Albert’s memorial on the right is also still under wraps. Shortly after 9/3/20, the stupidities of lockdown began and there were only three more Manchester pictures for the subsequent five months. None of that this year, thankfully. And if anyone ever tries it again I will ignore them.
In comes the 16:22 to Leeds, about as on time as it gets. It didn’t get me home at the scheduled time but that’s just natural variation in the Northern Rail time-space continuum.
This is definitely a coven of like-minded females, and they’re plotting something. But I’m confident that they’re of the white persuasion, somehow. It’s the hair that gives away their shared allegiance.
To Trek fans Vulcan is a desert planet inhabited by a race of sophisticated, logic-driven and mildly telepathic humanoids. As I discovered today, it’s also a planned village, built in Victorian times to house the workers of the Vulcan foundry, which apparently forged rails for most of northern England. It’s now slowly being swallowed up by the town of Newton-le-Willows. But if you want to pay your respects to Spock, Sarek et al, you’ll be pleased to know that there remains a Vulcan Inn and Vulcan FC as well as the white-painted rows of the houses themselves. A pleasant spot — but it did take some patience to get a shot in which there weren’t cars running up and down the street.
It’s voting season for the Students’ Union. I’m certainly endorsing Candy’s candidacy. With a name like Candy Kong how, indeed, can one go wrong. She should be given a position of power with immediate effect.
I think this sums up this particular acquaintance. If the guy that you think is Jim doesn’t have a glass of red wine in front of him, then it’s not him.
Another damp day. With only occasional breaks, it feels like it’s been raining for weeks. A misty car park somewhere in the western reaches of Leeds. In the distance another soul who, like me, is just glad to find a game on. This shot is a relative rarity for me, as it’s one where I don’t mind the cars.
Being 42 