An uneventful day to bring to an end a relatively Hebden Bridge-bound period of the blog, but there are trips away planned for much of the rest of July. Why the monochrome? As so often — because it covers up red blotches caused by lens flare.
Since the start of the Great Fear it’s been the cities, like Manchester, which have felt the most alien and empty. Shoppers have come back, but not yet tourists nor office workers. Whether or not those latter groups will return, and how, is still an open question. But this stage, being built for the Manchester International Festival is, to me, a sign of optimism — yet there are still so many lockdown-loving lunatics out there (most obviously in the Labour Party) that we may never be sure of anything again. Covid ain’t going away, anyone. We will be catching it, ‘testing positive’ for it, for the rest of our lives. Get used to it.
I shaved the rest off after taking this photo, rest assured.
And where are all the people who should be in the empty offices, as pictured yesterday? Trapped behind these magic mirrors, in some kind of netherworld. Myth becomes life, and slowly we fade away, losing more and more connections with the reality we once knew.
Manchester’s still not exactly busying up on a morning, but its comatose, lockdown self is not unattractive. I like this shot — excepting the litter bin, which never helps. Nor do lampposts.
Conversation between me and the First Wife this afternoon…. “What are you up to?” “I’m sorting out my life.”
Well, who am I to argue. The dots mean something, apparently. Don’t ask me what.
As Authority has graciously agreed to let us move around a bit (not abroad though — the mind-broadening experience that is foreign travel remains denied to the majority of us, until further notice); I have some friends with whom I need to reacquaint myself. Let’s start with George, making her fourth appearance on the blog. And very pleasant it was to see her, indeed.
Every recent Sunday in the town centre has been busy and today was no exception. And the only commentary I would like to add to this observation is that I consider this a good thing.
As we approach the first anniversary of the Great Fear, Saturdays have largely become the most uneventful day of the week. My activity, or otherwise, on them has become governed by the weather. This aftenroon was very pleasant — so out I went. The local sheep population had a spring in its step, too.
Whomever made an effort to build this small square of concrete and stick a basketball hoop at one end of it obviously had lofty ambitions for the health of the youth of Dodd Naze estate. Now it stands forlorn and forgotten: no more than a third of a mile from my house as the crow flies yet until today I had no idea it was there. But that also means it hasn’t featured on here before, and as the second half of the blog’s tenth year opens with us still in (nominal) lockdown; new scenes are precious.
Being 42 