A fairly standard ‘tourist’ shot of my home town, but what the hell, it was a nice day and it does look good from this particular angle. I nearly took it monochrome, but that meant the two figures on the bridge became very camouflaged, and I think they set it off nicely.
Hey, I’m on holiday. Still in my own country — just about. But Derry, Northern Ireland, is the westernmost city in the UK and doesn’t really feel like the rest of the place for lots of different reasons. Of which more in tomorrow’s post. The Peace Bridge crosses the River Foyle, which is, essentially, the border between the UK and the Republic of Ireland — only not quite, at this point. It’s that uncertainty which defines this place, it seems to me.
Aberdeen’s debut appearance on this blog was on 24th June 2015 with a picture of a bloke stood in the middle of the River Dee, presumably fishing. Six years and eleven months on, for all I know this is the same bloke, although he’s further downstream than before. Still, I stand by my first impression of that time: that this is a surprisingly attractive city, this river particularly: it’s hard to believe that this is very near the centre of a place with 200,000 inhabitants. The cars on the bridge are the only real hint of urbanity.
The Tay road bridge makes its second appearance on the blog, the first being when it was depicted in 2015 from its partner, the much older rail bridge. This is taken from right underneath it, looking south along an indeterminate length of its piers. What the numbers mean I have no idea — water depth measures perhaps? The verticals don’t look quite straight but I don’t think that’s my fault — I think they’re built that way.
More of a mood piece than anything else: a pleasant, springlike, Easter Saturday spent (in part) ambling along the Rochdale Canal at Smithy Bridge. Here, we are about half way between Hebden Bridge and Manchester; keep going long enough and the entire canal may get documented on here eventually.
Although I spent most of the day in Manchester, Hebden Bridge should feature on here for the fourth day in a row thanks to the unexpected scenes which greeted its residents when opening their curtains in the morning. While we were enjoying the balmy spring weather a week ago, I joked with my international students saying “British weather — it could snow again before we’re done”. But I didn’t necessarily think I would be proven right. This was all gone again by the time I came home, however.
Wales is the nearest bit of the world to my house that is not England. All the same, thanks to its particularly pervasive Covidnoia, it has only appeared three times on the blog in the last two years. One of these was as the background of the shot I took from the Wirral in January, and I think, in turn, that spot is the hill in the distance here. Connah’s Quay — which is where this shot was taken from — is a rather sad-looking place, oppressed as many electrical pylons as I’ve seen anywhere: shuttered up and closed down. The bridge rejects it too, taking people past it, not through it.
As seen at one end of the old bridge for which Hebden Bridge is named. I could leave this enigmatic image to stand alone, uncommented, but let me at least point out that this is a mannequin, not a real person.
The long drive home was broken up at various points; the first break taken here, on the north side of the Firth of Forth, so I could get a shot of the magnificent bridges that cross it. The new road bridge has featured before on here; the Forth Rail Bridge is behind me as I took this.
Spectacular though that is, I chose this shot today, the reason being that it looks like it will be the last shot taken with my Canon Power Shot SX60 camera. The same thing has gone on it as goes on all the cameras I have had down the years, and used every day — the motor on the lens. It’s been creaking and grinding for a few weeks now, and after just about teasing it up and down Ben Lawers it conked out once more this morning, and I’m giving up on it. A shopping trip awaits.