Scene, today, of one of those ‘ghost buses’ — it appears on all the information boards, Google Maps tells us that it is merrily trundling in our direction, on schedule — but no bus appears and we get to sit around another half hour or so for the next one. I realise this is not an injustice akin to, say, slavery, or Trumpism, but nevertheless. At least the forced sojourn did leave some time for photography.
341 days into Bradford’s reign as the 2025 UK City of Culture and it does, at least, seem to have a) finished the roadworks and b) decided to try to tell people why they should visit (this is one of three similar murals in the bowels of Bradford Interchange bus station). But let’s assume that it has been a useful year for them. It is a decent city, better than some.
R. I. P. Martin Parr, by the way; if there is one photographer who I suppose I might be trying to consciously emulate, it was probably him. Check out his work if you are at all interested in this medium.
With a storm bringing down a number of trees across the north of England, I was obliged to sit on buses for some time today, instead of getting the train. But never mind. This is one of those shots that I like just because of the way the light has fallen, particularly on her face. The little signs dotted around the place — well, those are just the visual litter of the modern world.
OK, maybe just before 11pm isn’t ‘late’ to some of you but I am not a night owl; this is the latest shot in five and a half years, in fact (allowing for a couple taken past midnight that lose the award on a technicality). It isn’t great quality but it is the only one I captured today that might have artistic pretensions.
Halifax town centre lies hard up against a very steep hill that mostly cuts it off very sharply. But this being Yorkshire, some buildings still manage to cling to the slopes. I imagine that safety fence is needed for various reasons.
This was not specifically a photo of the bus station, which is crowned by the scaffolded tower seen here, but it does prompt me to note that this still isn’t finished after what feels like about two years of reconstruction. The last photo of the old version of Halifax bus station was taken at the end of 2021. It’s now partly in use, admittedly, but the works are definitely still going on… it’ll be nice when it’s done, but will it ever be?
Two monochromes in a row to continue the grey and misty post-Christmas mood. Further exposure for Halifax’s scenic qualities, too; that’s four times in ten days it has appeared. Why do I call this post ‘Deep in the bus station’? I guess there’s a sense of being at the end of a tunnel here, looking out through successive waves of glass and steel.
One reason I went to Manchester yesterday was to buy a new camera. Since the pic of North Queensferry, after which the lens motor of the last one seized up permanently, I’ve been on emergency (and inadequate) backup. Three years of usage every day seems the usual lifespan of these devices at the present time. I have gone back to a more compact model — it’s just easier to carry around all the time — and until further notice what you see on here will be taken with a Canon Power Shot SX740 HS.
Here’s its debut on the blog — chosen because it was the photo taken today that most made me smile. Freedom of expression works in both directions.
Another weekend ends at Halifax bus station. After 11 different places in the last 12 days — only Hebden Bridge has been repeated as a location over this time — it’s time to stop wandering around for a while and spend some time at home.
A cloudscape, of sorts. Or is it an interior? The collage effect is caused by this being taken from inside (inside Halifax bus station, as it happens); the upper section is a reflection in an angled window. But how the clouds then cover the strip to to right — hmmm, I haven’t quite worked that one out yet.
In all the eight years (minus a week) that I have been doing this blog there have been various selfies and shots of Joe — but we’ve never been captured together. Until tonight. Other than the slightly grubby glass in which we’re being reflected, I quite like this shot. To the right, the ferals gather at one end of Halifax bus station, being told off by some security guard who calls one of them a ‘scrote’ every few seconds. Meanwhile I ponder the fact that I’ve entered the last week of my 40s.
Being 42 