As will be made obvious by my photographs, I don’t go into Manchester every working day by any means. But when I do, if arriving on platforms 4 or 5 this will invariably be the first thing seen there. Up we all go, to then distribute ourselves through the city by some other means of locomotion.
These days it’s 8:52 that is my more usual arrival time into Manchester Victoria, on days when I deign to show my face there. Today was early, for me. I had forgotten how much busier it is. Everyone is being sucked towards the ticket gates as if by a tractor beam.
Onto the 7:56 from Hebden Bridge we pack, a cattle truck most days. But the physical intimacy doesn’t mean social contact. Taking photos in these circumstances is some kind of transgression, isn’t it? But wrapped in their worlds, no one noticed.
Being 42 