If the train from Toronto to the airport is counted, what you see here is the start of the third stage of the five that comprised my journey home: the Piccadilly Line at Heathrow Terminal 5. You don’t often see tube trains like this, and in fact all the way through to King’s Cross it seemed quiet. From there, to Leeds, then home by 11.20am; 12.5 hours from Toronto to Hebden Bridge, via London, is not bad at all.
Gosh, this year of my life starts with two consecutive nights out. But then again it is a holiday weekend. We are the last ones out behind the Railway, in fact. This picture appeals purely because of the lights.
A whole house has appeared upstairs — a desirable property, it seems, albeit one in need of restoration, and unfurnished. It looks like the wife is on a restoration project. Quite possibly this will be on the office floor until 2026, or thereabouts.
Another one of those shots that is basically an attempt to achieve some kind of perfect symmetry. Of course we are all imperfect beings so once again I cannot quite achieve it. I did wonder about asking the bloke at the back to move one seat to his left but perhaps he is the essential element that sets off everything else. Taken about fifteen minutes before our group presented at the conference — a few more people than him did turn up, honestly.
This was a busy scene earlier in the day but by dusk, things are packing up. A blob of drizzle that I did not spot in time would normally be grounds to reject the shot but here it provides a kind of ghostly highlight for the last remaining bits and pieces that are heading into the storage shed behind. I like the little ‘eyes’ peeking out over things on the left, too.
I was just passing, honest. The crowd who were in the foyer of University Place next door were doubtless heading here shortly after I did so, ready to spoil the pristine purpleness of the carpet, at least. But I’m sure the posters were interesting.
Recently, Britons have been staying at home because a computer program — which they are not obliged to install — has been telling them to. As a consequence, holes appear in the supply chain, not of everything — you can see there’s still plenty of booze on the shelves — but of certain things. This is the crisp and snack aisle at the Co-op. All that remains are two tubes of Pringles and an anomalous, lonely tup of Chupa Chips. A First World problem for sure, but nevertheless, a bizarre demonstration of the Butterfly Effect if you ask me. Someone designs an app in a certain way; a few months later, there are no crisps, tinned tomatoes or frozen vegetables available for purchase.
After a good and enjoyable weekend — the comedown. Rain all day and the streets of Manchester still empty, this is a city with a lot of ‘recovery’ needed; and at the moment it’s not happening. From next week there’s more of a chance but there are a lot of political interests who, seemingly, would rather it didn’t — for whatever reason. “The struggles of the past have resulted in great gains”, quotes the Guardian (via its sponsored deckchair). Not this one, so far.
Booth Street, Manchester. This is the most public of workplaces, floor to ceiling windows on the ground floor. It has lain empty for 15 months now. Today, the lights were on — yet still no sign of occupancy. The ‘evacuation point’ sign seems somehow meaningful.
I’m not an economic expert, but I’ve been observing. Just audible at the moment, over the general silence of our cities, is a quiet but ominous creaking. If the arbitrary closures go on any longer than December 2nd, and the busiest month of the year is taken away from businesses like shops and pubs, expect to lose most of the independently-owned ones by March. I think Boris Johnson knows this, but the question is whether he cares enough.
Being 42 