We have yet to put our clocks back, and so the level of darkness in Manchester this Friday morning is somewhat boosted by the extra hour, but even after this weekend things will catch up soon enough and this will be a common enough sight for me in the run up to Christmas. For now, Halloween tat is in charge. The spectral yellow blobs to centre right may or may not be evidence of spiritual involvement.
Of all the days over the two weeks since I effectively lost my access to photos, this was the dullest and least eventful. Getting a shot of C’s coat, left as she went to buy a drink, and somehow imagining that it looks like her shade or phantom, was about as exciting as it got. Sometimes Thursdays are like that. One cannot always get the hang of Thursdays.
On Friday 13th, let’s go ghost-spotting. This spectral figure appeared from round some old cotton-spinning equipment in a former mill at New Lanark, Robert Owen’s planned industrial settlement in the gorge of the River Clyde. Or maybe it’s just a projection in one corner of the museum, visited as we made our way to Scotland to begin (finally) a summer holiday. But whether put on for the tourists or not, it’s still a ghost, in some form.
Being 42 