There is not a great deal going on in life at the moment; the weather is poor and it feels like dead time at the end of what has, admittedly, been a rather extended summer, at least in personal terms. But like these kids, I’ve gone ‘back to school’ — not that I find it any easier to accept than they probably do.
The door hides itself in the dark centre of the underpass beneath the Mancunian Way. It is always closed. Sometimes it rattles to itself in a sinister fashion, as if there is a mythical beast trapped within, and it’s the entrance to some foul dungeon, Manchester’s Moria. Today, though, it loomed open, but there were no surprises within — as the road sign and glimpsed wheelbarrow imply, just more bloody building site stuff.
Just an arrangement of rectangles, colours and graffiti that I liked on this Wednesday morning. But why the alarmed-looking bear? Guess only the artist knows.
Which is less savoury — the graffiti, or the notices which pepper this wall and try to keep the space private and enclosed? At weekends, at least, the town could do with the parking spaces. Eventually someone will come and paint over the street art, but the warning signs will remain.
The last couple of days have been sunnier but today was as gloomy and grey a day as it is possible to envision south of the Arctic Circle. Wet, too. My two-mile walk to work in Manchester was done in a constant drizzle. Like me, the guy on the right here stood under the Mancunian Way overpass for a few minutes to take a break from it all. How low the light was here can be judged by the blur on the second figure, left of centre, who was just walking at ordinary speed as I pressed the shutter.
A colourful scene depicted from under the Mancunian Way this morning, on another beautifully sunny day. By all forecasts a storm is coming in and I’m not in Manchester again for days yet, so this might be the last time you see the city like this all year. Or, indeed, that I do.
Manchester’s a big city and I only tend to walk through a narrowly-defined part of it when following the usual beat. Got off this track today however, and here I am on the banks of the Bridgewater Canal, built in 1761 and generally reckoned to be Britain’s first canal in the modern sense. A roaring success economically. And still operational — not long after I took this shot of the reflections under the bridge (not dating since 1761…) a barge chugged past. It’s a peaceful spot.
I’m sure, however, that Banksy would approve of someone else reusing his artwork in a project of their own: just as here he has used someone else’s in his. Or so it appears. I like Banksy — but then again, who wouldn’t.
The conference ended today but I am in Zagreb until Friday, and transited to a different hotel in the early afternoon. My walk there took me past the main railway station, a symbolic spot for those who have seen and enjoyed From Russia With Love — the best Bond movie (yes, it is) — as it’s here that 007 meets the evil Grant –the best Bond villain (don’t argue now) — posing as a fellow British agent.
Actually, those scenes weren’t filmed here, but in Turkey: and in the book, Grant and Bond meet not in Zagreb, but Trieste. But this is just detail….
Easter. A time to celebrate spring, a time of renewal and growth. A day for another few tons of grey slush to barrel out of the sky and drench and depress us all. This should be a tennis court in the park. Instead it’s a sea of crud that doesn’t even have the decency to be solid, at least then we could build a snowman.
Being 42 