It looks like I may have laid these captions over the photo with some editing software but that’s not the case. Instead these were hanging above Briggate, in Leeds, because someone had clearly decided that positive-sounding, but actually meaningless, exhortations to solidarity are just what the country needs to get us through this time of incompetency.
On the move again — a schedule dictated by the rail unions. I support the strikes, though. Anything that pisses off the morons currently running this country must have some validity.
After ten shots in a row with no people on them, let’s admit I do still occasionally join the social world. And Whitelock’s in Leeds really is a fine place to do it: the blue plaque acknowledging that this is a pub with much history, opened in 1715 and still going very strong. Arguably this place is the best thing about Leeds, and that’s not even to diminish the rest of the city.
Finding myself, once again, in the west Leeds suburbs for an evening, I wandered into this Mexican restaurant for dinner and, as with the other diners, found myself in a training session for a new member of the waiting staff, so things were a little chaotic… But everything came out in good time and tasted fine. So I tipped generously, and tried not to get in the way.
Another damp day. With only occasional breaks, it feels like it’s been raining for weeks. A misty car park somewhere in the western reaches of Leeds. In the distance another soul who, like me, is just glad to find a game on. This shot is a relative rarity for me, as it’s one where I don’t mind the cars.
The first weekend away of the year. You can tell we’re in First Class because of the menu: stock up on the complimentary drinks and food, and the relatively small premium paid for these tickets is effectively refunded. Sometimes the food you want is even available.
Following my comments yesterday, at least the trains were still running in the other direction from home, so as often seems to happen on a Saturday, I found myself changing at Leeds station. I’ve been thinking of a shot like this for a while; taken specifically from the stairs going down to platform 16, and therefore looking across the whole width of the station. Busy scenes, and let’s demand they stay that way.
They’ve still got a couple of minutes before the departure of the 12:21 from Leeds to Doncaster. But we run anyway in these situations, don’t we; almost instinctively. It takes a certain confidence not to do so.
This is Leeds railway station, at what should be peak time on a Saturday morning.
You may think this desperately depressing scene is justified and necessary. I do not. When a crime has been committed the good investigator first asks — cui bono? It means ‘who benefits’? And who does benefit from all this — if we are not travelling, not spending money in the same places we were spending it last October, seeing friends, partying in nightclubs, going to Elland Road or wherever? I name Rupert Murdoch, Jim Bezos, Mark Zuckerberg, Eric Schmidt and all their kin as people with the most profoud vested interest in keeping us locked up through the spreading of fear and this year’s sudden, digitally-driven enhancement of what Michel Foucault called the carceral state. If I’m wrong, sue me. If you don’t like it, defy it.
Somehow the little guy on the pedestrian crossing sign just adds to the concept. We are now all islands. Or, supposed to be, by official decree.
Being 42 