Sofas left on the pavement, that’s one thing. But half a sofa? Like the single abandoned shoe, what’s the story here? Was it just one hell of a party? Has it been sheared off, caught in mid-transition through a wormhole to another dimension?
After a week in northern Finland, where it was rather damp and chilly throughout, at least there was sunshine when I had to go into Manchester today and, well, spend most of the day inside teaching. But never mind. This is a rather mundane shot in the end, with a green splotch of flare on it, but I like the shadows and light.
I am giving myself more and more opportunities to become practiced at sports photography — specifically, football. I hope this isn’t boring for you, my followers. But I’m enjoying it. FC United of Manchester, who are like the non-Evil version of that other United of Manchester, of whom I’m sure you’ve heard, put themselves 2-0 up in the FA Cup against Colne (where I was a fortnight ago), thanks to some unidentifable part of no. 9’s anatomy. Getting shots like these is largely a matter of luck, I have decided; pro sports photographers take hundreds of shots per match, I bet, and probably end up with half a dozen usable ones.
A foul day of weather today, definitely the worst since early April. A reasonably pleasant morning tricked us all into going out without the right gear, a mistake very apparent later on when we had to return home in foul and heavy rain, and with plenty of time to remind ourselves about just how poor is the drainage on Manchester’s streets.
Another early morning in Manchester, where there’s still just about sunlight at 7.15am, but not for much longer in the year. Light, and time, enough to ponder why this establishment can’t seem to decide whether there’s one L or two (or indeed, three) in its name. It wasn’t open at this time, in case you were wondering.
Notes on laptop? Check. Camera? Present, obviously. Bag of plums for distribution? Check. Students? Well, some of them. Even if they are members of uni staff on the ‘Humanities New Academics Programme’. Here we go through to Christmas, either way.
In case you hadn’t noticed I am becoming rather tired of schlepping into Manchester on a regular basis — not work particularly, but the city, its endless building sites and general crowdedness. But that’s one reason I’m taking a sabbatical from January. So this will change, at least for the first part of 2019. For now, there are still some early mornings to be done. Note the ‘Queen Bee’ scuplture inside this, the Queens Arcade.
I’m tired of the endless destruction and re-capitalisation being wreaked on Manchester city centre. The yellow hoardings on the right surround what is to become a boutique hotel, called “Brooklyn” — or actually “BKLYN”, clearly this was exactly the configuration of letters which wasn’t already a hashtag — scheduled to open some time in 2019 it seems.
However, an objective assessment of the local building stock leads me to conclude that Manchester is already well-supplied with hotels, boutique or otherwise. What it seems to lack are beds for a growing population of rough sleepers, that anyone who walks through the city centre on a regular morning basis will agree has increased substantially in the last year or so.
Welcome to your neo-liberal marketised future.
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.
Felt obliged to put in an appearance in the big city for the first time (photographically) since signing off for my holiday on 3rd August. The weather brought melancholy in the morning, a feeling of autumn, though it did brighten up. The monochrome adds to the mood though really I only changed it to address a blob of anomalous colour (on the traffic sign in the background: near invisible here, a bright blue splodge in the original).
Being 42 