The sun still seems uninterested in putting in an appearance, and this picture seems to epitomise the general colouring of the UK at this time. Manchester did get a bit more interesting for me later, but that still doesn’t mean it became sunny.
In Manchester, but not my usual parts of the city, so a chance to bring some different views to the blog. The statue of the Dead White Male is of Richard Cobden, and until just now I had no idea who this person was so I have read up about him. It sounds as if he was something of a radical dude, campaigning for years for the repeal of the Corn Laws (which kept the price of bread artificially high and impoverished the masses for the benefit of a few rich landowners), free trade and pacifism. So, go Richard. St Ann’s Church, behind, is a rather noble building as well.
The Butchers’ Arms is a football ground, home to Droylsden FC of east Manchester, but there is no intention to class this as a football-related shot. I am pleased with this one because it was the shot I wanted to capture when I pressed the shutter — and it’s always nice when it works out that way, particularly in the evening when there’s not much light to work with. The lonely ‘Book Your Party’ sign is definitely part of the composition.
Definitely the first full cherry blossom sighting of the year, sprouting in the nicely sheltered urban heat reservoir that is Sackville Gardens, Manchester. Dr. Turing’s statue looks rather content to be there, as it usually does.
Another railway station, but this is more one of those shots where I was just trying to get the various horizontals and verticals to come out true: and for once I think I have managed it, although is there just the slightest curve on the tracks? If I never said that, however, perhaps you would not have noticed.
A subject that comes round each year, I could have first pictured these at least a fortnight ago; I think that when the ladders were put up to get Manchester’s Christmas decorations down, they just installed the lanterns immediately, to save getting the ladders out again. Thus, at least a month before the Chinese New Year that they are there to celebrate. Never mind — today was my last chance to get them on for CNY 2024; I won’t now be in Manchester for three weeks.
I am sure my day in Manchester was better than it was for the driver of this bike, lying at the junction of Princess Street and Whitworth Street, a place I walk past every time I go to work. So, seeing where the debris lay and knowing this junction and its patterns of traffic and pedestrians and stop/go signals, I suggest that this is what happened here — the bike was coming downhill, down Princess Street, as was its due, and the the car that it hit (bits of which were also scattered around), coming uphill, decided to turn right across its path. Shite driving therefore, lack of attention and care: at least the motorcyclist lived (I checked the story on the Manchester Evening News site), but that’s scant consolation I am sure.
Believe me, I’m one of these middle-aged guys who has gone the other way when it comes to hair loss, and I don’t need any. Not on my head and certainly not on/in my eyebrows, ears and nose, thank you very much. But clearly there is a market for the stuff, at least among the women who shop in the Arndale Market, Manchester. And there was me thinking they did it naturally — like me (last haircut, 2/10/19 and still counting).
A busy stint of work comes to an end — this is Manchester’s third appearance in a row, and that hasn’t happened since April ’22. By the end of the working day I needed a pint, and the City Arms on Kennedy Street has definitely become the Manchester Pub of Choice. I’m not the only one who thinks this either, as it’s usually busy like this, but the beer is high quality. Note the old typesetting frame stuck randomly to the ceiling. Anyway, I probably won’t be here again until well into January — my work in this specific city is done for a while.
Watching them, watching me? Actually it’s very unlikely anyone is actually ‘watching’ at any given moment, but that’s Michel Foucault’s point about the surveillance society — people discipline themselves anyway. What I’d really like to know is why someone felt two cameras, pointing in the same direction, were really needed to monitor the ‘forgotten footbridge‘ at Manchester Victoria station. Why buy only one, when money can be wasted on two to do exactly the same pointless job?
Being 42 