Apparently “Mood” is the gender-neutral fragrance of the season, if the large stall in the Arndale Centre, exclusively devoted to tempting us to buy it, is anything to go by. But one might advise them to be a little more subtle when it comes to pumping out the scent. By the time I had walked past I was already sick of it.
The Conservative Party can’t even do incompetence competently — and by now, they have had lots of chances to practice it. Brilliantly, some idiot lets slip that the proposed high-speed rail link to Manchester is likely to be cancelled, in the very week that the party are holding its annual conference…. in Manchester. Frankly, I am so disillusioned about there being any prospect of genuine change in the trajectory not only of this country, but the human race, that I have largely stopped caring, but let’s at least document the existence of a political opposition to these clowns: unfortunately, sticking posters to lamp-posts seems to be the extent of it.
Someone else’s art. It was nice, too — when I walked back past this on the way home (it is by the Chinese Arch in Manchester) it was finished and looked good, perhaps it will feature on here at some point in the future.
Protesting outside the offices of a company about to insure a large new oil pipeline in East Africa: this seems valid to me. But they were all so terribly polite about it. Walking past on my way to work I might have missed the whole thing entirely were it not for a voice through a microphone that said (I’m paraphrasing slightly): “*cough* I hope you can here us, Sir Someone, but please don’t insure that oil pipeline” and then went quiet again. And the office was on the other side of the road anyway, ‘guarded’ by three somewhat bored-looking policemen. Throwing oneself under the King’s horse this was not.
Time to kill before the 11:00 meeting in the city centre. Tea needed to be drunk. Monochrome needed to be used to disguise the fact that this shot is basically out of focus, but losing the colour means I can go for the rustic 1960s bistro effect. Which I’m sure is how Caffe Nero wants to be seen (note: other corporate coffee bar providers are available).
I am late posting and after Thursday’s and Friday’s exertions, this stopover in the City Arms after work seems like a while ago. It’s best pub I’ve found in Manchester city centre though — so I know that what was being served here was a fine pint.
Walking through Manchester city centre tonight it was impossible to not notice the activity around the corner of Oxford Road and Whitworth Street, with everything cordoned off by police tape and some major sweeping up under way. Turns out at lunchtime a bus took out a central reservation, for some reason (which I can quite believe involved swerving to save the life of some idiotic cyclopath of the kind who thinks his Deliveroo bag gives him the right to ignore red lights), a few people hurt but nothing serious. And the picture? Well, the pink scaffolding is impressive. Some might say there’s not been enough pink on the blog recently.
There seems some kind of irresistible compulsion to construct more and more tall buildings in Manchester city centre, pretty much regardless of other considerations. There were a number of blocks built around one end of Canal Street and finished just before all that lockdown rubbish kicked off in 2020, which still appear to be mostly empty; certainly none of the commercial spaces on the ground floor has ever been occupied. And yet the city has plenty of homeless people and families who I’m sure would be able to make good use of such accommodation. In the meantime, let’s just build some more: it keeps certain political interests happy, doesn’t it.
Back at work in Manchester for the first time since the 3rd. This is usually my first proper sight of the city on any given morning.
Just some nicely falling light, pictured on the walk to the office in Manchester. Even without looking at the time in the heading, this can be identified as an intrinsic morning shot. I know this, because of the direction I’m walking, but you know this, because that’s a milk float: they aren’t still doing the rounds when I head back home.
Being 42 