“Some job this is. Waiting around in line for the ice rink to open so we can be pushed around by irritating little brats.”
“Oh, cheer up, Bob. It’s a living.”
“Is it? Shouldn’t we be in Antarctica or something?”
Another day spent almost entirely in my office at home, working, and not emerging until after the sunlight was mostly gone. The Friday market in town was still open at this point, though only just, and I’m sure this guy is considering packing up his clocks and jewellry and calling it a day.
I go monochrome here simply because it feels right for the shot and it stops the bright green stripes at the top dominating it. It is not a ‘Black Friday’ reference. I hate that bollocks, in fact: especially because, as various recent conversations about this marketing wheeze have proven, virtually no one in the UK — consumers, retailers, the media, anyone — actually understands the derivation of the term. Be honest — do you know where it comes from? (American readers don’t get to answer this.)
Whomever preceded me to this park bench, during the shower that fell an indeterminate amount of time before, certainly left an impression. And a dry spot, one that, let’s say, is bigger than I might have left.
I have put in plenty of hours already this week and there are still two long and busy days to come. So no, I don’t really care that I was in the White Swan before 4pm today. And, I’m sure, nor does the other guy.
Those of us who drink in particular pubs regularly may or may not have A Spot. I wouldn’t say I do, even in the Railway. I have been found in most of its corners, at one time or another. But Tony is someone who has A Spot, and here he is, in it. If he sat somewhere else we might not recognise him.
My mediocre kit is never going to take crystal clear photos in very low light, even if I do crank the ISO setting up to 1600 or whatever. But here, the lack of clarity is just the point. Surely the gentleman to the left is about to emerge from some horrible transformation and begin consuming human flesh. Although in the end, he recovered, and we all got on with watching the evening’s entertainment (Tom McRae, as it happened).
Am I pleased allowed to say someone is a nice shape, without this being a salacious observation? Because this person definitely is.
With this photo, Stockport, the 11th place I depicted on this blog back in October 2011, finally relinquishes its title as the most-ignored-place-since. The accolade now passes to Dunsop Bridge. I know you care about these things, as do I. Overall, 477 different locations have appeared on here — a neat near 1/10 ratio — and I’m sure you already care about the carefully-maintaned stats.
A final hour or so to get some shots of Newcastle as we made our way back to the station. This has gone monochrome for one simple reason: to get rid of the bright blue monstrosity that was the wheelie bin in the middle. Tell me you don’t see it, even now I’ve pointed it out.
I like this photo, so am using it for today, though it’s one of those occasions where I can’t really think of anything much to say about it. We’ll just leave it as it is.
The Thursday market is the place to come in Hebden Bridge for fish, vegetables, food of all kinds, and I certainly indulged today. Was it warm? No — autumn is in the post, I feel, but that’s why we stock up with food at this time of year.
Being 42 