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.
I think this sums up this particular acquaintance. If the guy that you think is Jim doesn’t have a glass of red wine in front of him, then it’s not him.
One of the recent candidates for “Railway pub dog”, Roxy is almost always seen standing, here or (if it’s cold) by the fire. Sitting and lying down are just things other dogs do. She is a patient creature, but I guess that’s a requirement for all candidate pub dogs. The leash is purely symbolic.
Wales is the nearest bit of the world to my house that is not England. All the same, thanks to its particularly pervasive Covidnoia, it has only appeared three times on the blog in the last two years. One of these was as the background of the shot I took from the Wirral in January, and I think, in turn, that spot is the hill in the distance here. Connah’s Quay — which is where this shot was taken from — is a rather sad-looking place, oppressed as many electrical pylons as I’ve seen anywhere: shuttered up and closed down. The bridge rejects it too, taking people past it, not through it.
Next week will mark ten and a half years that I have been doing this. In that time people have come and gone: at least two friends who have appeared on here at some point have died in the last 12 months. But new faces arrive in turn. I haven’t known these two as long as some others but now it’s Mark and Yathi’s turn to debut on here.
Serious combat in the Railway this evening. Somehow black and white photography seems appropriate for this subject matter.
Evening on Hebden Bridge station, platform 1. But am I leaving town, or coming back? That’s for me to know. Perhaps it is all the same thing in the end.
“Go back to the office!” says the Chief Clown, though going on numbers coming through Manchester Victoria in the mornings, most of the population (those who can, anyway) feel quite happy with the idea that they might make this judgment on their own. Admittedly 2pm isn’t peak time but one still might have expected a few more people around.
POSTSCRIPT: To be fair, I was browsing earlier pictures just now and found this one from almost exactly 5 years ago (25th Jan. 2017), of the same spot; and there weren’t any people on that one, either. Comparison of the two photos also shows how the light shines through exactly the same bit of the roof at this exact time of day in late January; and the photogenic consequences of this.
Two monochromes in a row to continue the grey and misty post-Christmas mood. Further exposure for Halifax’s scenic qualities, too; that’s four times in ten days it has appeared. Why do I call this post ‘Deep in the bus station’? I guess there’s a sense of being at the end of a tunnel here, looking out through successive waves of glass and steel.
I’m not trying to be overtly metaphorical here. But this shot certainly sums up today’s weather. Enough snow to feel, not enough to make a difference, all under steel-grey skies.
Being 42 