Or should it be, the parked red car? I know there is supposed to be some kind of innate order to English adjectives, but here I am unsure. Anyway it is often seen in this position — this was not a lucky capture. And yes, it tilts to a noticeable degree: otherwise, this shot is faithful enough to the perpendicular.
Hebden Bridge has its share of risky parking spaces — there’s the ‘Wing Mirror Two Inches From That 40-Tonne Truck Descending At Speed’ variety and more than a few ‘Garage Perched Precariously On Thin Pile Of Bricks (Above Terrifying Drop)’. But this is a new variety. I assume Storplan have good insurance.
After eight days in a row in the house, a morning out — so I could have something stuck up my nose, and then be returned. Somebody, somewhere, thinks there’s a point to all this. (I will add that I had things stuck up my nose both before flying here, and on arrival, and have been in isolation since.)
The island has a verdant interior but the rim is very barren. Out by the airport sits “Bradley’s Camp”, a bunch of prefabs surrounded by barbed wire and personal security that is presumably where the local authorities stick the asylum seekers, people with a 0.0001% chance of having a currently fashionable communicable disease, and other undesirables. But at least it has parking facilities for visitors.
Even the traffic warden was somewhat bemused by this saloon ‘parked’ not only on one of the slip roads to the Mancunian Way, but across a pedestrian crossing. However, I suspect the true owners of this car are not — at this point in time — aware of it being parked there. Hey, maybe they’ll beat the tow-truck.
Which is less savoury — the graffiti, or the notices which pepper this wall and try to keep the space private and enclosed? At weekends, at least, the town could do with the parking spaces. Eventually someone will come and paint over the street art, but the warning signs will remain.