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.
A metaphor of some kind? Quite possibly. We are all waiting for something. But at least the sun was shining on Hebden Bridge station this morning.
This is Halifax, again. Where the Hebble Brook comes through town it was first bridged by the Victorians who liked putting decorations on their stanchions and, hence, the towers seen to the right. The 1960s road engineers who decided the original bridge was no longer manly enough didn’t bother when constructing the larger version. This is taken from inside a bus, and quite how I managed the transition effect down the left-hand side I do not know, but it works for me.
If they don’t necessarily look happy I can assure you that they were, as these fans of Morecambe FC have just seen their team come back from 2-0 down to win 3-2 at Crewe Alexandra: and at 2-0, no one in the whole ground saw that result coming, believe me. As the set of humanity that counts itself as Morecambe fans includes the wife (and I have to say, increasingly, myself), this was a good turnout of events.
Several public houses premises in and around Hebden Bridge have lain empty for years. This is the old Crown Inn in the town centre: at my back as I took this photo was Marshall’s Bar; neither of them made it through 2020 and have remained closed and empty since. Some pubs on the approach roads to town (like the Woodsman Inn) have been lying derelict for two decades now. Yet the contradictions of the property market are such that it seems now, by law, only new café-bars and restaurants are allowed to open in the town. It is clearly cheaper and more desirable to convert a former bank into a pub than convert a former pub into a reopened pub.
I’m not saying this has never happened before — see the note — but today I can say that along with about twenty-five other people, I took a class with someone who is genuinely the world-leading authority in their specific field. Like, the ultimate teacher. I said to a colleague the other day that I was coming to this session on epistemic network analysis (it’s a way of depicting the patterns of conversation in groups, the way they talk about things) with some ’eminent American guy’ and she said, immediately, ‘Oh, you mean David Shaffer?’. Even Clare — who, while being a highly intelligent woman, does not move in the same strictly academic circles as I do — had heard of him. And Prof Shaffer turned out to be a friendly, agreeable chap, the two hours of my time very well spent.
Note: I think there are three other appearances of truly globally reputable teachers on here: Etienne Wenger, Michelle Brown and Jürgen Habermas.
A day spent at home was enlivened by the arrival of a travel itinerary, map and other stuff from the very competent people I’ve been dealing with at Expert Africa regarding my upcoming travels — which will certainly get me out and about. As I may have already said on here more than once, I do like a good map. It was my flights over Namibia last year that prompted me to want to go there, and in April, I will.
After yesterday’s exertions I did not feel like going very far at all; like this mallard, I was content just to sit and watch the world go by, to be honest. (And tomorrow won’t be much different.)
This shot was actually incidental to the walk I completed today — my penultimate Wainwright walk, unless there is some big change of plan between now and, say, the next month. Skiddaw was nowhere near where I was. But — it looks so good here. All macho and domineering, despite its sheen of snowy white. Would that we could all look so good at a few million years old.
A pleasant day for sure. Long may it last (it probably won’t). I’m sure the dogs appreciate it just as much as the walkers do.
Being 42 