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.
Out on the path through the woods above the Hebden Water, someone has been dressing the trees, guerrilla-style. Happy Christmas to them, and, indeed, to you. I hope you enjoyed the day in whatever way you saw most fit. But that is, of course, true of every day.
You still can’t buy socks or men’s underwear in any of Hebden Bridge’s multiple retail establishments, but we do now have a cheese shop. Time for some Wensleydale, I feel. The kid has made his choice too, by the looks of things.
It’s Christmas — well, nearly. Whatever one’s stance on the battle to keep us locked up, and thus, in the thrall of newly-powerful financial interests that are exactly the ones pushing for further incarcerations (I wonder why), Blue Bird is still feeling happy about this time of year.
Including this shot Joe has appeared on 142 days of this blog, an average of about once every 26.5 days, and the most depicted person on here. But this is his first shot since 9th September, a date located just before he went off to university. However, here he is back from said posting. Different? Perhaps, a little.
It’s the longest night of the year. On my walk to Low Moor station in Bradford tonight, I passed through this industrial zone in which all the factories were still lit, burbling away internally, though no people were in sight. The robots may well now be in full charge. It would explain a lot about current political trends.
Friend George has a substantial amount of body art and is collecting more all the time — for now. Come next year, more health fascism will see the banning of most coloured tattoo inks (see this story); restrictions on our lives based on dubious health evidence, who’d have thought such a thing could happen. She’s getting them done while she can; the new ones are being dabbed clean a couple of days after being laid down.
Two days in a row for Halifax, and two in a row clamped under an oppressive blanket of mist. In some parts of the town this morning visibility was down to ten yards. In the background of this shot, like some massive memorial, rises Wainhouse Tower, making its second appearance in less than two months and its third overall. (World’s tallest folly, etc. etc.)
The cobbled streets and misty feel give this shot a Victorian look — except perhaps for the Rolex and No Entry signs. But we can ignore them. Would the Victorians have engaged in this much paranoia? Who knows. But Brendan — see his guitar case — doesn’t seem to care, and I’m all for that.
Being 42 