Halifax’s transport infrastructure seems to have become a recent theme. At least, this is a sign that I am still moving around the local area, including on a Sunday. I like the complexity of the layout here, the bendiness, but tied together by the point mechanisms.
Today was considerably less mobile and active than yesterday. No football, even: making it the first Saturday I have voluntarily not attended a match since mid-February. The reason? Rain, constant rain, endless, all day. Apologies then for the boredom factor but at least we can still go to the pub.
The Lake District mountain that is Barf has a very silly name, but it is a rugged little beast and has a great view. Its summit has featured before, as some eight and a half years ago I was up there with the couple who’d brought their grandson’s Action Man along for the ride. With a weather forecast that is significantly deteriorating, I made the most of a chance to rebag it (and its two neighbours, Lord’s Seat and Whinlatter) today as part of my ongoing second Wainwright round. I’ll work some other day…. OK? Wouldn’t you?
The efforts of all those highly transient squash (or possibly pumpkin) flowers earlier in the year have resulted in precisely one pumpkin (or possibly squash) growing in house or garden. And here it is. Whether it will be big enough to carve faces in come the end of this fresh month — we will just have to wait and see…
A foul, miserable day of weather that matched the general mood. September sun has just about sustained the local pubs, but once it stops being very agreeable to sit outside — as it definitely was today — then they will slowly rot away and die, like most other things that bring fun into our lives, presently.
It’s the end of September. The golden foliage is a sign autumn is here. With it come the students — but this year, instead of being out meeting new people and enjoying themselves, largely they are walled up in high-tech prisons like the George Kenyon hall behind. Still charged £9K (plus rent) for the privilege. And the UoM is one of the better ones, presently.
This is a factual statement. The road past our house has been closed for weeks while some vague ‘improvements’ take place on the moors. But perhaps this shot is also metaphorical.
Either way I really hope the phallically-challenged moron who roared past this sign later at 60mph in his Porsche was actually heading for Keighley. To have seen his face.
After yesterday’s leafiness, a bleaker vision of modern-day Yorkshire. I happened to pass this on a bus today: Amazon’s distribution centre for northern England, just outside Doncaster. A gigantic warehouse, but windowless, blank and impenetrable. Anyone unlucky enough to be working within will be robotised, denied rights and capable of being fired by SMS at any time (these practices have been documented in a recent report by the Open Markets Institute). Meanwhile, they charge 50% markup on the price of my recent book compared to what it costs to get it direct from the publisher. They pay little tax on these gigantic profits and our high streets decay ever more. Amazon are evil.
Now that’s a serious tree. Surely it predates everything else in this photograph except the hillsides. And it’s probably seen a lot of football too. (The willow’s not bad either.)
The working week ends as it started — with a bird photo-bombing the shot. But I like it.
Being 42 