Hebden Bridge, and my life, have their local personalities, some of whom have appeared multiple times on the blog. Mathilda, who is generally in charge of the territory around the junction of Valley Road and Victoria Road, is definitely one of them, and this is her fourth appearance on the blog in total. And a very attractive creature she is too.
Even after seven years, I do try not to repeat myself on here, and so a steady drip-feed of new places has become the means by which this is facilitated. Brighouse lies south of Halifax, not far away from my home but until today, undepicted on here. I was just passing through today however, and this factory caught my eye — it now functions, I believe, as an indoor climbing gym, perhaps for obvious reasons.
After a few weeks of getting out and about, my 49th birthday was spent at home in Hebden Bridge, and this is the weather that greeted it. I’m sure it’s not a metaphor for my advancing years…. but it was rather a wet blanket (OK, that’s a metaphor). Onward, anyway, onward with my fiftieth year on the planet (good grief). But the travelling is over for a little while.
My summer holidays reach their conclusion this weekend. The one remaining day, Sunday, is my 49th birthday, so today also marks the end of the 7th year of this blog. So now you know how many days there are in 7 years (with two February 29ths). We came back from Berlin in the morning, but there was no point hanging around doing nothing for the rest of this Saturday so I did what I — and many thousands of people up and down the country — often do in such circumstances, and went to watch a football match. Today’s venue, Ewen Fields, home of Hyde United FC, also brings up a milestone as I make it that this is the 50th football ground to feature on here. But the picture is generic, if you like — I just like the image of the different people on here all doing their thing.
The building which houses the Jewish Museum in Berlin is one of the most brilliant pieces of architecture I have ever experienced. Even if it were empty of exhibits — and at the moment, due to a renovation, it nearly is — it would make you think. There are these great vertical voids throughout the building, including the ‘Holocaust Tower’, a vast blank space illuminated only by a sliver of light coming in through the top. Another is covered with these metal sculpted faces, representing the innocent dead, that you must walk across in order to traverse the space. Then there is this garden, the ‘Garden of Exile’ — its plants placed high up on these stone pillars. Walking around it, other people appear and disappear randomly from view. This is architecture of genius, and well worth visiting. Though don’t expect to come out of it feeling any happier about the world — except, perhaps, that it has been built in Berlin. That fact alone gives me some hope.
Some parts of the old Berlin Wall remain in the city. Probably they could have been demolished back in 1990 but the authorities realised — correctly — that they were valuable as memorials and/or tourist attractions. Or, as in the case of the East Side Gallery, which runs beside the Spree for about a kilometer near the Ostbahnhof, an art installation; this long line of concrete has been decorated by a range of murals, including this one of Soviet dissident Andrei Sakharov, who seems to disdain the busker beside him, playing as he is on a load of old water pipes, or something.
The next burst of summer holiday is taking place in Berlin, where Clare and I travelled today. We didn’t arrive until late afternoon and I feel I managed to do little, photographically, with the various opportunities offered: a few stereotypical shots of the Brandenburg Gate, which everyone snaps (our hotel is only a few minutes’ walk away). But this sausage stand nearby did capture the attention. As anyone who’s been to Germany knows, if you want a roadside sausage, this is the world epicentre. And that German word always gives scope for some dreadful pun or other.
I’m still off work and have no intention of going back for a few days yet, so time for another Lake District walk. Rather dull, grey weather did limit the photo opportunities, but with this shot, of the fell known as Hopegill Head, seen from the north, there was a rare moment of faint sunlight which caught the clouds and the green fellside below.
No commentary on this shot other than to say I like it for somehow symbolising the road that out of darkness leads up into the light. Or something like that.
Two days of total indolence are in progress for me, this being the first. I avoided the temptation to present a photo of this afternoon’s football result (Brighton & Hove Albion 3, Manchester United 2 — oh yes oh yes) and so this one will do. The woman in beige maybe regrets encouraging the geese to visit her for a snack.
Being 42 