“Right you ‘orrible lot!”, cries the sergeant-major at the back. “This is the tidal limit of the Ribble right here and we will take no prisoners! Keep an eye out for that tidal bore which is due any minute now…. YOU! At the end! Wake up laddie!”
Hey, I’m sure gulls are as attuned to the hydrodynamics of their local area way more than any human. I had to look that stuff up on Wikipedia, but they knew it already — food is on its way upriver.
An early morning derailment at Shap, in Cumbria, meant the West Coast Main Line was completely closed. Fortunately we were heading south and not trying to get to Scotland, but I suspect this gentleman was one of the many people in Preston station this morning for whom that was the intended destination.
This statue of Wallace and Gromit stands (and sits) outside the market hall of Preston, Lancashire: the home town of creator Nick Park. This is actually Wallace’s second appearance on the blog — the first was in Bradford, nearly nine and a half years ago. But he’s still wearing those Wrong Trousers. Gromit makes his debut (as do the other two).
Preston station this evening was the showcase for this gorgeous lump of metal — the horde of sightseers was not limited to the people seen here, the group extends round behind me and the camera. And why not: there is something undeniably attractive about these machines, proof that technology can also sometimes be art. It was pointing north, so presumably was about to steam up to Scotland; appropriate considering its name, as loco no. 46115 is known as the Scots Guardsman.
An abstract, really: while sitting in Preston waiting out a train connection. It was good to be inside on a cold, windy day, sharp contrast with the balm of last weekend. There are four heads here, even if initial viewing might suggest only three.
This is, of course, a quite different photo of platform 2 of Preston station than the one I took sixteen days ago: and I was heading in an entirely different direction — towards home instead of away from it. That’s my excuse anyway. No repetition!
Beautifully — some might even say, ridiculously — warm day today for February, with temperatures up to 20ºC in Hebden Bridge. It’s the half-term holidays as well as the weekend and all this tempted people out, including me, as the afternoon saw a decamp up to the in-laws’ place in Morecambe. Preston station was busy and well-lit; on such days it’s hard not to admire the durability and aesthetic qualities of your basic Victorian station architecture — love those pillars.
For ten days now I, and am I sure most other photographers in Britain, have been praying for one thing – light — there really hasn’t been any. So once again I try to fall back on colour, and form, and composition and all those other things.
This is where the Hebden Bridge trains join up with the West Coast main line, thus, trains for the Lake District and Morecambe. I spend a hell of a lot of time in Preston station – never for very long at a time, but it mounts up, and I’ve spent far longer here in my life than I have in Preston itself.
Being 42 