There are some days when I really can’t think of any caption or explanation for posting a photo beyond the fact that I just quite like it. Daisy Hill is a place (in the Wigan-Bolton hinterland) with a cute rustic name, but its railway station doesn’t follow this lead — at least, not while some renovations are going on.
Another railway station, the third in nine days, and two of them have both been here, Leeds: the second-busiest station in the country outside London, apparently (after Birmingham New Street, which has also been on here a couple of times). It spits us out at the start of the day and sucks us back in at the end. Not that I use this for my work commute any more, though I did, up until 2005. But I seem to end up here often enough regardless.
I should have returned home after yesterday’s walk, and that I didn’t was evidence of quite how dreadful the buses were in the Lake District yesterday; also that I am lucky I could stay with the in-laws in Morecambe, otherwise I might have been sleeping in Lancaster station overnight. Like everywhere else at the moment, it is a building work-in-progress. I like the blues on this shot.
And so, the journey back, via Brighton, St Pancras, King’s Cross, Leeds and Hebden Bridge stations. Pictured — the fourth of these. It’s now time to find inspiration at home for a while, in various senses.
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.
Anywhere in the vicinity of the Keighley & Worth Valley Railway and I seem to have an irresistible urge to whack on the sepia filter. It’s appropriate, at least. A steam train would have been nice to add to the shot but one’s just departed, and anyway, it would have got in the way of the nice curve of the track.
Another railway station, but this is more one of those shots where I was just trying to get the various horizontals and verticals to come out true: and for once I think I have managed it, although is there just the slightest curve on the tracks? If I never said that, however, perhaps you would not have noticed.
Watching them, watching me? Actually it’s very unlikely anyone is actually ‘watching’ at any given moment, but that’s Michel Foucault’s point about the surveillance society — people discipline themselves anyway. What I’d really like to know is why someone felt two cameras, pointing in the same direction, were really needed to monitor the ‘forgotten footbridge‘ at Manchester Victoria station. Why buy only one, when money can be wasted on two to do exactly the same pointless job?
After a few weekends recently which have ended on a Monday morning at King’s Cross station — like this one, say — a weekend that, instead, ended on a Monday morning at Cardiff Central station. At least I managed to get on the first truly punctual public transport service experienced since leaving home on Friday morning. I like how the light falls on this one: this is not direct sunlight, instead it is being reflected off the facade of the BBC building across the plaza, behind me.
Collingham, in rural Nottinghamshire, becomes the 445th different named place to be featured on here: so I maintain the record of, more or less, one new place every ten days on average. This illustrates my urge to explore, if nothing else. Pictured, the start of my journey home: two and three-quarter hours later I was back in Hebden Bridge.
Should I have cropped the bits to the left? The fence annoys me a little: but on the other hand I couldn’t lose it without losing the hint of red light, which I like.
Being 42 