19 days in a row is not an unusual amount of time to spend at home as such… but, no football, no hiking, no reason to get out at all. It’s time to go though! Set up the lights! Let’s leave!
For the second semester in a row I have been allocated a 4-6pm teaching slot, and, as yet, we are nowhere near far enough into the spring for me to be seeing sunsets on a Tuesday; it’s dark by the time I emerge. The walk home then begins up Brook Street, which for some time now has been consistently a traffic jam at about 6.10pm. The cause is obvious, and I’m sure all the Manchester drivers are very happy when they realise there is, as far as I can tell, nothing in particular going on in the coned-off lane.
Roadworks on Keighley Road continue to increase in both volume and density. Soon the entire street may disappear, collapsing in on itself to form a kind of roadwork singularity, or possibly a new form of matter, which will, while largely inert, occasionally flare up into frenzied and noisy activity at, like, 7 in the morning. Having thereby woken up any sleepers in the vicinity it will then return to its inactive state for the rest of the day.
It’s time for the annual appearance of the “Person Struggling with Umbrella” sign, and all that entails for traffic up and down the Keighley Road. I haven’t driven a car on this island since last August (the only plae I have been behind the wheel was on Ascension), and I’m just fine with that.
In 2025, Bradford will become the UK’s City of Culture, and the sign proclaims this: from the rear, the slope on the left is one of the 2s, with the zero to the other side. Behind, a small part of the gigantic, desperate building site that constitutes most of its city centre at the present time. The bus station is entirely closed, having been declared unsafe a while back. You can’t get a taxi from anywhere particularly near the railway station. And all this with exactly eleven weeks to go until 1st January. City of Culture? Perhaps this chaos and neglect is, indeed, representative of the UK in this epoch.
Bradford has featured on here reasonably regularly, this being its 27th appearance. It is one of those places that seems to be in a constant state of urban ‘renewal’. Presumably because it is to be the UK’s City of Culture in 2025, at the moment, a big pedestrianisation project seems to be consuming the whole of the city centre. This may be a good thing, in the end. On the other hand, the big Marks & Spencer store has closed — and in the UK, this is as good a marker as any that a retail centre is in trouble. This picture is taken early on but it wasn’t a great deal busier when I came back through at lunchtime, on a sunny summer’s day. Will all this beautification take so long that by the time it’s ready to go, there’s nothing left? (The bus station has fallen down, too.)
Dig a hole in the road and you can leave it there as long as you like, as long as you put up a barrier around it and make it look important. This has been here on Princess Street for weeks. Not often under such portentous skies, though.
A terrifically dull situation, but that was my day for you, with much of the morning spent negotiating seemingly endless roadworks in order to run a relatively simple (but necessary) errand. And I did so in both directions too – this was on the way home. I was waiting at the latest red light, in case you want to report me to the traffic police.
OK, this picture isn’t high art but at least it’s something different, as the council decide to take advantage of the lack of traffic and resurface the road outside our house. I’m glad there is still a semblance of working life out there but I’d quite like to go to work myself, on occasional days (did I really say that? It’s true though). This is only the fourth picture to feature people who are not family members since the end of March.
The door hides itself in the dark centre of the underpass beneath the Mancunian Way. It is always closed. Sometimes it rattles to itself in a sinister fashion, as if there is a mythical beast trapped within, and it’s the entrance to some foul dungeon, Manchester’s Moria. Today, though, it loomed open, but there were no surprises within — as the road sign and glimpsed wheelbarrow imply, just more bloody building site stuff.
Being 42 