I’ve lived within a few yards of this door for twenty-one years and have absolutely no idea what is behind it. It seems to simply go into nothing: on the other side, so far as one can tell, there is merely a large clump of undergrowth. I genuinely feel that this might be a portal into another dimension. Or perhaps a secret MI6 rendition chamber. (But probably it’s just an old coal cellar.)
August ends with a glorious evening. I certainy haven’t been among those who have complained about the weather this summer: bring it on, I say. In the distance, the northern bits of the town of Bury. Why there? It was just where the feet took me.
If this garage did ever offer the services suggested here, it doesn’t do so any more. This abandoned lot sits near Batley rail station, a town making its debut on the blog today, albeit unglamorously. The nob graffito is the final touch.
Less sunny that it has been, so the light wasn’t great today and I made only brief forays out of the house. At least, on this, one of the very few pictures I tried today, I got the focus right.
One wouldn’t think Burnley would be on a direct route from Leeds to Liverpool but the canal bearing that name does take a rather roundabout course. It’s a pastoral spot in a town that doesn’t have a reputation for rural charm. The rule of thirds works well enough on this shot.
It’s early in the year to see one of these outside, but here one is, scaling what to it is a substantial crag: actually it’s the capstone of a wall next to a car park. We’re both out and about fairly early, in different ways.
This is a very boring photo. In that respect it epitomises my day perfectly. The title of the post says it all.
The Railway pub has featured very regularly on here down the years, but it’s had its long bouts of closure in the last decade; two flood-related and last year’s thanks to the Great Fear, with it not even reopening during the relatively Fear-free summer of 2020. And because of that, I drifted away…. until this afternoon, anyway. There was still not much happening on the picnic tables now set up round the back, but it’s an excuse to present a study of shapes and colours, at least.
I don’t pose or stage photos for this blog. But sometimes I do choose them in advance. A year ago today I was walking in the Lake District. When I got home, all had changed. So, today, to mark one year since Bojo the Clown couldn’t decide what else to do and stuck us all under house arrest, here’s a tribute to a certain early 1980s rock album with which some of you may be familiar. The walls must come down, there is no alternative. How this happens is largely up to us: even if Authority will insist it’s up to them.
I thought as I walked past this guy, at first, that his facial mask was somewhat excessive even for the present. Then I saw what he was doing. It’s a way of stopping people painting ‘JOHNSON OUT’ on this wall, at least.
Being 42 