Casinos and kebabs
We walk up the damp grey black city road and carefully cross it to reach the island in the middle; a friendly driver stops and waves us across. We put our hand up to show our appreciation for his kindness. It's cold and the wind is blowing strong. The news says a new low pressue system has just passed over the British Isles.
Reflections
It's taken over a week since I took a photo sitting on the balcony in Recoleta in Buenos Aires, where I wrote my final, written blog entry (which for now will stay for my eyes only) to begin writing again. Sometimes, this happened while travelling - there was so much to take in that I felt unable to write until I found time to publish many articles all in succession; even if it felt like I was cheating not writing in the exact place.
On the balcony in Recoleta. 34 degrees.
lunes, el 28 de enero 2019
However, writing seemed to take me back there. Now, sitting on another long bus journey has stirred up the need to write once more. This trip is four hours, a mere blink of an eye compared to some.
Back to the grit
Having crossed over we turn up the road, where a medley of grubby-looking kebab shops, tattoo parlours and casinos dot the road, bringing in the punters. Here, life has spilled out onto the street and several olive skinned, heavily bearded men from the local community adopt their respective positions on this road. They are hanging here. Suddenly, the area is quite dirty and run down and although I know this area is sketchy, it feels a mere patch on some of the neighbourhoods I've been in, we don't join the crowd.
One dark bearded man has his iphone out and is pointing it in our direction. We both glance over our shoulders to see what has drawn his attention: a police car has just pulled up and police officers are placing cuffs on a man who isn't resisting arrest.
We both look at each other and I can't help but mutter "oh dear."
I wonder if the iphone managed to zoom on the arrest and am left thinking where that photo might have ended up.
Not the street mentioned. Near Piccadilly, Manchester.
Manchester
Sabado el 9 de febrero 2019
Salford
Reflections
It's taken over a week since I took a photo sitting on the balcony in Recoleta in Buenos Aires, where I wrote my final, written blog entry (which for now will stay for my eyes only) to begin writing again. Sometimes, this happened while travelling - there was so much to take in that I felt unable to write until I found time to publish many articles all in succession; even if it felt like I was cheating not writing in the exact place.
On the balcony in Recoleta. 34 degrees.
lunes, el 28 de enero 2019
However, writing seemed to take me back there. Now, sitting on another long bus journey has stirred up the need to write once more. This trip is four hours, a mere blink of an eye compared to some.
Back to the grit
Having crossed over we turn up the road, where a medley of grubby-looking kebab shops, tattoo parlours and casinos dot the road, bringing in the punters. Here, life has spilled out onto the street and several olive skinned, heavily bearded men from the local community adopt their respective positions on this road. They are hanging here. Suddenly, the area is quite dirty and run down and although I know this area is sketchy, it feels a mere patch on some of the neighbourhoods I've been in, we don't join the crowd.
One dark bearded man has his iphone out and is pointing it in our direction. We both glance over our shoulders to see what has drawn his attention: a police car has just pulled up and police officers are placing cuffs on a man who isn't resisting arrest.
We both look at each other and I can't help but mutter "oh dear."
I wonder if the iphone managed to zoom on the arrest and am left thinking where that photo might have ended up.
Manchester
Sabado el 9 de febrero 2019
Salford
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