We may have snow, my news feed talks of a 'snow bomb' where are the journalists coming from today?
Snow: it is that white stuff, beautiful until it gets walked upon, then it goes down into a sludgy mess. People complain, their cars get stuck, the roads and pavements gets gritted, and as we sprinkle salt on our steps to stop the icing up, it becomes a nuisance.
But I have been away to the far reaches of Shipley, which is roughly about an hour away on the trains. That is if they are running of course. One notice up on the train board, was that the train had not left the depot and immediately this train had a personality, and I saw it sulking in its shed because it hadn't got its favourite driver. Roll on Thomas the Tank Engine.
But its bleak out there in Bradford as you cross from one station to another. I marvel at the great retaining walls that protect the tracks from landfalls. I marvel at the great Victorian buildings of this civic town. They tower above me crushing the human spirit and carrying the message it is only money that can build in such style. We pass the rail arches, last time there were tents housed in these dark holes, and my daughter would not let me take photos because I was so angry about them. This weekend they seemed empty, but she reckoned they would be back at night. She and Andrew had come by one night when the food van was there and she said hundreds were there, maybe we could reduce that figure down to a hundred but this is England in the raw.
Andrew is such a good host ;) food delicious. The flat overlooks the canal in Shipley, and so one is entertained by cyclists, runners, dog walkers strolling along the path and once I had told Andrew to fill his bird feeder immediately, for the small flock of sparrows that live in the hedge below.
We went to Salt Mill, I have written of it elsewhere, a great cathedral of a place, once dedicated to the thrum of looms. Wandered round its vast interior and had tea and cakes in its brightly lit (and warm) cafe. On the ground floor, there is a generous display of art books, I would call them 'coffee table books' to impress one's visitors, and I bought a couple of cards of an artist Simon Palmer, who had a space down there. Mostly his artwork is about trees and landscape in an individual style.
It was darkening outside but as went down by the paintings and drawings on the wall there was the most beautiful music. A choir reverberated from the tall ceilings and it caught the heart, people stopped and just listened. A magic moment.