Yesterday I went to Manchester. It was wet.
‘Why, Pip, did you go to Manchester?’ I hear you ask.
Well, dear reader, I went to a seminar about ebook production, where Nigel Marsh (Publishing Operations Director for Faber & Faber) told us everything there is to know. I was going to write a long blog post about ebooks… but then I changed my mind. I might do something like that later, but for now I’m just going to show you some pretty pictures.
The seminar was held at the International Anthony Burgess Foundation. This is a strange beast. I’m not sure what it eats, or how it spends its time (perhaps it is a vegetarian, and simply grazes on the buddleia which is rampant on the nearby wasteland). It lives in Chorlton Mill, which has evidently been done up as offices and/or living spaces, and is an imposing building.
While in the belly of the beast listening to Mr Marsh’s wise words, I was occasionally distracted by my surroundings. In particular, the ceiling. Who in their right mind would make a ceiling from bricks? It must have been a nightmare to build, and you’d have to be damn sure the mortar is strong enough to keep the bricks (which, I would remind you, are reasonably heavy, and would cause quite a dent in one’s skull were they to descend upon one’s head from a great height) in place. It’d only take one of them to wriggle free and you could have a hole in your ceiling and a dead person on your floor.
There were also some pretty cabinets dotted around the walls of the beast’s belly… presumably to hold its hoard of gold and jewels.
And then on the way back to the station I noticed this bit of wall. It was easy to take a photo as I didn’t have to juggle my umbrella and my camera at the same time – it’s under the railway bridge.
I think it’s something about the colours in this that particularly appealed to me. And the decay.
On the way home I felt ill. It wasn’t much fun, but I got a bit of work done, and a lot of looking out of the window. It’s a beautiful train journey, across the Peak District. One scene that stuck in my mind was a cemetery, graves neatly laid out in rows, right next to an allotment, plants neatly laid out in rows. There’s a poem in that…
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