Humber Bridge, East Yorks. Passers by with camera phones and even drones taking stock of the sunset. Complete strangers came walking up with pet pooches, breathing “Isn’t it beautiful!!’ Beautiful yes, but wickedly cold. Forecast – 10 by the end of the week.
Drizzle and changing light, Humber Bridge Country Park, low tide.
When, Oh When, is this British winter going to give way to Spring?
Not before I’ve risked hypothermia by jumping out of the car for a few seconds to snap a coastal resort devoid of all but a couple of brave souls doing a beach survey in arctic winds. There was even less inducement to pause elsewhere with ominous clouds hovering on the horizon, so only a small clutch of photos taken at traffic lights etc.
The one that got away was a majestic speckled sparrowhawk perched on a signpost on the Wold’s Way. Too much deep mud in field gates to turn around, and it probably would have flown anyway. The forecast hints at more snow to come. Oh joy.
Time to kill this afternoon, with a wintry walk along the dock side in Hull. The stroll soon degenerated into picking among the debris of ruinous facades.
Plans for major redevelopment of historic port buildings never came to fruition, and after vandalism and arson attacks, their fate hangs in the balance. Dangerous and unstable, the old Lord Line building is now the haunt of seagulls and graffiti artists.
Near the water, there is a simple memorial to those men – fathers, brothers, sons, – who lost their lives at sea on local trawlers.
Not many subjects provoke the urge to reach for charcoal, or mixed media, but these buildings have a gritty, dark edge and an imposing – if fragile – presence that commands respect.