Land of Nod

Posted in East, North with tags on April 21, 2014 by enchantedisle

New post on a trip to the Land of Nod on my Slow York Tumblr blog –

Land of Nod roadsign.NEF


Eastern Bloc cranking exploits

Posted in Crank, East with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 9, 2014 by enchantedisle

For those who are partial to this kind of thing. My crankhandle smugmug site (in all its much better new version glory) is now home to some new photostories on the heavy duty cranking thrills that can be had behind the former Iron Curtain. First up is a trip along the Baltic coast from Hel (Poland) to Narva (Estonia) which can be found here:

Riga yards coal train.NEF

Soviet steam in Moscow can be found here –

soviet loco departs.NEF

And Red Oktober in Deepest Derbyshire can be found here –

Berlin tram and autumn colours-0119

Get on board

Trans Pennine Trail

Posted in North with tags on February 9, 2014 by enchantedisle

Enjoyed doing this in 2013 – here’s the photo essay on the trip…


Batley project

Posted in North with tags on February 9, 2014 by enchantedisle

New photographic project…work in progress…can be found here:

Batley was the rough end of West Yorkshire’s heavy woollen district. Epic Irish slums turning out what was known as Shoddy. Taking wool rags and clothes and recycling them into carpets, blankets and uniforms. More illiterate Irish flood in. Shoddy Barons, a shoddy King, a shoddy temple. Good times. An inland port. The valley channels the lorries and vans along the strip. The North’s lost Vegas. The Batley Varieties. Or now like a wild west town after the railroad moved. The Batley Varieties is now the Frontier nightclub. Fabulous Victorian and Edwardian buildings laid out like film sets. The Hollywood nightclub. In a country that wasn’t so unbalanced they would have been snapped up long ago frozen into universal chi chi. Now they pass from rough house owner to rough house owner.

This road is always in transition – cheerfully careless with its heritage. Cheerful gargoyles look down. Always buying and selling. Profits are imported and exported – rise to the hilltops like smoke. Like they always did. Round every corner a boarded up pub – it could still be open. The last locals standing joined by the van drivers, the lorry drivers, the lost souls of the road – the long afternoon mutates as the trucks vibrate the window sill dust. Are you lonesome tonight? Or it could be a place of worship. Valley of the temples. Spiritualism, tabernacles, the society of friends, masons. Now full of pallets, and old cloths for recycling. All piled up – looking for a buyer. You turn the corner and wonder what you will see next.



Peatlands Way

Posted in East, North with tags , , , , , , , on January 15, 2013 by enchantedisle

CCTV2.NEF Drax plume ripplesPicture story of the 50 mile circular Peatlands Way walk     iswan duo tonen South Yorkshire and North East Lincolnshire can be found here. The walk takes in the Humberhead Peatlands – the largest complex of lowland raised peat bogs in the country and well off the beaten track.


Posted in East with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 15, 2013 by enchantedisle

Picture story of three week trip through Georgia can be found here

Feat: pipeline politics, animal sacrifices near the Chechen border and Cosmic Communist Constructions Photographed

Image Image

Crosby Beach in the Stuck Summer

Posted in North with tags on July 26, 2012 by enchantedisle

The rubble extends the land
Spills out onto the beach like no longer legal tender from under a mattress of green grass
Lintels, colonnades, vitreous tiles, bricks from Accrington and Flintshire
Merchants mansions, warehouses, profitable enterprises
All the bombsites and slum clearances of the North
The bonfires on the brick dust plains crackle
All Unbuilded here

Sea softened house bricks like half sucked lozenges
Neutered irresolute projectiles
Fired plankton regurgitated by doubting whales
Bricks like a million unrecorded thoughts, intents, projects
The residue of burnt out neurons
Bricks that can’t build boxes

Turbines slice the fat air
Lack vanity
Like bicycle spokes
Scandinavia she said
Our lady of the sea

Jellyfish fall upwards – fuse with the sand
Great lesions of rust

In the walled gardens
The boosters boost the boosters
Unfurl their exquisite antennae
Tend and succour new words
Write words everywhere
Unveil statues, murals

The city becomes a museum of itself
Feasts on its own memories
Healed by the memory of itself
Quiets its phantom limb
Makes itself invisible