I'm in Bristol at the moment, having delivered some pictures for an exhibition in the Deepest Cotswolds; more about that later. I thought I'd get some odd looks, handing over a well-wrapped package from one car boot to another in the car park at Gordano Services, but that's the sort of place a motorway service station is, isn't it? A classic post-modern nowhere place, where everyone is in transit, and normality is in permanent suspension.
I took a walk this afternoon along Bristol's Portway towards, beneath and beyond the Suspension Bridge, another liminal place, where the constant traffic fills the air with noxious fumes. I've probably shortened my life by a whole ten minutes, but it's an interesting stretch of road, with some incredible Georgian and Victorian riverside architecture marooned by the needs of modern transport, and it's the best place to see Avon River mud when the tide is out.
For some reason crows like to play along the muddy banks; I expect they're just curious about what has washed up today. This one had a go at pipe-walking, but had a tumble halfway along. Argh!
[N.B. I've edited these on my laptop, which is why the colours, etc., may look a bit odd].
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