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hirezI've gone on before about the old Severn ferry at Aust. Today I finally got around to visiting the site and taking a few photos.
I'm not entirely sure why I'm fascinated with the landscape between motorways. It seems like there's this great patch of the county I call home which is purposely hard to get to. When you do find your way in, you discover roads that just stop, red 'phone kiosks gone pink and peeling with age and weather, petrol pumps still marked in gallons, yellow-and-black signage, warning notices from the CEGB... I kept expecting to see things take on that strange kind of Eastman/Fuji oversaturated tinge, or Emma Peel belting by on the way to save one of the nuclear power-stations.
So... Here we see the second bridge looking curved and far away in the manner of something having its picture took by a chap who can't work a camera to save his life. Meanwhile, the bit of paving where Bob Dylan stood in 1966 is looking apropriately overgrown. To the right is what's left of the ticket office: The gent's bogs. You probably can't make out the turnstile due to camera-related excusework above. Though the paved apron and (wooden, festering quietly) pier are fenced off, if you walk toward the first Severn bridge you can find a patch of fence that's 'fallen down' thus allowing access for the intrepid toilet explorer. Since I'm not as intrepid as some, you'll have to take my word for it that the pier is in a parlous state. The 'old' bridge, however, is looking as splendid as ever.
Oh, and... My entry for the 'Pylon of the month' website is this fine edifice.
[ Don't believe me about Bob Dylan? Evidence.]
I'm not entirely sure why I'm fascinated with the landscape between motorways. It seems like there's this great patch of the county I call home which is purposely hard to get to. When you do find your way in, you discover roads that just stop, red 'phone kiosks gone pink and peeling with age and weather, petrol pumps still marked in gallons, yellow-and-black signage, warning notices from the CEGB... I kept expecting to see things take on that strange kind of Eastman/Fuji oversaturated tinge, or Emma Peel belting by on the way to save one of the nuclear power-stations.
So... Here we see the second bridge looking curved and far away in the manner of something having its picture took by a chap who can't work a camera to save his life. Meanwhile, the bit of paving where Bob Dylan stood in 1966 is looking apropriately overgrown. To the right is what's left of the ticket office: The gent's bogs. You probably can't make out the turnstile due to camera-related excusework above. Though the paved apron and (wooden, festering quietly) pier are fenced off, if you walk toward the first Severn bridge you can find a patch of fence that's 'fallen down' thus allowing access for the intrepid toilet explorer. Since I'm not as intrepid as some, you'll have to take my word for it that the pier is in a parlous state. The 'old' bridge, however, is looking as splendid as ever.
Oh, and... My entry for the 'Pylon of the month' website is this fine edifice.
[ Don't believe me about Bob Dylan? Evidence.]
no subject
Date: 2003-06-16 03:14 pm (UTC)It's the ephemera like that that's important. The missing roads and the way things peter out rather than stopping where they meet the water. Almost as if the landscape isn't finished and fades out into charcoal sketchwork and the edge of the canvas.
[ Shrug ]
Or I'm justifying a need to get out of the house and look closely at things, rather than observing from the motorway.