Up at the other end of town the start of the 21st century saw a new curvy landmark bridge, wheelchair and bicycle accessible. Here on our 19th century bridge we still have steps to climb. One day perhaps there will be a sweep of slope to carry us over the river, but not yet.

Lit up with bright white light, Scarborough Bridge looks friendlier than it used to. Some of its shabbier parts are hidden in shadow. Alongside the walkway on the right are new decks for the rail lines, put in place earlier this year, a massive and impressive feat of engineering.

While organised and orchestrated events alter the city’s landscape with light, the citizens make their own smaller marks on the city’s fabric. Here the light glints off the many ‘love locks’ attached to the mesh alongside the walkway of the bridge.

From the bridge, looking towards the city centre, where everything is illuminated just as it always is, by the ordinary street lighting and floodlighting we take for granted, and that trusty old moon.

On the opposite riverbank we found a large flock of geese, with many gently roosting, heads tucked under wings. We approached quietly and thoughtfully, not wanting to startle them. And stood by them, and stared out at the river and the lights. All gentle and calm. The York Rescue Boat went past, heading towards Lendal Bridge and the city centre beyond.

Other pedestrians approached, loud and chatty, and the geese shifted and woke and grumbled and a couple of the people passing made as if to grab one of them, and we stood by like guardians, ready to intervene if necessary. Watching the way the flock behaved, how the atmosphere changed.

And then homewards, back over Lendal Bridge, towards Bootham, passing the art gallery and Exhibition Square. Where the buildings and the fountain and the statue are illuminated, presumably nothing to do with the Illuminating York festival, just quietly pleasing all of the time. Like so many things around here.

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Ouse Bridge, Saturday night. A Saturday night when the races were on. A short film.

According to press reports over the summer York has become a ‘no go’ area at the weekends. So we thought we’d go there specially, to see just how dreadful and shocking it was.

Nothing particularly shocking was noticed. Though there was a man playing bagpipes.

We’ve been hearing a lot of consternation about stag and hen parties, particularly those carrying inflatable phalluses, and news of York’s alleged problem with ‘gigantic willies’ even reached the national press. The headline reported what ‘locals say’. Or some of them. Some locals recognise that rowdiness and bawdiness of visiting groups of people having a wild old time at the weekend is also part of York’s heritage and culture, and always has been.

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Envelope found on the pavement by the river reminded us that it was ‘Father’s Day’. If Dad deliberately tossed this envelope onto the floor he wasn’t setting a very good example, was he.

On the riverside railings, interesting information on Anglian York, and a fearsome-looking fish

Increasingly rare sighting – a litter bin. Where that Dad should have disposed of his envelope.
And ‘Layer’ again — apparently York’s most active graffiti tagger.

… And round the corner, the picturesque layers of Lendal Tower.

On the opposite bank, the interesting roof of Barker Tower, with bright lichen.

Dear old All Saints Lane … once a delightful short cut-through, now just another gated place.

‘Flares’, on Tanner Row. We spent a long time trying to remember what it used to be called, years ago.

Moooo. Unexpected cattle, in a passageway on North Street

Tiled doorway on Micklegate. Was this Cross the fishmonger? Or a different Cross? It’s not a fishmonger’s now, anyway.

On what’s generally a disappointingly gloomy solstice evening, a dramatic and late burst of sunlight

New hardware shop on Micklegate: Granville’s of York

Cleaned-up frontages on the slowly gentrifying Micklegate, and a grubbier neighbour

And that same late sunlight catches and illuminates one side of Micklegate Bar

So few garages in the city centre now, where once they were many. A surprisingly central one, on Priory St

Sad and lonely chair in a small seating area on Nunnery Lane

Splendid Scarcroft School, looming out of the gathering gloom

On Albermarle Road, always good to meet a local cat …

… which was in the middle of a bit of a stand-off with this other cat, both hanging about near the allotments …

… this one perhaps wanted to guide us to this lovely rusty bit of old metal …

Behind a wall, in the grounds of All Saints School, a hen party remnant

Heading back, over Dicky Bridge in Holgate, which has always and forever been decorated with graffiti, over and over

Dusk falls over the east coast main line, heading south

And we pass under the lines heading north, while a train rumbles overhead.

And emerge from the tunnel into the darkening night of the longest day.

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A very short film. You’ll need the sound enabled, to hear the train going over.

On the evening of the solstice we were out for a walk and passed through here. It’s not the most pleasant place in York, but it’s certainly atmospheric, particularly when the trains go over while you’re in it. There’s a bit where you’re not enclosed as much by the whiteness as a dark space looms above your head. This has pigeons roosting in it, hence the pause and change of camera angle at one point.

If that doesn’t appeal, here’s a still image instead.

And yes, there was a light at the end of the tunnel, as people always say there is.

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