Send three and four pence, we're going to a dance
St Petersburg still looks like a bad postcard of itself. As though the old off-set printing press is running low on magenta again. Under a cyan sky I always found the port of St Petersburg fascinating and beautiful. The journey from the gangway to interrogation at the port gate should have taken half an hour but always took two. And if a train was trundling across the road at walking pace when you returned you were in trouble. It could be two miles long and there was no way around it. Nothing to do but sit on the kerb and read between the lines. Where have you been, with your ore there I'd quiz. Siberia?
I can't find the engine house or rear carriage on the negatives so I mustn't have photographed them. Reasons unclear. Perhaps I just couldn't see them.