DUCIE STREET, MANCHESTER 6.49am

The Piccadilly Eastern sky was covered in cloud, so that no stars were visible. Blackbirds sang urgently, as if hurrying me up, worried that I’d not be ready for first light as I meandered around Ducie Street. The area was far from peaceful and quiet, even at this early hour. It felt as if nothing would remain the same for long here.

A concrete mixer crept slowly by, looking for a place to settle. I silently urged him on, away from where I’d set up, which was looking towards a strange facade, an example of how a brick wall might look once the new development was finished. Behind it was a finished but now unloved example of a brick wall, a solid gable end, that had stood for well over a hundred years, now being gradually surrounded by new buildings, choked until it would no longer exist.

Young men rushed by in sweat stained lycra, running before work. As they panted out conversation to each other, their accents suggested they weren’t originally from the city. A small rat shot across Pigeon Street, currently closed off whilst a new vision is realised.

My dawn ended in front of the Jolly Angler. I thought of the times I’d spent in there. Music sessions. Gatherings of eclectic, eccentric individuals. Drinks with friends. Aware of its fate,the word execution came to mind.

As I gathered up my things, once the street lights had gone off, a man dressed entirely in camouflage fatigues strode past, the dust of construction covering his boots and trousers. He looked at me, and held my gaze without smiling. Behind him the clouds thinned, revealing a band of dull gold above the distant horizon.

Not Quite Light, exploring the transition in Manchester through the half light of dawn and dusk. Each week I photograph the changing city, looking at the redevelopment in Manchester and Salford.