This one were Barry's. He rang on the Thursday evening — right trainer, grey, on the verge of the A638 near Dewsbury bus station, and did I want it. I said I'd confirm it Saturday, which is the rule and always will be: nowt goes in the register that I haven't stood in front of meself. Barry knows the rule better than anybody by now and I think he'd be disappointed in me if I ever bent it.
It were still there Saturday morning, which counts in a shoe's favour — two days on a main road verge and nobody had shifted it. Laces tied, which the notebook marks as odd, and it is odd, though what it means isn't the point of what I do. Condition fair. Cold, dry morning. The traffic made photography awkward, the verge being narrow and the A638 being the A638, and I got three usable photographs out of I don't remember how many attempts — the notebook only records the three that survived, which were the sensible system before I got sentimental about failures.
Barry stood by his car the whole time I were working. He does that. He'll drive twenty minutes to show you a shoe and then stand by his car like a man waiting for a lift he's already had. I've never asked him about it and I don't intend to. We had a few words about the Heckmondwike after, it being his patch more or less, and there were nowt new on that front, as usual. Then home. A tidy, well-run sighting, and Barry's third or fourth good one in twelve months, which I told him, and he nodded.
Written up August 2026, from the notebook.