A Tale of Two Halves

There's nothing like the Great British Summer (climate change aside) to remind you never to make assumptions in life.  You may recall from last week's blog (Winter Peach Photography: Time Bending), my video of the torrent of water running through the wood.  It was a rain storm of biblical proportions and made me at least as wet as if I had driven a Rolls Royce into a swimming pool, which would have been my preferred method of saturation, as opposed to traipsing through an area of woodland with denim clinging unceremoniously and in a deeply unflattering manner to my dripping flesh.

With the wet weather and slug assault on the garden in full force, I assumed summer was over....until the TV weather people started offering seductive glimmers of hope in the shape of a promised weekend of sizzling sunshine.  How fortuitous that we had arranged to see our friends Vicky (Vintage Vixen (vintagevixon.blogspot.com))  and Jon for the first time in way too long.  Today's blog, like the England vs Italy final, is a game of two halves.

I'm typing this in a cotton sun dress in 28 degree heat and basking in that special kind of Friday afternoon glow, courtesy of a pub lunch out (an alien concept these days, but only a short distance from our garden gate)...

...a monumental catch-up on a canal side walk and cheeky Friday afternoon gin (home measures) in the garden.  Suitably convinced that summer's back on, I can now bring myself to share with you some alternative photos from our recent trip to Devon.  After watching Rankin's recent TV photography challenge, I decided that I should try a warts and all approach to my photography and not just seek out the pretty pictures.  So here are a few bleak shots you won't see in a holiday brochure any time soon.

Here's a bench, a little way up Mars Hill in Lynmouth (trust me, you will need a rest even a third of the way up this hill) reclaimed by nature.

Being by the coast isn't all pastel coloured beach huts, glistening sand and sea shanties.  Seagulls are a growing menace and now, your average seagull is almost as big as an albatross.  Fact.  Conspiracy theorists (and there are plenty of those around now) might prefer to think of them as government drones.  Either way, they are great, white winged brutes.

Again, don't make assumptions.  One morning, we awoke to this - rolling sea mist - enough to bother any seaman trying to reach the harbour.  Within the hour, it had vanished.

Out on the wily, windy moor.

Run aground at Crow Point; a ship wreck retreating into the sand near Braunton.

A rear view of Damien Hirst's "Verity".  This was the best shot I could get given the people swarming around this infamous sculpture, on loan to the town of Ilfracombe for 20 years from its famous former resident.

Graphically showing  the foetus in her womb, Verity's not for everyone and caused controversy when it was unveiled in 2012.  Whatever your view, it's certainly striking and thought provoking.  How dramatic does she look, sword held aloft, looking out to sea?

Here's a shot of the sea....and not much more.  Coastal minimalism.

Given that this might be our last holiday with Covid restrictions in place (officially anyway), I thought I should record some of the signage for us all to look back on post Freedom Day (or collectively cry in our coffees to during their reappearance during the next lockdown).  Here's the distancing reminder on the approach to the funicular railway...

...and here's a rather creative way of marking out queueing distances outside the chippy.

Hats off to the Ancient Mariner Hotel in Lynmouth for this humorous set of instructions.

Finally - and you certainly won't see this on the Tourist Board website, but it happens in every city and in every town nationwide - leave a pane of glass long enough to gather a layer of dust and someone will feel obliged to inscribe a succinct message on it.  This pretty much summed up my feelings after the Euros final last Sunday.  That's not a comment on the players' ability by the way - more the pervading mood on Monday morning.

Still, enough of all that.  Back to colour.  I also took some time to capture the beautiful flowers in and around our holiday digs.   Roses were everywhere.  This beauty shed its petals in the churchyard, thus creating a faded pink carpet of rose petals; a second coming of sorts.

Another gorgeous display.

The foxgloves were still alive and kicking.

Along the coastal path, we spotted Sea Campion...,

....this pretty English Stonecroft succulent (I Googled this by the way),

....Sea Asters

and Common Birdsfoot Trefoil.

Evening Primroses also grew in abundance in the dunes at Crow Point, near Braunton - part of the Braunton Burrows Nature Reserve; a peninsula extending into the Taw and Torridge estuary.

Perhaps this is a good place to leave Devon and its delights.  Here's a photo that reminded me of the 1980s film starring Emily Lloyd, loosely based on the formative years of the eccentric suburban brothel keeper Cynthia Payne.  The film's title could also be the quintessential holiday postcard slogan for this image - Wish You Were Here.

Before I go, I'll leave you with this song from the successful young Irish band Inhaler, fronted by Bono's son, Elijah.  Their debut album has gone straight to number 1.  I think his voice definitely has echoes of his father's.  I quite like it.  

Inhaler - Cheer Up Baby (Official Video) - YouTube

So it's goodbye from us.   Here's to a splendid weekend.  What are you up to?

Eyes on the Prize

 Early May marked a return to ridiculously unpredictable weather and also the resurgence of ocular issues for me.

I had a pretty scary experience early in the year in the midst of the pandemic and was forced to come out of hiding and visit an Optician to diagnose the problem.  Being so passionate about photography, the thought of anything threatening my eyesight is truly terrifying.

This time, the symptoms were in my left eye and slightly different - odd episodes of shaky vision and flashes in my peripheral vision.  For a raging hypochondriac like me, my mind went into a spiral.  So, for the second time this year, I visited the Optician and had my pupils dilated.  Feeling like I'd had way too many espressos and closely resembling an alien, my eyes were thoroughly checked.  The optic nerves were examined and I had scans on my retinas.  The issues were the same as before - post vitreous detachment.  This basically means that the jelly comes away from the eyeball, tugging slightly on the retina.  This can interfere with light cells and cause flashes and floaters.  It can take months to settle.  My vision isn't impaired; it's just annoying.  This time, the jelly had detached quite cleanly and remains sitting on the surface, doing what jelly does best.  This explained the occasional wobble.  Despite all this, I was told that my eyes are good and I know the signs to look out for, should my retinas decide to detach themselves, which can happen on rare occasions.  

Anyhoo, I have a proper eye test this week, as I'm getting a bit squinty.  My prescription has definitely changed.  After all the trauma, I'm going to treat myself to some stylish frames.  So who should I channel?  Kylie Minogue?  (she designed some frames for Specsavers).  Dame Edna?  Whichever frames I opt for, I can guarantee one thing.  I will spend at least one month of the year looking for the damn things.

For the last few days, we have been taking therapeutic evening walks.  The fields around Highgate Common are bright yellow again.

The spring lambs are out in force.

We were also thrilled to see a number of hares gathering in one corner of a field.  They were so quick and from a distance, it was difficult to tell whether they were hares or rabbits, but I decided to linger for a while and sure enough, a fine example of that most elusive and magical of creatures leapt out of a hedge just metres away from me, before running off down a furrow in the field.  I had a clunky old Tamron zoom lens with me, which is difficult to focus on a moving subject in manual and even worse on Auto.  By the time the Auto setting has figured out what the hell is going on, your target has moved again!  So, manual focus is has to be.  Sadly, in the fleeting seconds the young hare was in my sight, this was the best I could get.  At least you can see his ears.  Fear not, I shall return!

Even though the high rise flats of Brierley Hill are still just visible on the horizon from any of the surrounding lanes, this place is so peaceful and rural.  Sheer bliss.  

Thursday's voting almost didn't happen, due to Dudley Council changing their Covid rules to allow only one voter at a time at the voting booth - even though there were partitions in place and room for four!  We were all wearing masks and honestly, how long does it take to put an X in a box (well 3 on this occasion)?  Nonetheless rules are rules and consequently, the queues were crazy.  Many people surrendered their democratic rights simply because they had to get to work or pick up their children from school.  Still, I got my documentary photo of pandemic voting and all its associated signage.

On Saturday night, we enjoyed another programme in the BBC2 series A Life in Pictures.  Anyone with even a passing interest in photography or the cult of celebrity will enjoy this portrayal of famous lives revealed in 10 defining moments caught on camera.  So far, the series has featured Tupac, Elizabeth Taylor and in the latest episode, Muhammed Ali, which was fascinating.  

Sunday marked a day of exploration, as we headed for the Shropshire hills of Church Stretton and Carding Mill Valley.  The highlight of the day was an historic garden encompassing Rectory Wood.  The Rector of Church Stretton in 1749 - Professor John Mainwaring - a theologian and Fellow of St. John's College, Cambridge, just so happened to be good friends with one Lancelot "Capability" Brown.  Mainwaring designed and laid out the landscaped gardens under the watchful and expert eye of his friend.

We stumbled across this stunning woodland glade on our way back from Carding Mill Valley when we decided to take a different path back to town.  This yew ringed pool with its dam, cascade and Gothic folly overlooked by beech trees was just stunning.  This was one of the earliest features and allegedly, these trees were planted at this time.  I quite expected to see water nymphs bathing here.  It was magical.

As if this wasn't mystical enough, the ancient tree spirits were also in evidence, keeping watch over the footpath.  

The journey home took us past another favourite landmark of mine.  It's certainly historic, but not in any conventional sense.  Still, I think it's a thing of beauty and I can never resist parking up to photograph it whenever we pass.  That said, I'm frustrated that I know very little about the building's past or its current ownership status.  I decided to put out a call on Twitter and my post was shared and shared again and I think I might be on the cusp of speaking to the owner, so fingers crossed, images and info will follow.

I really have to go now, as Lotte the cat has somehow managed to ascend the wisteria growing up the side of the house, reaching guttering level.  She's now looking somewhat confused.  What a way to sign off a post!  Have a good week!