The Beginning of the End?

 Last weekend we immersed ourselves in Shropshire's industrial heritage.  After learning that human caused climate change made last week's record-breaking heatwave at least 10 times more likely, we headed to Ironbridge.  It's now something of a bitter pill to swallow that the long celebrated town, named after the world's first iron bridge erected over the River Severn at Coalbrookdale in 1779 and its spectacular wooded gorge, together formed the birthplace of the Industrial Revolution, but also set the world on a dangerous trajectory.  It's also ironic that thousands of tourists add to their carbon footprints every year by flying in to visit the very place responsible for one of the world's most pressing issues.

I didn't photograph the bridge.  I'm sure it's familiar to most.  Instead, I opted to focus on the little details on our walk from Jackfield Tile Museum..

...along a well trodden path in the gloriously cool shade of the old railway track, such as the fragrant honeysuckle claiming the iron railings....

... past a cottage or two untroubled by time.

Here's the lesser known Jackfield Bridge, half a mile downstream from Ironbridge.  The old free Jackfield Bridge was build in 1909 to avoid tolls on the Iron Bridge and Coalport Bridge further downstream.  It deteriorated over time and in 1993 was demolished and replaced by this striking structure, built by Alfred McAlpine.

On Sunday, we were greeted by warm winds and drizzle, perfect conditions to explore the creepily atmospheric location of Titterstone Clee in Shropshire - a dramatic winding climb to 533 meters above sea level.  It is the third highest hill in Shropshire.

The Shropshire hills are renowned for their wild beauty, valleys and quaint market towns, but less so for the industrial relics clinging on close to the summit of Titterstone.  In medieval times, ironstone and later coal were mined, in particular from bell pits (shallow workings)  Over the years, large numbers of quarries were opened up on Titterstone Clee to exploit the dolerite or "dhu stone" named after the Welsh word for black.  Incidentally, nearby Ludlow was once the capital of Wales.  All but one are now abandoned...and abandoned places are a magnet to someone like me.

Conditions can change rapidly on Clee Hill.  I can certainly vouch for this.  Some years ago, I worked at my employer's Ludlow office for four months; an hour long commute which took me over the top of Clee Hill.  One evening, I was forced to pull into a layby in my little Mini when the thickest fog I have ever seen swept dramatically up and over the hillside, engulfing everything in its path.  

It was therefore unsurprising that there were only two other crazy people up close to the windswept summit last Sunday.   One was safely ensconced inside the van.  The other was taking in the moonscape that was the car park.

There is in fact evidence of human activity stretching back to the Bronze Age on this bleak and barren hill, but conditions restricted us to a wander around the weirdly brutal concrete and brick relics of a century of quarrying and stone processing.  I'm not a shrinking violet, but I have to say, I would not want to be stranded here alone.  For a more vibrant visual tour, scroll down for my sinister little video edit.

A little further and within spitting distance of the summit, is the Radar and Communications station with a footpath running around the perimeter.

You can just pick out the harsh geometric lines of the station's infrastructure poking through the mist.

As the weather grew increasingly inclement with buffeting wind and the discovery that my raincoat wasn't fit for purpose, we headed back to the safety of the car.

A windscreen shot of the sheep searching for shelter.

A truly fascinating place.  So there you go, the origins of industry and a post apocalyptic landscape in one cheery little blog post.

Somewhere in the Shropshire Hills. - YouTube

Desperately Seeking Shade

Forgive the plagiarism of the Madonna film, but I have been immersed in all things 1980s this week.  I'm organising a staged shoot in September to promote my elopement photography.  My concept is a 1980s inspired woodland elopement (think artsy, boho 1980s as opposed to the bridal froth of Princess Di) with a Stranger Things vibe.  My mood board is overflowing and I'm amassing a great team of suppliers, including a local model, who just so happens to be a Kate Bush fan, a Stranger Things devotee and lover of all things 1980s.  Coincidentally, Chloe grew up visiting my chosen woodland location as a child.  Her boyfriend, Tim, who has also agreed to take part, is even rocking an 80s mullet hairstyle.  Serendipity!  

Immersing myself in work and play has never been more important after the loss of Caroline.  We said goodbye in style on Thursday, all wearing a splash of colour to reflect her personality.  As sad as the service was, it was a fitting tribute, with a church full to capacity and the celebration of her life became just that, in the sunny garden of a 17th Century coaching inn.  Caroline would have found this photograph highly amusing.  

A guest was forced to abandon her shoes at one point in order to cope with the humidity, steps and uneven surfaces on her travels to converse with everyone.  Caroline was diminutive in stature and always appreciated a decent pair of heels; even more so a party.  She would have approved.

Having already been excused from jury service to attend the funeral, performing my civic duty turned into a non event.  I'd been rehearsing my dramatic "Guilty" voice (I jest) and bracing myself for a lengthy deliberation where I would give my best Henry Fonda turn in the jury room, but it was not to be.  Every evening, I would receive the email to say that I was not required to attend Court the following day and at the time of writing (Friday evening), I have formally been discharged from jury service.  

Given that the UK racked up its hottest temperatures on record, the central region, we reached a high of 36 degrees on Tuesday, the fact that I wasn't required was met with some relief.  

This photo was taken when I was pondering whether or not to venture into the garden.  Our view from the kitchen window, looking at the monster potted Gunnera Manicata outside; the light reflecting the kitchen cupboards behind me.

I went for it.  We have never been more appreciative of our woodland garden, which allowed for short bursts of exposure of sun on our pale English skin en route to the shade of the trees at the very top.  Here's a sun accented wild geranium at the bottom of the garden.

Old windchimes, claimed by spiders, glinting in the sunlight.

The rising sun in a cloudless sky just kissing the top of the laurel bush.

The corkscrew hazel twisting the light....

....and who did I find at the very top, hiding out in the tree house, which of course, now belongs to her?  Lotte the cat of course.  Lotte divided her time between the laurel bushes and the tree house, refusing to accept that it was actually cooler in the house.

On my return journey, I spotted the lace cap hydrangea blooming...

...glimpsed the house through the shade of the trees...

...admired the honeysuckle (very briefly, as by now, I was feeling scorchio)

...and paused for an ivy shadow selfie.

This photo reminded me of a series of barley shots I took a number of years ago, which included this weird and wonderful shot.  Can you see the barley spirit?

We sadly had regular visits from the fire service because it's seemingly impossible to educate some people as to the dangers of setting fire to tinder box dry woodland vegetation.  I wonder if they would feel remorse if the houses were engulfed in flames and lives lost?  

Rewinding a little to a day or so before temperatures peaked, we were able to visit a vintage store I had discovered online.  It's the area's best kept secret crammed to bursting with all manner of antiques and collectibles.  I will be back because there was a Victorian Carriage Cloak with my name on it (although the price tag requires some alteration)!

We also made friend with this beautiful black cat, who I'm calling Johnny Cash because he's the man in black and walks the line.

On our regular walks, I took this golden view from Kinver Edge...

...photographed the spiders' webs - from a safe distance...

...spotted this badly parked narrow boat...

...and indulged in more cat stalking.

I'll leave you with a short video I took on Monday from the shady top of the garden.  With the temperature already breaking all UK records, we suddenly experienced an unexpected rain shower.  It lasted for a blissful 2 minutes and felt like divine intervention.

Divine Intervention: An unexpected rain shower on the hottest day ever recorded in the UK. - YouTube

Sound and Colour

My troublesome lumbar discs have been troublesome of late, hence my absence from Blogland last week.  I could barely walk properly, let alone sit down and type.  

Whilst swimming is usually the exercise of choice for loosening muscles, I took, what turned out to be a misguided trip to the pool.  Although my swim initially alleviated symptoms, they were back with a vengeance later that day and that evening, I found I was unable to turn over in bed without excruciating pain.  Ice packs and anti inflammatory tablets were the order of the day, accompanied by copious amounts of chuntering.  I even purchased one of those support belts, but eventually saw the light and brought forward my monthly tune up with Nigel the Chiropractor.  

On the walk down, I marvelled at the Cherry Blossom.  Call me a Diva, but I would like to walk everywhere, always, on a carpet of pink petals.

I'm still a little stiff, but the painful spasms have subsided enough for me to sit down for a type and a chat.  In terms of swimming, with lower disc problems, the choices appear to be breast stroke with front crawl leg kicks (although coming up for air can result in lower back pressure) or back stroke.  In the meantime, walking never hurt anyone!  We all know boots are made for walking and there's a stonking pair coming up shortly.

So what have I been up to since my last post?  Well, the teen of the house had a party during the last weekend of the Easter holidays and we were banished to the bedroom.  We would have gone out for the evening, but Gareth was in the throes of the dreaded lurgy I had magnanimously shared with him.  So, after an evening stroll, we snuck in through the front door, greeted a gaggle of girls in the hallway with the words: "You haven't seen us!" and promptly disappeared upstairs with a bottle of wine.  We left them variously gathered around the partially completed fire pit area (formerly dominated by a bramble entangled trampoline) and spilling into the house.

My memories of the past couple of weeks are sketchy to say the least.  There has been a great deal of admin and the kind of mundane day to day activities that I pretend not to participate in for the purposes of an entertaining blog.  

I took a few woodland-in-spring shots.  Pictured here are the highly invasive Spanish Bluebells....

....although we do have some native Bluebells dotted here and there.

Forget-me-nots.

Tree shadow puppetry.

Look!  Not one, but two Buzzards!

Other snapshots from this period include a flock of homing pigeons circling over some local rooftops.  

Last Saturday, I played second shooter at a local wedding, although my back was groaning after a short drive to an area of bluebells to capture the happy couple in all of nature's glory.  Still, it was a small price to pay for such a stunning scene.   Here are just a few shots from the happy occasion...

...and an experimental "colour wash" photo (I was probably high on painkillers at the time, but quite like the result).

It does seem a crime to do black and white edits of such vibrant spring colours, but I can't resist the drama.  What do you think?

When I returned home, Gareth surprised me with this pair of Loblan cowboy boots I had been eyeing up for ages.  The company was formed in 1959 and has carved out a reputation for quality raw materials and painstaking workmanship.  Priced steeply at £65.00 (second hand), I decided to monitor the situation periodically in the hope that they would reduce the price.  Finally, they had were reduced to half price and Gareth snapped them up.  They are a size 5 and I'm a 6, so I'm hoping they will fit.  In my decrepit state and with Gareth's assistance, I managed to get one boot on, which felt OK, but I will wait until I'm fully recovered before trying to wrestle these beauties on for a proper outing.

I also bagged a world famous 1970s Dartmouth Pottery Gurgle Fish Jug for £2.50 on the way back from having my back tuned.  It has taken pride of place in the upstairs bathroom in front of one of our old stained glass windows and does indeed gurgle, when water is poured from its gaping mouth.

As for the garden, spring is where it's at here at "Aifa".  Did I ever mention, we named our house after a woodland spirit?  I read years ago that Aifa was a woodland spirit.  Unfortunately, I can't for the life of me remember where I read this or now find any source to back it up, so you'll have to take my word for it.  Gareth made the sign which still hangs outside our front door.  I later discovered that AIFA also stands for the Association of Independent Financial Advisors and so, whilst the sign still hangs proudly, we don't tend to use it.  Thankfully, no one has yet come knocking, asking for mortgage advice.

As you can see, the wisteria is just starting to flower.  It's our one big gardening success story and we quite often have cars stopping to look at it during its fleeting performance.

Here's a sneak peak.

In other news, our new bird feeder hasn't deterred Squirrel Nutkins, caught in the act yesterday.

Lotte the cat also committed the ultimate cat crime by catching - and losing - a mouse inside the house.  When Lotte first decided she was going to live here, she would come in through the bedroom window (I like sleeping with the window open).  This arrangement shows no sign of changing and in the dead of night a few nights ago, we heard her come in through the window and announce her arrival, very loudly, all the way down the stairs (a sure sign she has brought us a gift).  For anyone wondering, we do have a cat flap, but it's programmed with the microchip number of our previous cat, Mowzer. We both instinctively know that it would be futile to try and remedy this situation and train Lotte to use it.  She lives by her own rules!  Look at her!  She has no shame!  

There has been less gardening, more pottering this week, with Gareth also seeking chiropractic torture for a neck and shoulder issue.  I say torture, because he was subjected to acupuncture, a knee in the back and a discombobulating neck manoeuvre.  

Still, it's clear that spring is officially early this year.  Everything is daring to bloom...from the raspberry ripple tinted tulips (yet again, I have forgotten which varieties I planted),  

to the bursting buds of Mexican Fleabane, ready to spill out of the chimney pots once again.

More Forget Me Nots (or Birds' Eyes) - no doubt deposited by their namesake.   I don't mind.  

They have even taken up residence in the herb planted wheelbarrow, 

which is also playing host to this little arachnid.

In the pond, the Marsh Marigold is vying for attention with the water lily...

..and the tadpoles (trust me, there are more than two!)

Leading up to the pond, you can see my tree peony in the foreground (bottom left).  It's alive and kicking but no sign of any flowers yet.  It's only in its second season, so I need to be patient.

These native British grasses I planted in the rockery around the steep bank at the rear of the pond recently, catch the light beautifully.

In fact, the light this morning was exquisite.  I do love a bit of bokeh!

To finish off, I'll leave you with some sound, colour and light play, captured on a recent walk along the canal and shared as an Instagram reel.  

 https://www.instagram.com/reel/CcabSHwD9WJ/?igshid=YmMyMTA2M2Y=

Speak soon!