Buckler's Hard...

The last license of a busy month: Buckler's Hard and Beaulieu River, in Hampshire...

Image sales...

Most months have a similar trajectory for pic sales: a slow start, with most licenses coming in the second half of the month. There's generally a surge during the last couple of days, as publishers finalise their choices or settle their bills.

Licensed this morning: an old shot of the youth hostel in Grasmere...

Repentence...

Joshua Harris, a former pastor at a US mega-church, was only 21 when he wrote a book, I Kissed Dating Goodbye, which advised young people to refrain from sex - even holding hands - before marriage. The book went on to sell about a million copies, while helping to promote a church-based ‘purity culture’. Naturally enough, at least for those who claimed to get their moral intuitions from the Bible, that culture excluded gays and lesbians, who were bound for the fires of hell. So far, so unremarkable: just another churchman telling the rest of us what we should, and should not, do in the privacy of our own bedrooms.

Today, however, I read on the Guardian website that Harris and his wife have separated, after twenty years of marriage. Having lost his faith, he is also renouncing his dogmatic beliefs. “I have lived in repentance for the past several years - repenting of my self-righteousness, my fear-based approach to life, the teaching of my books, my views of women in the church, and my approach to parenting, to name a few. But I specifically want to add to this list now: to the LGBTQ+ community, I want to say that I am sorry for the views that I taught in my books and as a pastor regarding sexuality. I regret standing against marriage equality, for not affirming you and your place in the church, and for any ways that my writing and speaking contributed to a culture of exclusion and bigotry. I hope you can forgive me”.

Licensed today: Lombard Street in Petworth, West Sussex...

All fingers and thumbs...

I've just sewn buttons on three pairs of trousers, a task I'd postponed for weeks due to my inability to thread a needle... no matter how hard I tried. I'm exhausted; best have a lie-down.

Licensed last week: the beach at Silecroft, on the Cumbrian coast...

Levens Hall...

Pix of the topiary gardens at Levens Hall, in Cumbria, are regulars sellers... latest license yesterday...

Carl Beech...

I know, from bitter experience, what it’s like to be accused of being a paedophile, so will lose no sleep over the 18-year sentence handed down today to fantasist Carl Beech (AKA ‘Nick’). He wasted a great deal of police time and about £2 million of public money, by describing a “paedophile ring” in parliament, where young boys were “abused”, “passed around” and even “murdered”. Beech named a number of prominent political figures, without offering any evidence to bolster his claims. Who knows, adding the name of Jimmy Savile, to the list of those accused, may have encouraged the police to believe his stories. 

Some of the men accused by Beech have already gone to their graves, with his accusations hanging over them. The witness statements read out in court reveal just how much needless pain has been caused to their reputations, their families and friends. Not one vulnerable child has been saved from abuse because of the Operation Midland enquiry; not a single abuser (apart from Beech himself) has been locked up. The ‘No smoke without fire’ version of jurisprudence is now, I hope, thoroughly discredited.

Licensed today: police in Tewkesbury...

Phew! What a scorcher...

When I walked out of an air-conditioned store this morning, it was like opening an oven door. Fortunately I’d gone shopping for a fan, which, along with glasses of fruit juice, is now helping me to cope with the stifling heat.

Licensed today: Houses in Elvetham Heath, a planned community near Fleet in Hampshire...

Rampant gulls...

Gulls (the culprits are usually herring gulls) are particularly aggressive at this time of year, as they protect their young from threats both real and imaginary. But I'm still waiting for this pic to be licensed...

Hand-in-hand...

Called in at the council offices in Goole yesterday, to renew my old guy’s bus pass. The moment I walked through the door, a young lad - maybe 4 or 5 years old - took my hand. It’s 2019; old guys are not supposed to fraternise with children; what should I have done? I said hello, but let go of his hand. He immediately grabbed my hand again. I imagine he does this to everybody (what is the current euphemism? ‘Special needs’?). I let go again… but felt ridiculous - for half a dozen different reasons - as I queued up, behind the boy’s mother, at the reception desk. I would have been perfectly happy to spend a couple of minutes with the lad; it would have been the obvious, natural thing to do. But I didn’t. And what stopped me, of course, was the fear that my actions might be misinterpreted. I may be over-thinking, creating a problem where there isn’t one. I don’t know.

My photographs, too, depict a world without children. A few kids may appear in the background of any pic; in the foreground, never (or, rather, no longer). I don’t mind being harangued by a bloke from Goole Ports Authority, as I’m photographing the docks; what I don’t want is a one-sided conversation with an angry mother.

I have a few pix of cricket in Hartley Wintney... and they keep on selling (latest sale this morning). I suppose they illustrate the best of village life...

Light and scale..

My fascination with Drax Power Station continues. I let the light do the work of separating the housing development from the looming towers and the field of wheat...

Divine intervention...

In all the hoop-la surrounding the World Cup final, when the game was tied after a hundred dramatic overs, I missed an after-match interview with England’s captain, Eoin Morgan. Apparently Adil Rashid had reassured his captain, during the match, that “Allah was with us”. I wasn’t aware that God had opted to take sides in a cricketing contest and had helped England to get over the line in one of the tightest finishes that cricket has ever seen. At least I assume this is what is meant by the assertion that “Allah is with us”: giving one team a helping hand in a supernatural way, rather than just being an interested spectator, yelling “C’mon England” and waving a flag of St George.

Morgan went on to ascribe England’s unlikely win as being due to the “rub of the green”. England, he suggested, had the lucky breaks as they chased down the New Zealand total, which seemed to scotch the conviction of Rashid, a Muslim, that there had been any kind of divine intervention. Morgan also went on to say that “to actually find humour in the situation we were in at the time is pretty cool”. Whoah! Rashid didn’t mention Allah in order to make his captain laugh. He presumably believed exactly what he said: that the maker of heaven and earth took more than a passing interest in what was happening at Lords, and had decided to support England rather than New Zealand.

For those who believe - really believe - in the primacy of God’s laws, this is no laughing matter. It may have some of the elements of a joke - an unlikely scenario, stretching credibility, etc - except that it isn’t funny, and there’s no punchline. We often hear that God has intervened in the lives of humankind, which suggests merely that the creator of the universe shares our petty concerns. More to the point, what has he got against the Kiwis?

Drax Power Station, close up...

Great Dixter...

Licensed today: the gardens at Great Dixter, East Sussex...

Zen...

They’re still at it. According to an article in the Guardian, a zen meditation group will have to stop meeting in the grounds of York Minster, because evangelical Christians believe that “Buddhism is incompatible with Christianity". According to the latest British Attitudes Survey, only 1% of people aged 18-24 identify as Church of England. Yet Christians still feel obliged to behave as though they have a God-given right and responsibility to tell people of other faiths (and none) how they should be living their lives.

Licensed today: a shot of a Polish shop in Boston, Lincolnshire...

Organ donor...

Having run out of excuses, I’m tackling the paperwork: direct debits, council tax, more changes of address, application for a new bus pass, etc. I am now carrying an organ donor card, with any or all of my organs up for grabs if I meet my maker in an untimely fashion, though I’m not sure how many of my organs will be worth the bother of transplanting. I may have more in common with Shane McGowan, whose liver is specifically excluded from the organ donation register, than with Cliff Richard, whose todger is, by all accounts, “as new”…

Boris Johnson...

Members of the Tory party (124,000 people, average age ‘pensionable’) are about to vote for a man whose vision, as even his friends admit, is unclouded by principles. From his Eton schooldays onward he did whatever was required to ensure his own advancement. This is a man who, before the 2016 referendum, unblushingly wrote two polemical editorials: one supporting membership of the EU, the other recommending what we now call Brexit.

As a journalist he was sacked from The Times newspaper for falsifying quotations, and his regard for the truth doesn’t seem to have increased with the passing of time. Despite having been a disaster in every public role he’s taken on, Boris Johnson seems to assume the right to high office. As I look around the political landscape I’m wondering how we got into this mess, where a man with so few obvious talents, yet filled with self-entitlement, is considered to be the best option we have, as leader of the Tory party and - briefly, I hope - Prime Minister.

Licensed today: signs warning drivers about the road gradient. I haven't driven the Hardknott and Wrynose passes in the Romahome... and I have no plans to try...

Delivery...

A Tesco delivery van in the village of Drax...

World Cup...

I only had one item on my to-do list for yesterday: watching the cricket. And what a game it was! The previous 47 matches in the World Cup had been available only on Sky, which meant taking out a subscription to Sky Sports or heading to a pub which was showing the games. But yesterday’s game, with every ball shown on Channel 4, returned cricket to the nation’s conversation (for a while, anyway).

The viewing figures for the cricket on Channel 4 peaked at 4.5 million people during the dramatic 'super over' which was needed when, after one hundred overs, the scores were tied. These viewing figures were dwarfed, however, by the 9.6 million who tuned into the BBC to see the men's final from Wimbledon, and the 11.7 million who had watched England women win their World Cup.

Licensed today: a street scene from Chippenham...

The final...

What a summer of sport we are having (though the Netball World Cup, being heavily promoted by the BBC, may be a step too far for me). Tomorrow is the men’s final at Wimbledon, between Federer and Djokovic, as well as the grand prix from Silverstone. Whisper it, but there’s yet another sporting event taking place tomorrow, though, for most people, it will slip by unnoticed. The final of the Cricket World Cup, between England and New Zealand, is the culmination of six weeks of matches, as all ten teams in the competition have played each other once, at venues all around the country.

So far, so good. But to see anything more than brief highlights on TV, cricket fans have had to take out a subscription to Sky Sports. The last time cricket was shown on free-to-air TV was 2005, when the country was energised by England’s heroics in the Ashes. Since then… nothing. The ECB can talk about their committment to grass-roots cricket, and getting children involved in the game, but if kids can’t see cricket on TV then that’s all it is… talk. While the power brokers of the ECB have banked the Sky money, interest in watching and playing cricket is declining. However, for this last, one-off game, Sky and the ECB have agreed to show it on free-to-air TV (Channel 4), which sounds to me like a tacit admission that they were wrong to sequester the summer game inside Sky's walled garden. What a missed opportunity!

The Viking is neither the best nor the worst pub in Goole, but it has half a dozen screens for showing sport. I’ll be there tomorrow (alongside tennis fans and 'petrolheads', no doubt, and even a handful of cricket afficionados) to watch the game. C’mon England.

Strange, another pic licenced of the sailing club in Glenridding...

Cricket...

England played Australia yesterday in the second semi-final of the world cup, with the prize for the winner being a meeting with New Zealand in Sunday’s final. It was reckoned to be a close contest, between two good teams; even the Test Match Special commentators were nervous and excited as the game began. Having lost the toss, England bowled... and bowled well. Australia struggled; after half an hour they were reeling at 14-3. It was only thanks to Steve Smith’s patient innings of 85 that they were able to post a total of 223.

It never looked likely to be enough… but England tackled the total as though they were playing village cricket. By the time Jason Roy and Jonny Bairstow had put on 124 for the first wicket, with a combination of classic cricket shots, brutal blows and some imaginative improvisations, the game was all but won. Joe Root and captain Eoin Morgan completed the job, with almost eighteen overs to spare: an absolute hammering.

Howden at dusk...

Poundbury...

Licensed today: another shot of Poundbury, Prince Charles's vanity project in Dorset...

Questions...

After almost every transaction (and especially online transactions), we’re asked for feedback. There’ll be a pop-up or an email enquiring “Have you got five minutes to fill in a questionnaire?”, to which the most logical response is a snort of derision. These online companies know so much about us already. Take the merest peek at a video compilation (Cumshot Cavalcade, say) and, for weeks afterwards, your every online click will be accompanied by questionable ads and recommendations.

Having hobbled into the Howden Medical Centre this morning, with my gouty foot, I got home to find an email in my inbox. Another sodding survey. How likely is it that I would recommend the medical centre to other people? If chatting to a poorly friend, I’d certainly be more likely to recommend a visit to the Howden Medical Centre than to, say, an off-license or hardware store. But that’s assuming they happened to be in the vicinity of Howden, rather than, say, Exeter or Aberdeen. There may come a time in my life when I do have “five minutes to spare” to fill in an online survey, but it’s not here yet.

Licensed today: Branthwaite Brow in Kendal...

Glenridding...

Licensed today: a pic of the Glenridding sailing club, taken a few years ago, before Glenridding Beck flooded the village...

Harriers...

Yesterday was my second day as a volunteer at Blacktoft Sands, the RSPB reserve. It’s an undemanding role: meeting and greeting visitors, mostly, and chatting about birds. A couple turned up, full of enthusiasm. They’d recently joined the RSPB, even though, as they admitted, they didn’t know much about birds. I reassured them that the enjoyment of watching birds didn’t depend on how many birds they could recognise.

They returned, after a couple of hours, in an even more enthusiastic mood. “Amazing!”, the woman said. “Just amazing!”. Having had the marsh harriers pointed out to them, while sitting in a hide, they'd watched the birds hunting over the reedbeds. They marveled at the way that other, smaller birds put their own lives at risk to prevent their offspring coming to harm, even if not all these efforts were successful. The couple watched as a marsh harrier swooped down, plucked a little grebe off the water and carried it away.

The couple agreed that joining the RSPB was one of the best things they’d done (see, I’m sounding corporate already!) and said they'd definitely visit Blacktoft Sands again. If they were looking for a new hobby to share, during their retirement years, I think they’d found it.

Licensed yesterday: the parish church at Orton, in Cumbria...

Eco-worrier...

I did a quick shop yesterday at the Co-op in Howden, mentioning that, just for once, I’d remembered to bring my own bag along. The reply - “You’re quite the eco-warrior, sir” - alerted me to the fact that the guy manning the Co-op checkout was the possessor of a fine and ready wit. Did I need my receipt? No. “Then we’ll recycle it, sir, and feed it to the pandas”…

Unloading...

The docks at Goole can be very photogenic, especially when ships are in. A security guy from Associated British Ports accosted me and said I wasn't allowed to photograph the docks. I said I was on a public right of way and, therefore, I was. He buggered off; I carried on. I have emailed the company for some clarification...

England out...

It was an enjoyable game last night, even though England lost, and it’s USA women who will contest the final of the World Cup. England played with heart for ninety minutes, but America played with skill and flair, and had a more coherent game-plan. The 2-1 scoreline didn’t flatter them.

Once they get over the disappointment of crashing out of the competition, the England players will know that their exploits have created a legion of new fans. The viewing figures, on the BBC, increased with every match (7.6 million for England v Norway, and 11 million for England V USA).

The big games keeping coming. Today, a stuttering England must beat New Zealand if they are to progress to the semi-final of the cricketing World Cup. It’s likely to be a tense affair.

Goole docks...

Football...

England women (I can’t quite bring myself to call them ‘lionesses’) are playing USA women this evening, for the chance to get into the World Cup final. That’s quite an achievement, and I’ll be cycling into Howden tonight to watch the game on a big screen. The pub won’t be draped with flags of St George, or full of rowdy, drunken, borderline racist England fans. Few people will be aware there’s a big game happening at all; I may have to ask the landlord politely if he’ll put the game on one of the screens. Most people - men and women alike - are sublimely indifferent to the fluctuating footballing fortunes of England women (though it’s only men who rate an England player on how much they’d like to “give her one”).

No one has to enjoy a particular sport or sporting occasion (I can think of few activities more existentially boring than watching American football, or skiing or anything involving horses). Sporting allegiance is a personal preference, and there’s no good reason why anyone should feel obliged to watch women’s football. Except that when they do catch a few minutes of action on TV, they may be genuinely surprised at the level of skill on show. They may even tire of making sexist comments - the sheer predictability is numbing - and just settle down to enjoy the game. C’mon England!

Just licensed: a twilight street-scene in Winchester...