Lytes Carey Manor...

Had a couple of days with old chums in Taunton, including a day at the cricket: Somerset v Durham. Somerset came a creditable second. Photographed three National Trust properties today...

Lytes Carey Manor, in Somerset...

Stourhead...

The 'gothic cottage' at Stourhead. They've got the full set of useless follies dotted around the estate: temple, pagoda, boathouse, gazebo, grotto, mock ruin...

Mottisfont...

Glad I took so many pix yesterday, because today, Sunday, is rainy and gloomy. I spent yesterday afternoon at Mottisfont, a National Trust house in Hampshire: fun to photograph people interacting with the house and gardens.

Swallows...

I hadn’t planned to go to Selborne today; I just saw the signs, in passing, and decided to take a wander around the Rev Gilbert White’s old haunts. I walked over Selborne Common, and returned via the zig-zag path, which Gilbert made with his brother. Very few birds about… just a few swallows. Gilbert was one of the first naturalists to observe birds at close quarters, rather than shooting and dissecting them. Sometimes his observational skills let him down… as when he made the assumption that swallows ‘hibernated’ over the winter months at the bottom of ponds…

Selborne Church... and all that's left of the famous yew...

Rain...

The BBC weather website seems pretty trustworthy, at least for the following day. I’m staying with my sister in Hartley Wintney, Hampshire, a village with a cricket pitch at its heart. There’s supposed to be a testimonial match this afternoon for Jimmy Adams, captain of Hampshire, but the weather forecast has a grim uniformity. Rain, rain and more rain. Such a shame: the pitch is ready, the marquees are up and the locals have been bagging the best spots around the boundary with their windbreaks and gazebos. No doubt the bar will be open, come what may, but I’ve spent too many days, over the years, watching two sets of stumps being marooned in a pool of water, while some optimist (probably me) insists “I think it’s brightening up”…

South from Coventry...

Had an excellent weekend with my son, including a trip to the Malvern Hills, which I had only ever seen from afar. Then drove south from Coventry, through landscapes of parched wheatfields. Had a few hours in Stratford-upon-Avon, which was chock-full of visitors. I thought I’d get more pictures by the riverside; anyway it was cooler there. Boats glided up and down the river: passenger launches, tiny self-drive motorboats, rowing dinghies and the little chain ferry which - for 50p a head - transfers people from one side of the River Avon to the other. I watched a narrowboat negotiating a lock, which allowed it to carry on down the river beyond a couple of wiers.

The locals were flogging Shakespeare to the visitors, or, rather, they were flogging any old thing by giving it some spurious Shakespearean connection. I wondered what the bard himself would think about the commodification of his plays and his image… and decided he’d probably settle for 10% of the takings. There’s nothing in the town that isn’t up for sale. Anyone wanting to get a better understanding of William Shakespeare could just take a copy of one of his plays, sit down in a comfortable chair… and start reading.

Thumbs-up from Will...

Walkers on the Malvern Hills…

Rights & responsibilities...

While taking a few pictures around Newark today, a guy raced out of his shop to say I wasn’t allowed to take pictures. “Yes, I can”, I said. “No, you can’t”, he shouted, “it’s private”. I told him to phone the police if he thought I was breaking some law (other than the fantasy law that was lodged in his head). I waited, taking pix, while he got his phone out and punched some numbers in.

I’m pretty clued up about the rights and responsibilities of taking pictures in public. I even have a sheet of paper, written by a solicitor, on behalf of an editorial photographers’ collective, who specialises in these matters, which is handy to show to anyone who thinks I’m doing something wrong. No police turned up; I think he rang the speaking clock…

Newark...

In Newark this evening, parked up next to the River Trent and castle. Might get some early morning shots tomorrow…

Wharfedale...

Back in the Dales - and parked up in my favourite campsite - to have a couple of days photography, before heading south on Friday.

Had a burger last night in a local pub. It arrived on a wooden platter, piled so high that it had to be held together by a wooden spike. The chips came in a miniature frying basket, and ketchup was in a tiny pot. It seems like every pub is reading from the same script... creating a meal that looks good, as the waitress delivers it to your table, but which is damn near impossible to eat. I suppose it means they can charge an extra couple of quid 'for presentation', as they try to convince cusomers that they're getting something a bit special; shame the burger was dry and almost tasteless...

A shepherd's hut on the Kirkstone Pass...

Trim...

It’s July, the height of summer, and time for my summer haircut. I keep things simple: one haircut per season. Also, the process takes all morning, even if, as today, there’s a leisure centre and barber shop in close proximity. Step one is a shower at the leisure centre, and new clothes, so the barber doesn’t have to hold his nose while I’m in the chair. “How do you want it?”, he asked. My usual reply is “Let’s pretend I have a hot date tonight, so I just need to look presentable”.

That means step two: an all-over trim with the electric clippers. Grey hair tumbles onto the floor, as an elderly man stares at his own unprepossessing reflection in the mirror for rather longer than he would like. “Would you like to see the back?”, the guy says, and before I can say “No”, holds up a mirror-shaped implement; instead of reflective glass, there’s just a picture of a good haircut.

Step three is to revisit the leisure centre for another shower - for my benefit this time - because I can’t stand having hair trimmings around my collar. So another set of clothes is required. It’s good to feel a soft summer breeze tickling my scalp, and to know that I won’t need to think about another haircut until the middle of October.

Spent the morning on the narrowboat of old chums, who I'd met, purely by chance, in Hebden Bridge...

Townend...

Had an hour photographing the interior of Townend; I wish I’d had more time, but I had to stop when the first tour of the day began. I wasn’t very calm, or composed, having reversed the motorhome into an obstacle while parking. Fortunately, all I broke was the red plastic cover over the back lights; I’ve made a temporary repair with a clear plastic bag and gaffer tape. That will do until I can get it mended next week. Got some exterior shots too, using my new(ish) 20mm wide-angle lens to put the house and bank barn into a landscape context.

A good way to start the day is to go online - like today - and find I’ve licensed a pic or two through the agency. A bad way to start the day is reversing into some immovable object…

Inside...

Outside...
 

The Ashes...

I’d hoped to spend the morning photographing the interior of Townend, a National Trust property and one of my favourite buildings in the Lake District. I arrived a couple of hours before opening time, but an ‘out of hours’ tour of the house was in progress. I arranged to go back at 9am tomorrow instead… which gives me time to watch the afternoon session of the first Ashes test match. The Queens Hotel in Windermere has Sky TV, free wifi and Loweswater Gold on draught… a killer combination…

Caldbeck...

Caldbeck Church, where John Peel is buried. D'ye ken?...

Greenfields...

A rainy morning in Penrith, so I’ll park up and edit some of the pix I took yesterday. The weather forecast suggests it will brighten up after lunch. Took this shot yesterday, in the Eden Valley; maybe I can sell it to Microsoft, for $$$$$, as the default desktop for Windows computers…

River Eden...

Stock photographers seldom have any control over how their pictures are used, especially pix which don’t require releases for people or property. Reading the Guardian Online today, I saw that a pic of mine was being used in an article about a man who drowned trying to save a girl in the River Esk, near Longtown, Cumbria. A sad story… and I’m not sure why my pic was used (it’s of the River Eden, not the Esk) unless it suggests the dangers of swimming in the most placid-looking river. Coincidentally, I passed this spot again this morning, and took another shot…

Penrith...

Surviving the heat, even though the air-conditioning works only in the front of the vehicle, not the back. Sleeping is a matter of wearing as little as possible - and keeping a window open - while not offending the sensibilities of passers-by. Walking around town - Penrith - on a sultry summer’s evening reminds me of Spain or Italy rather than a small Lakeland town…

Wigton...

A brief visit to Wigton. These are my photographioc souvenirs...

Ah, the famous Irish Curry...

Creative vandalism...

Fowl play in Wigton's local newspaper...

Hot...

A year ago I wondered how hard it would be to find a suitable place to park up each night. Wild camping sounded romantic, if rather impractical. In fact, it’s easy. I can’t recall many days in the last year when I’ve really had to look for a place to stay. Something just turns up. No-one, it seems, takes any notice of a tiny motorhome or its occupant, as long as I desist from parking on someone’s lawn, or in a market place on market day, or in a big car-park in Kendal on the day that the fair comes to town…

I kipped at Glasson Dock last night, where the Lancaster Canal meets the sea. Driving up the M6 now, to Penrith, then cutting across to Cockermouth. Got to do some reconnaisance (and pix) for an article. But slowly… since today is probably going to be the hottest of the year…