Corfe Castle...

It’s the last working day of the year, so fingers crossed for a bumper crop of last-minute picture licenses. Spent last night in a campsite: not a bad place to be when the temperature plummets. I’m up-to-date with pix: all edited, uploaded and keyworded… including this shot of Corfe Castle. I read it was going to be flood-lit, so made a detour to take some pix. Not sure the effort was worthwhile…

Skipton...

Frosty morning in Skipton…

Doubling up...

I had been hoping to double my 2015 pic sales before the end of the year, and it happened in timely fashion on Christmas Eve. After the revamping of Alamy’s search engine, I was convinced that my images had gone down in the ‘pecking order’, yet sales have increased… and that’s really all that matters. With sales over the last three months having been particularly buoyant, I’m hoping that 2017 will be even better… 

Holiday time...

Had a very enjoyable long weekend in a country cottage (actually a barn conversion) near Chapel-en-le-Frith, Derbyshire, with Martin and Maria and their chums, Peter and Fiona. It’s quite a while since I spent three consecutive nights in the same place, and a good deal longer since I had three consecutive nights in a proper bed.

The cottage was warm and cosy, with a big log fire. We ate lots, drank too much, talked bollocks, played games and watched films. Withnail & I went down particularly well, Spinal Tap less well, and I managed not to blub while watching It’s a Wonderful Life for the umpteenth time.

I left this morning, but it wasn’t plain sailing. The track from the cottage to the road was unmade and steep. Even though I took a run at it, I came to a wheel-spinning halt, scattering gravel, about ten yards from tarmac. Everyone had a push - their handprints are still on the back of the van - but the van was going nowhere, and no-one else could get out while it was blocking the track. It was a relief when the cottage owner wandered down to see what was happening. I couldn’t find the screw-in towing bar (I can’t recall ever seeing one), but the guy returned with one, and, five minutes later, I was on my way.  He gave me the towing bar, and wouldn’t take any money for it.

I got stuck in traffic gridlock near Tintwhistle, so turned round. Then I encountered strong side-winds on the road from Woodhead up to Holme Moss, so I turned round again. After the morning’s adventures, I wasn’t in the mood for taking chances…

Chesterfield...

In Chesterfield this evening, parked beneath the famous crooked spire. I got caught up in a bit of Christmas traffic, but at least the shortest day has come and gone. I’m looking forward to spending a day or two in a country cottage, with old friends, starting tomorrow…

Cheers...

Had a couple of restful days in Hartley Wintney with sister Kari, and enjoyed a viewing of old home movies that had been converted from cine to DVD. I ended up in Kettering last night, and popped into a basement bar. It looked, from the outside at least, like the basement bar in Cheers… so it was called ‘Cheers’ too. A few guys were playing pool; they looked a bit out of my league, but I put my money on the table anyway.

Dispensing with my safety game, I tried to pot every ball I could see… and just about every pot I attempted went in. I beat everyone in the bar at least twice. Every opponent wanted to play me for money, but, assuming my lucky streak would end at any moment, I declined. It’s fun, as the years advance, to find a skill - even one as inconsequential as playing pool - that hasn’t waned…

Phonebox...

Red phoneboxes may be iconic in the British landscape, but, since a lot of them aren’t used from one month to the next, they’re gradually being decommissioned. I’ve seen them being used as urinals, and as village libraries; this one seems to have been taken over by a portly vagrant with a beard and a sack…

Pub in Powerstock...

I got it wrong. I saw this guy on his own in the pub, and immediately wanted to take his picture. Then his wife joined him, so it seemed rude not to include her too, though the pic would have been stronger with just him… and his far-away gaze. Never mind.

I mentioned I was travelling around in a Romahome, and they immediately shared a glance. They’d had a Romahome thirty years ago, which must have been one of the first models the company made. The cabin could be taken off the chassis, though, they said, the problem was getting it back on again!…

A quiet corner of Beaminster...

Lollipop...

Though it may not be ice cream weather, this minor artwork caught my eye…

Muslims like us...

While staying in a campsite I watched Muslims like us on iPlayer. The idea was familiar enough - recruit a mismatched bunch of people and put them together in a house for a few days - except they were all Muslims. The results were predictable. The hardline guy didn't even want to be in the same room as the women, and, when another of the guys announced he was gay, he wandered off into the garden, to be alone with his (rather extremist) thoughts.

Islam came across as divisive - pushing people apart more than bringing them together. Problem 1 is belief without evidence; problem 2 is unquestioning obedience; problem 3 is the total submission to Allah. This kind of belief looks like a prison - a prison of certainty - though it's a prison of a rather unusual design: the locks are on the inside of the cells. Even though people are free to leave whenever they want, they choose to stay...

As a counterpoint I was sent the link to a very short video about Krishnamurti.

Fishing from the beach at West Bay, Bridport...

Radipole Lake...

I’d parked up last night next to Radipole Lake, on the outskirts of Weymouth: an RSPB bird reserve. I took a stroll around the lake this morning: a pleasant way to start the day, though there weren’t many birds about. One surprise was hearing the explosive song of a Cetti’s Warbler: another warbler which doesn’t migrate to warmer climes for the winter. I’ve seen them - or, more usually, heard them - at quite a few places in the southern counties, where populations are increasing, since my first sighting at Minsmere in spring…

Strange to go to the trouble of making a street sign, without also thinking up a street name...

Weymouth...

In Weymouth this evening. I'd planned to photograph the illuminations at Corfe Castle, but the rain is torrential. Had something to eat - it was "finger lickin' good", apparently - and an early night beckons...

Teignmouth...

Teignmouth...

In a campsite near Weymouth, processing a load of recent pix: very boring...

Teignmouth...

Beer & skittles...

On my way to Sidmouth I saw a sign, to Colyton, the ‘Rebel Town’, which piqued my interest. When I arrived in the town - just a sizeable village really - they were setting up stalls for a Christmare Fair (Fayre?), so I parked up, took some pix, then put the camera away. The village pub has not one but two skittle alleys: one downstairs and one, bizarrely, in the back bar. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen drinkers sharing a room with a full-sized skittle alley!

The landlord told me they had matches every night of the week, and that eleven teams - eleven! - operate from the pub, which, in essence, is little more than a skittle alley with a drinks license. They take the game seriously round here!

There are nine, not ten, pins to aim at with a ball the size of a small melon, made from lignum vitae, a wood chosen for its weight and density. Behind the pins was a barrier, made from thick carpet, to stop the balls doing too much damage. Half of the bar was uncarpeted bare boards, and players fired the balls down its full length: about 30 feet.

At the business end was a young lad whose job it was to set up the skittles and send the balls back (by putting them onto a sloping ‘ball-run’ which delivered them to the other end of the room and which, incidentally, kept drinkers and skittlers apart). The players - six on each side - were able to sit down, chat and drink beer as they watched others take their turn. But for the boy - he looked about 12 - there was no rest. I was told he got £18 per session: good pocket money, but he earned every penny. By the time the game ended - with the locals winning, hooray! - he looked knackered.

What a fun way to spend an evening! The combined racket from both skittle alleys was like distant thunder… or people shifting heavy furniture next door…

‘Rebel town’? I had to google it…

Not my pic, but the skittle alley was a bit like this...

Labrador Bay...

It’s a while since I’ve seen a new bird, so I visited Labrador Bay this morning, an RSPB reserve just south of Teignmouth. There was no visitor centre or other amenities, just steep fields descending to the seashore, defined by thick hedgerows. The star attractions of the site are cirl buntings: a finch a bit like a yellowhammer, but with the head striped black and yellow… I saw one within a few minutes, posing on top of a hedge, then a flock of a dozen busily feeding on the ground.

Reading the RSPB website I understand that cirl buntings were almost extinct in England, but numbers are now on the rise again… at least in these coastal fringes of Devon. Having seen my buntings, I headed east along the coast, to Sidmouth…

Killer...

While contemplating the prospect of picture sales slowing down - just when things had been going so well - I found a cheerful little pub in Teignmouth. I played a few games of pool, without much success, before the locals suggested a game of killer, so everyone could join in. The rules are simple: everyone puts £1 into the kitty and, when it’s their turn, tries to pot any ball on the table. Missing a pot means losing a life; losing three lives means you’re out of the game.

But there was one extra rule I’d never heard of before: the pound coins were stacked in a neat pile right in the middle of the table (where the blue ball would go, on a snooker table). Anyone who knocked the tower over would lose a life and have to add another pound coin to the pile. The kitty built up until there was about £20 to win. There were just two of us left in the game when I tried to pot a ball. I missed, assumed I’d lost… then watched another ball roll slowly across the table, just missing the stack of coins, and, by some fluke, drop into the opposite pocket. So I trousered the money and walked, via a curry take-away, back to the van…

Cirl Buntings...

Feeling rather confused today. On the one hand my pic sales via Alamy have never been better, with November my best month ever. On the other hand my ranking seems to have plummeted today in the quarterly reshuffle. If my pix aren’t showing up in relevant searches - and reasonably near the top - my earnings will take a tumble… and it’s bouyant pic sales which underpin the validity of my nomadic life. I’m not on holiday!

I’ve emailed Alamy to see if there’s been some kind of mistake. It’s a demotivating start to the week, and the gloomy weather doesn’t help.

Anyway, I’ve been reading about cirl buntings, which, according to the RSPB, have regained ground in the south-west, having become almost extinct. There are a couple of nature reserves near Teignmouth where cirl buntings might be seen, so, after a night in Teignmouth, I’ll head off tomorrow with my monocular… and see what I can find…

Public transport in Dunster...

Lad, broke...

A pawnbroker conveniently sited next to a bookies in Bridgwater: a 'one-stop shop' for the financially inept...

Another campsite...

Spent two days at a campsite near South Molton in Devon, to process a backlog of pix…

The harbour at Watchet…

Porlock Weir...

Phew… I’ve landed up in a little town called South Molton, just to the south of the Exmoor National Park, but getting here was a bit hairy. I was taking pix this morning around the little harbour at Porlock Weir, then drove west along the coast road. The temperature had hardly risen above freezing, so I was concerned about the state of the roads. When I saw a sign recommending that caravans should take a scenic ‘toll road’, instead of tackling a 1-in-4 hill, I took the scenic route.

The good news: I hardly saw another car. The bad news: the road was frosty and hadn’t been gritted. The road twisted and turned uphill; the views were no doubt scenic, but I was more aware of the vertiginous drop on the seaward side. I kept to second gear, hoping I wouldn’t have to stop. A hill-start on a steep and frosty road was an unappealing prospect, and I didn’t fancy turning round either.

It worked out OK, but it’s not something I’d care to repeat. The temperature is dropping again, and I’m going nowhere this evening. There’s a campsite near here, with electric hook-up and wifi, so I may head there tomorrow. I have a lot of pix to edit and upload. Quite a few pic sales dropped in this week, as they tend to do at the end of the month. November was my best month yet, for both pic sales and revenue, and, if I pass 27 sales in December, then I’ll have twice as many sales in 2016 as I did in 2015…

The florid interior of the Anchor Hotel, Porlock Weir...

Quay Cottages, Porlock Weir...