On the beat...

Licensed today: a couple of WPCs on the beat in Selby...

Listening...

More wise words from Krishnamurti: "I do not know whether you have listened to a bird. To listen to something demands that your mind be quiet—not a mystical quietness, but just quietness. I am telling you something, and to listen to me you have to be quiet, not have all kinds of ideas buzzing in your mind. When you look at a flower, you look at it, not naming it, not classifying it, not saying that it belongs to a certain species—when you do these, you cease to look at it. Therefore I am saying that it is one of the most difficult things to listen—to listen to the communist, to the socialist, to the congressman, to the capitalist, to anybody, to your wife, to your children, to your neighbor, to the bus conductor, to the bird—just to listen. It is only when you listen without the idea, without thought, that you are directly in contact; and being in contact, you will understand whether what he is saying is true or false; you do not have to discuss".

I'm not far north of London, so everyone sounds like they're auditioning for East Enders. Tomorrow, after seeing old friends in Hitchin, I'll be heading west, to see more old friends - and see some cricket - at Taunton, which is where this pic, licensed yesterday, was taken...

Oakham...

Pavement café in Oakham, the county town of Rutland...

Godmanchester...

In Godmanchester this evening, enjoying a pint - and free wifi - in a pub overlooking the River Great Ouse (so covered in waterweed that you feel you could walk across). Intriguing to be in a place which contains both God and man. Sold this pic today: another church (Kirkland in Cumbria, with Cross Fell in the background)…

Peterborough...

Had an evening with Mandy, an old chum from Peterborough, along with some more of her friends: a couple from Geneva and their three bright and energetic girls. It made me realise, with a bit of a jolt, just how testosterone-fuelled my family is. All we can produce is boys!

Continued down the A1, in the rain, wishing it was still called the Great North Road. Parked up in Huntington now, near the old river bridge.

It's unusual to license a pic on a Sunday; this is St Mary's Church in the village of Woodnewton, Northants...

Mutts...

A few people have suggested to me that I should get a dog, to accompany me on my travels. That’s another idea that holds no appeal: I don’t really want to share the van with a mutt. For starters, there’d be the smell (though I suppose a dog would get used to it, in time). I don’t see people with ‘regular’ dogs any more. Everyone seems to want a dog (or two, or three) which will turn heads and start conversations. Dogs that look like wolves seem to be popular at the moment. Their owners are happy to chat… as long as it's about their dogs. A dog in the van? No thanks.

An acceptable dog...

Catholics...

Pope Francis will touch down at Dublin airport tomorrow, to become only the second pope (after John Paul II in 1979) to visit the Republic of Ireland, a country once synonymous with conservative Catholicism… but no longer. A giant drive-through confession box has been erected by bookmakers Paddy Power - “Repent decades of sins in seconds!” urges a hoarding outside - and 100,000 people are expected to line the streets of Dublin to glimpse Francis in his popemobile. But since the visit of John Paul II, when divorce, contraception, abortion and homosexuality were still illegal, and more than 90% of Irish people attended mass each week, congregations have gone into a steep and - I hope, irreversible - decline.

There will be yet more apologies for the clerical abuse of children, and millions - billions - of pounds have been set aside to meet more claims by the victims. The clergy were trusted men who listened to confessions, and had access to the most vulnerable and emotionally fragile people. The abuse of that trust is what mades clerical paedophilia particularly repellent. The Catholic Church has made a habit of apologising, but without actually doing anything.

Paedophile priests, careless of the destination of their own immortal souls, have proved themselves unable, even while preaching sexual continence to their flocks, to keep their hands to themselves. The abuse of children by Catholic priests has blighted many young lives and damaged the church’s reputation (though successive popes have added gratuitous insult to grave injury by being more concerned with the latter than the former). The church should wind itself up, without delay, and give all its billions to children’s charities...

The Smiths...

A few people have said to me: “Why don’t you write a book about your travels”, but the idea doesn’t appeal. It wouldn’t be any more interesting for people to read than for me to write. The search for clean toilets and free wifi is hardly up there with the search for the northwest passage… or Moby Dick… or the holy grail. Should I chronicle evenings spent in run-down pubs, chatting with strange, solitary men whose interests include Nazi memorabilia and Holocaust denial? This little blog is quite enough.

Effigies of Sir Roger Smith, his two wives, his son and grandson, in St Michael's Church, Edmondthorpe, Leicestershire...

Newark...

Morning by the River Trent, in Newark...

Trent Bridge...

I’d researched where I should park the Romahome, while I had a day at the cricket. But then, by chance, I found a pub - the Ferry Inn - and a convenient (free) car park, in Wilford Village, next to the River Trent. So yesterday morning, I started my day with a walk along the river to Trent Bridge, soon being joined by other cricket fans: mostly other old geezers in shorts and broad-brimmed hats.

Of course, yesterday’s cricket was mostly about the Indians turning the screw - quite slowly - and batting England out of the game. But that was OK. A day at the cricket isn’t just about your team doing well. It’s about drinking crap beer out of plastic glasses (I kept one as a souvenir), having an ostrich burger for lunch, chatting about cricket and watching the parade of people dressed up as nuns and superheros. There were half a dozen Zulu warriors, in traditional garb (except they really were Zulus). An old geezer spilt his coffee over me; he apologised, and kept on apologising, but it was OK. I had a postprandial snooze, missing nothing of any importance.

The sun came out when Cook and Jennings faced the last ten overs of the day, and at least we didn’t lose a wicket. I don’t mind India coming back into the series, because I don’t much care for one-sided sporting contests. I’m happy to watch a sport where it’s OK to applaud the opposition. And I saw something I bet no one else noticed: an osprey soaring over Trent Bridge!

The stationmaster waving off a steam-hauled puffer at Pickering railway station...

Flatford...

Just licensed a pic of a green lane near Flatford Mill. It looks so green, compared to the landscape this August, with the leaves falling weeks too early...

Family time...

Had a couple of days in Coventry with son Chas and his boys, Lenzo and Max. Fun… especially a lazy afternoon in a local park. Parked up tonight near Nottingham. Sunday, a writing day; Monday at the cricket.

Chepstow, licensed yesterday...

Organised religion...

Apposite thoughts from Krishnamurti, from The Book of Life.

"The question is: Is there not truth in religions, in theories, in ideals, in beliefs? Let us examine. What do we mean by religion? Surely, not organized religion, not Hinduism, Buddhism, or Christianity—which are all organized beliefs with their propaganda, conversion, proselytism, compulsion, and so on. Is there any truth in organized religion? It may engulf, enmesh truth, but the organized religion itself is not true. Therefore, organized religion is false, it separates man from man. You are a Muslim, I am a Hindu, another is a Christian or a Buddhist—and we are wrangling, butchering each other. Is there any truth in that? We are not discussing religion as the pursuit of truth, but we are considering if there is any truth in organized religion. We are so conditioned by organized religion to think there is truth in it that we have come to believe that by calling oneself a Hindu, one is somebody, or one will find God. How absurd, sir; to find God, to find reality, there must be virtue. Virtue is freedom, and only through freedom can truth be discovered—not when you are caught in the hands of organized religion, with its beliefs. And is there any truth in theories, in ideals, in beliefs? Why do you have beliefs? Obviously, because beliefs give you security, comfort, safety, a guide. In yourself you are frightened, you want to be protected, you want to lean on somebody, and therefore you create the ideal, which prevents you from understanding that which is. Therefore, an ideal becomes a hindrance to action".

Licensed today: the bar of the Three Stags' Heads, in rural Derbyshire...

Rutland Water...

Just licensed another pic taken while I was watching birds. Rutland Water, on this occasion, where I was surprised, in spring, to see ospreys and a black winged stilt…

Newark...

After a day writing yesterday, I headed down the A1 in torrential rain. I parked up by the River Trent in Newark, next to a barge that’s now a pub. A couple of beers, a pepperoni pizza and ten yards walk back to the van: not bad for a Monday night.

Licensed yesterday: a couple of birders at Westleton Heath, Suffolk, in May. If I recall right, five minutes after I took this shot, I saw (rather than heard) my first nightingale, and heard (rather than saw) the soft purring of turtle doves...

Library...

I used to pace up and down, waiting for the pub to open; now I pace up and down, waiting for the library to open. I’m having a full day in Otley library, as I try to bring the book to a conclusion, before hitting the road and heading south.

The Gosforth cross: an implausibly slender, sandstone cross, which has stood in this spot for a thousand years. It's awkward to photograph; this was about the best I could do. Pic licensed today...

Cricket...

Still in Pickering, finally getting a few hours watching the cricket. India were bowled out in thirty-odd overs for just 107; England are doing better, though wickets are falling. It’s the best chance to get a result in the game, since so much time has been lost to rain.

Thorpeness in Suffolk, licensed yesterday...

Burqa row...

The Burqa row rumbles on, but all the participants are still tiptoeing past the issues; it’s still considered impolite to criticise Islam. No one dares to mention that the tenets of Islam are antithetical to the protocols of a modern, liberal, pluralistic democracy; they’re like oil and water. We have to keep pretending that Islam is a “religion of peace”, when we can open the Koran - at any page - and discover this claim to be nonsense. The accusations of “racism” and "Islamophobia" have achieved their aim: closing down intelligent conversation.

Licensed today: a street scene in Chippenham...

Pickering...

In Pickering today, with plans for an idle day watching the cricket from Lords, the 'home of cricket'.

Licensed this shot today of the Swinside stone circle...

Cover-up...

Heard a few people on the radio this morning discussing Boris Johnson’s comments about Muslim women wearing the burqua. Putting to one side the argument that everything Boris says seems to be about Boris, and his increasingly unlikely bid for the Tory leadership, I can’t say I disagree with him. I feel, first, that women can wear what they want, where they want, when they want. And, second, that I find the sight of women disappearing into cloth bags deeply disturbing. While I don’t want the burqua banned, I want to be able to air my opinion about this most divisive of religious uniforms.

Lord Sheikh, the founder of the Conservative Muslim Forum, wants Boris to be sacked, and insists that “all religious belief should be respected”. This insistence is quite wrong. I do not have to respect other people’s religious beliefs, especially beliefs as problematic as those of Islam. And anyone who thinks that’s unfair might usefully spend a few hours reading the Koran from cover to cover: a tedious but eye-opening task

Whenever I see a woman wearing the burka or niquab, I have mixed feelings. It pains me to see a women wearing a costume which, to me, is such a potent symbol of oppression and subjugation. Yet if a woman says that it is her choice to wear the veil, freely and without coercion, I am bound to listen and take note. If she goes further, insisting that the veil “empowers” her (rather than, say, making her look like somebody’s property), I will nod in acknowledgement, if not agreement. I can’t pretend to understand the custom, and I probably never will. What I do understand is that Islam is a religion that requires total submission to God - that’s what the word ‘Islam’ means - yet that doesn’t require men to cover their faces, but only women…

Lowther Hall, licensed today...

Hurt feelings...

This excerpt from the Book of Life, by Krishnamurti, arrived in my inbox this morning. It seems apposite, considering the exaggerated care we take to avoid "giving offense" to Muslims. It "offends" me to hear, via the Koran, that because of my unbelief I can look forward to an eternity of conscious torment in the fires of hell, because, in my opinion, this is not how civilised people behave. But, hey, I'll get over it.

"How should we act in order not to trouble others?” Is that what you want to know? I am afraid then we should not be acting at all. If you live completely, your actions may cause trouble; but what is more important: finding out what is true, or not disturbing others? This seems so simple that it hardly needs to be answered. Why do you want to respect other people’s feelings and points of view? Are you afraid of having your own feelings hurt, your point of view being changed? If people have opinions that differ from yours, you can find out if they are true only by questioning them, by coming into active contact with them. And if you find that those opinions and feelings are not true, your discovery may cause disturbance to those who cherish them. Then what should you do? Should you comply with them, or compromise with them in order not to hurt your friends?"

In Scarborough today, having licensed this shot of South Bay...

Stokesley...

The old packhorse bridge in Stokesley...

Test cricket...

Another few hours writing in Otley library. I had earphones in, so I listened to the last session of the first test match, England v India. Test cricket isn’t supposed to be as exciting as this, but it’s so much better than the biff, bang, wallop of the Twenty20 game (if test cricket is like reading a novel, and the 50-over game is like reading a short story, then Twenty20 cricket is like staring blankly at the label on the back of a sauce bottle). I could have gone to the pub, to watch the action, but I was happy to listen to it on the radio instead; the pictures really are better.

England won, by the small margin of 31 runs, to set up the series, and I’ve bought myself a ticket to day three of the Trent Bridge test.

Not Trent Bridge, but Headingley...

Busy doing nothing...

New research has revealed that people check their smartphones, on average, every twelve minutes. That sounds credible. The default option, for people with nothing better to do, seems to be to stare at their phone, waiting for something to happen. It’s proving to be genuinely addictive. There are even apps which help users to monitor - and reduce - the amount of time they spend on their phones (though this sounds like trying to extinguish a fire by pouring petrol on it).

When we have an intimation of our own mortality, and we come to review the highlights and lowlights of our lives, we may eventually wonder, ruefully, why we spent such much time and energy on things that simply don’t matter. Will we come to regret the amount of time spent slumped in front of the TV, watching soap operas, game shows and celebrities eating insects in the jungle? The average Briton spends 24 hours of every week watching TV: that’s one entire day in every seven.

Just licensed: a new estate of houses, on the outskirts of Kendal, with solar panels on the roof of every house...

Yorkshire Day...

Yesterday was Yorkshire Day, one of the less important dates in my social calendar. A Yorkshireman knows he’s special, and doesn’t need to be reminded of the fact; frankly, every day is Yorkshire Day.

Licensed this pic again, of a Quaker meeting at Swarthmoor. It keeps selling. There are lots of 'Quaker' pix on Alamy, but very few which feature the meeting itself. The people were a bit suspicious, I recall. "Why do you want to take a photograph?", they asked, but eventually obliged...

 

Knaresborough...

Blind Jack's, in the market square, Knaresborough, is a friendly little pub, with good beer, good conversation and these painted, trompe l'oeil windows...