Hull...

Spent a pleasantly boozy evening with friends in Scarborough, before motoring down to Hull. With Hull being the City of Culture in 2017, it makes sense to take more stock shots (my biggest-grossing license, to date, is an uninspiring pic of the Prince’s Quay shopping centre). I’ve already filled up a card with images, and swapped it for a new one… which suggests I’ll need a couple of days to sort the wheat from the chaff, then edit and upload them. In the meantime, while the weather and the light are good, I’ll carry on shooting. When I’m done, I have an article to finish…

Saw a solitary swallow today...

Footbridge in Hull...

Slipping and sliding...

Kipped in the cobbled market square, Thirsk, last night (handy that the town has free wifi), and drove to the east coast this morning. I decided that Sutton Bank would hold no terrors, because the Romahome took the steep gradients in its stride the last time I was here. But it was drizzling today, which made the road slick and greasy. When I saw a couple of lorries slipping and sliding, on the steepest section, I decided to turn round and take an alternative route to Scarborough…

This shot, of a pub in Otley, reminded me of a weather house (the woman comes out when it's sunny, the man comes out when it's rainy. Both coming out out at the same time? Broken cloud, perhaps!)...

Otley Folk Festival...

Had a fun day at the Otley Folk Festival with my oldest chum, sinking the first pint of the day at 12 noon, having watched some Morris dancers. We spent the afternoon doing a steady pub crawl, with plenty of - free - entertainment. The collection of musicians at the White Swan grew from about ten to a roomful, with fiddles, guitars, banjos, squeezeboxes, penny whistles and a woman on spoons. The music rose and swelled like waves in the ocean; it might not be the kind of music I’d choose to listen to on CD, but live it was spellbinding.

These informal groups seem very democratic; when one tune ends, someone else starts up another one, and everybody joins in… sooner or later. Democratic… except one guy on fiddle seemed to be the best musician in the room, and the music wasn’t so dynamic when he put his violin down. Saw a guy who looked - a bit - like Pete Townshend, but wasn't... and a guy who looked - a bit - like Mike Harding, who was...

We ended up with more Morris dancers: traditional Morris men - with handkerchiefs or, better, sticks; clog dancers; ageing goths (unless they were undertakers). A troupe I remember from last year, called 400 Roses, consisted of about a dozen women, various shapes and sizes, who combine belly dancing moves with Morris dancing moves (or “tribal folk fusion dances”, according to one website). Very watchable… especially as they seemed to be really enjoying themselves…

Wayzgoose Morris...

400 Roses...

Pendragon...

Only planned to have a quick drink at the King’s Arms in Ravenstonedale, but plans are subject to change…

This morning I drove down the Mallerstang valley, getting a few shots of Pendragon Castle on the way. I look for the first swallow every spring, and the last swallow at the end of every summer. Spotted a pair of swallows flying in and out of a doorway in the castle. Are they the last?…

Rugby...

The cricket is over. Yorkshire won the county championship, England won (back) the Ashes; all’s well with the world. The next big tournament on the horizon is the Rugby World Cup, starting on Friday, for which I cannot summon up even a glimmer of enthusiasm. It seems a pointless enterprise: throwing the ball backwards - always backwards - makes going forward almost impossible. The scrum seems to collapse every time; anyway the team that put the ball in almost always wins it, which makes the scrum pointless (and dangerous, because players are picked for brawn, not brain, these days). Most games are decided by penalty kicks. And in no other sport is a team rewarded for kicking the ball out of the field of play. If there’s two minutes of exciting running rugby, during 80 minutes play, the commentators are ecstatic. The other 78 minutes are just dull.

I played rugby at school… because I had to. I used to run up and down the wing, in the hope that the other players might think I was a spectator, and the spectators might think I was playing...

Sheep...

The sky today is an unrelieved paper white: low cloud and mist. Having reversed without due care and attention into an immovable object, I’ve replaced the damaged plastic cover for the offside rear lights. The Romahome looks better now, without the unsightly addition of gaffer tape; after a wash it will look brand new…

Nonchalant sheep on Birkrigg Common...

McDrive...

This drive-in McDonalds reminded me - a bit - of an Edward Hopper painting…