Burford...

“What will you do at Christmas?”, I’m asked. I don’t know. I don’t even know where I’ll be sleeping tonight!

A ‘weeper’ at the Tanfield tomb in the parish church, Burford, Oxfordshire. Such a direct gaze... across four centuries…

Hartley Wintney...

Enjoying some family time in Hartley Wintney, before heading north at the weekend.

A house, for sale. With Cumbria under water - again - I'm not convinced that 'Flood Cottage' is a name that will catch the eye of potential buyers...

Petersfield...

I stayed in Petersfield on Saturday night. The main streets were closed to traffic on Sunday, and were filled with Christmassy stalls. At one end of the hight street was a nativity petting zoo, with tiny goats, chickens, a shetland pony and a little fat pig, and two guys dressed up as shepherds. Next to it was a tent, with a sign inviting people to ‘come inside and pray’. A space had been left between these attractions and the rest of the market, in case all that ‘true spirit of Christmus’ stuff might infect the cheerful consumerism of the other stalls…

I liked the look of this shop in Alton...

Krishnamurti...

I’m driving to the Krishnamurti Foundation at Brockwood Park, near Alresford, Hampshire,

My first ‘meeting’ with Krishnamurti came many years ago - 1973, I think - while browsing in a bookshop. I picked up the Penguin Krishnamurti Reader, for no reason I can recall, and began reading. What I read must have had an instant, electrifying effect because when I left the bookshop I had two of Krishnamurti’s books under my arm.

Something spoke to me, in a very direct way. Krishnamurti seemed unflinchingly honest, almost confrontational, in his refusal to offer comforting platitudes or facile promises about ‘enlightenment’. Instead of giving answers, he asked the vital questions… and invited readers to engage with this spirit of enquiry. It semed revolutionary; I felt challenged, exhilarated. He dismissed organised religions - all of them - with an airy wave of the hand, along with their rituals and practices, threats and injunctions. He skewered the guru/pupil relationship too, stressing repeatedly that he wanted no followers. Even the things I didn’t understand - and there were plenty - seemed to have the ring of truth.

“Truth is a pathless land”, he insisted: such an elegant affirmation. Ten thousand words would not be enough to provide a precis of Krishnamurti’s teachings, yet, ironically, these five words do just that… illuminating that landscape like sunlight breaking through clouds.

I learned more about Krishnamurti and read more of his books; over two summers I attended the talks in the marquee at Brockwood Park. While the talks were as difficult - and uncompromising - as the books, I was glad to see the human face behind the words. I marvelled that a man of his age could talk, without notes, with such power and intensity. I recall his stillness, on those summer afternoons, as much as the words he said. I’m glad I made the effort to attend those gatherings; they left a lasting impression.

I hesitate to say that my understanding has increased over the years. Nevertheless, something must have permeated, through a kind of cultural osmosis (whenever I think I’ve written something particularly insightful, I Google it… only to find that Krishnamurti had written it fifty years ago!). Maybe this is the way his teachings should be absorbed… not through the intellect but by living with them, through them. His words are with me every day; I return again and again to the books and talks, on audio and video, and never fail to find something new.

Bosham Harbour... where King Canute failed to stop the tide...

Langstone Quay...

The Royal Oak is on Langstone Quay, which forms part of the extensive Chistester Harbour. Plenty of birds around this morning, at low tide, including redshank, greenshank, oystercatcher, turnstone, brent geese and a lone little egret. The sky is an unclouded blue, so I’ll hope to get plenty of pix today…

Royal Oak...

The Royal Oak is one of two waterside pubs, immediately north of the causeway to Hayling Island…

Bagpipes...

According to the sign, as I approached Eastbourne, this is is the ‘Sunshine Coast’: an empty promise, as the day is still overcast and gloomy. Still, I had two ‘firsts’. It was the first time I’d ever seen an ‘erotic book’ section in a charity shop - though the choice was limited to shades of grey - and the first time I’d ever heard a busker playing bagpipes. There’s an old definition of a gentleman: someone who knows how to play the bagpipes, but doesn’t.

I also found a fantastic second-hand bookshop, with books piled from floor to ceiling. The proprietor said it would be OK to take some photographs, so I’m going back, with camera and tripod…

Camilla's Bookshop, Eastbourne...