A lovely fresh morning in Kendal. The cherry blossom is beginning to show, as was the frothy white damson blossom, when I drove along the Lyth Valley yesterday. In the hope of hearing the first chiffchaff or willow warbler of spring, I stopped at Barkbooth Lot, a small wood in the hands of the Cumbria Wildlife Trust. But trees had being felled, the paths were blocked and the place where a couple of cars were parked was a puddled of mud. I drove on.
I’m in Kendal to get my camera sensor cleaned. When dust settles on the sensor it creates circular blobs on the pix; though not always very conspicuous, they all have to be cloned out before pix can be uploaded to the agency. I’ll hopefully be free of dust-spots for a while. Then, one by one, they’ll reappear…
Friday, 8 April 2016
Thursday, 7 April 2016
Wastwater...
Visited Wastwater this morning, and got a few shots before the clouds rolled over. Finished my writing, and now hope to get some more Lakeland pix before heading back over the Pennines...
Tuesday, 5 April 2016
Newton Arlosh...
Back to more familiar haunts, as I made a tour of the Solway Firth, from the Cumbria side. I love the church at Newton Arlosh (though the inside’s a disappointment). It’s one of the few remaining fortified churches in Cumbria, with a door only two feet wide; the tower, with its narrow windows, could be isolated and defended…
Monday, 4 April 2016
Cricket...
I stopped at Gatehouse of Fleet yesterday, and found a pub that was showing both the Leicester match and the final of the T20 cricket - England v West Indies - live from India. Everybody (except, presumably, the fans of Tottenham, Arsenal and Manchester City, who could possibly catch them) wants Leicester to win the league. It would prove, if only for one season, that the prizes don’t always go to the teams with the most money to spend on ludicrous transfer fees and grossly inflated wages.
After Leicester’s 1-0 win I settled down to watch the cricket, in a side-room of the pub, with comfy armchairs (and a smaller armchair audience). It was a fantastic game, with the game in the balance until the final over. The armchair experts agreed with me that England hadn’t scored enough run. They ended up with 155, when 170 might have been a par score. But then Joe Root opening the bowling with his dibbly-dobbly spinners and got two quick wickets. West Indies kept losing wickets, and were mostly behind the required rate. When they needed to score 19 from the last over, the odds were on an England win.
Then Carlos Brathwaite, one of the West Indies lower order batsmen, hit the first four balls of the over, bowled by Ben Stokes, over the boundaty - 6, 6, 6, 6 - and that was that: the game was over. Stokes looked disconsolate; there was a distinct feeling that England had dragged defeat from the jaws of victory. But it had been a great game of cricket… and I didn’t think I’d ever say that about this abbreviated 20-overs-a-side game, with the hoopla, the music, the fireworks and the dancing girls.
The West Indian women had won their T20 competition earlier in the day, against the odds, by beating Australia. It will be good too if these results bring about a renaissance in West Indian cricket, which has mostly been in the doldrums these past twenty years.
The first test match I saw was at Headingley; from memory it would have been 1963. I’d been collecting the cuttings from the back pages of the newspaper about that summer’s West Indian tour, and I can still recall most of the members of their team: Seymour Nurse, Conrad Hunte, Frank Worrell, Gary Sobers, Rohan Kanhai, Deryck Murray, Lance Gibbs, Charlie Griffith, Wes Hall.
Gary Sobers was the ultimate all-rounder: a graceful batsman and equally graceful fast-medium bowler who also bowled off-breaks. Wes Hall’s run-up was so long that he pushed off from the pavilion steps. He was very quick (and batsmen didn’t weat helmets or arm-guards or chest-protectors in those days). West Indies won the series 3-1, but I had to look up the result on Wikipedia. Even at the age of 12, I think I was more interested in the game than the result…
Iona...
After Leicester’s 1-0 win I settled down to watch the cricket, in a side-room of the pub, with comfy armchairs (and a smaller armchair audience). It was a fantastic game, with the game in the balance until the final over. The armchair experts agreed with me that England hadn’t scored enough run. They ended up with 155, when 170 might have been a par score. But then Joe Root opening the bowling with his dibbly-dobbly spinners and got two quick wickets. West Indies kept losing wickets, and were mostly behind the required rate. When they needed to score 19 from the last over, the odds were on an England win.
Then Carlos Brathwaite, one of the West Indies lower order batsmen, hit the first four balls of the over, bowled by Ben Stokes, over the boundaty - 6, 6, 6, 6 - and that was that: the game was over. Stokes looked disconsolate; there was a distinct feeling that England had dragged defeat from the jaws of victory. But it had been a great game of cricket… and I didn’t think I’d ever say that about this abbreviated 20-overs-a-side game, with the hoopla, the music, the fireworks and the dancing girls.
The West Indian women had won their T20 competition earlier in the day, against the odds, by beating Australia. It will be good too if these results bring about a renaissance in West Indian cricket, which has mostly been in the doldrums these past twenty years.
The first test match I saw was at Headingley; from memory it would have been 1963. I’d been collecting the cuttings from the back pages of the newspaper about that summer’s West Indian tour, and I can still recall most of the members of their team: Seymour Nurse, Conrad Hunte, Frank Worrell, Gary Sobers, Rohan Kanhai, Deryck Murray, Lance Gibbs, Charlie Griffith, Wes Hall.
Gary Sobers was the ultimate all-rounder: a graceful batsman and equally graceful fast-medium bowler who also bowled off-breaks. Wes Hall’s run-up was so long that he pushed off from the pavilion steps. He was very quick (and batsmen didn’t weat helmets or arm-guards or chest-protectors in those days). West Indies won the series 3-1, but I had to look up the result on Wikipedia. Even at the age of 12, I think I was more interested in the game than the result…
Iona...
Sunday, 3 April 2016
Stranraer...
The Scottish leg of my never-ending tour is nearly over. I’m in Stranraer, discovering for myself why the words ‘Come to Stranraer!” never appear in the tourism brochures. The last month has been very positive: good memories, lots of pix and I’ve heard no anti-English sentiments (of course, I can’t read people’s thoughts)…
Lochans on Mull...
Lochans on Mull...
Saturday, 2 April 2016
Friday, 1 April 2016
Islands...
Off the islands now, and spending the night in Dunoon - really to take the ferry to Gourock tomorrow. Heavy rain all day, which made the rivers into torrents and created little flash floods along the roads. The gloomy weather makes my days on the islands - Arran, Skye, Mull and an afternoon on Iona - seem like hallucinations, the light was so clear and bright.
Lots of images… Curlews calling as they glided down onto the saltmarsh… Skylarks singing… A male stonechat looking unfeasibly colourful, almost tropical… Oystercatchers everywhere… Herons blown about in the wind like broken umbrellas… Storm clouds combined with patches of sunlight: very photogenic… Hills wearing clouds like capes or shawls… Cumulous clouds stacked up like scatter cushions…
Waiting for ferries to arrive (always on time)… Driving along single-track roads (giving a little wave of thanks when people pulled into a passing place, and getting a wave back. People must think the drivers of motorhome are doddery old geezers, and who’s to say they’re wrong?)… Being lulled to sleep by the sound of the waves…
Mull...
Lots of images… Curlews calling as they glided down onto the saltmarsh… Skylarks singing… A male stonechat looking unfeasibly colourful, almost tropical… Oystercatchers everywhere… Herons blown about in the wind like broken umbrellas… Storm clouds combined with patches of sunlight: very photogenic… Hills wearing clouds like capes or shawls… Cumulous clouds stacked up like scatter cushions…
Waiting for ferries to arrive (always on time)… Driving along single-track roads (giving a little wave of thanks when people pulled into a passing place, and getting a wave back. People must think the drivers of motorhome are doddery old geezers, and who’s to say they’re wrong?)… Being lulled to sleep by the sound of the waves…
Mull...
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