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Pictures from the coast
In April 2015, photographer Quintin Lake set off from the steps of St Paul's Cathedral to walk round the coast of the British mainland. Over the next five years, he walked for 454 days; then it took him the best part of five years to sort the photographs - and now, of course, there is a book.
I have spent far too long exploring the many the photographs on Quintin Lake's website, and look forward to spending more.
There's a taster in a BBC 'Set Out' feature. What moment from the walk did the BBC choose to spotlight, leading off the article with it? ( Guess! )
I have spent far too long exploring the many the photographs on Quintin Lake's website, and look forward to spending more.
There's a taster in a BBC 'Set Out' feature. What moment from the walk did the BBC choose to spotlight, leading off the article with it? ( Guess! )
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A surprise gallery
In Newcastle yesterday for the reading group, I intended just to walk straught to the library, no diversions: but as I walked up Pink Lane, my eye was snagged by bright colours off the my right, and I found myself in Forth Lane, now the Forth Lane Gallery (what the organisers say about it).
I didn't exactly wish I had my camera with me, because I was already carrying a very heavy book: but next time...
I didn't exactly wish I had my camera with me, because I was already carrying a very heavy book: but next time...
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People who know me...
... send me birthday cards with puffins on them. The only one that arrived on the day itseld came from ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
durham_rambler, who printed off one of his own photos of puffins on Inner Farne: this may be cheating, but I'll take it.
Other puffins have continued to arrive through the week since then The senders are very apologetic about this, but I'm enjoying my extended birthday, with its puffin-a-day service. The most recent arrival is this cartoon fromweegoddess, a particularly neat sysnthesis of how we anthropomorphise puffins with their actual observable traits.
Best of all, though, K. sent me Angela Harding's print of puffins at Fair Isle North Lighthouse. I subscribe to Angela Harding's mailing list, and have been coveting this print ever since she linked to it there - now I have my own (admittedly mniature) copy, and can close the tab on my desktop!
durham_rambler, who printed off one of his own photos of puffins on Inner Farne: this may be cheating, but I'll take it.Other puffins have continued to arrive through the week since then The senders are very apologetic about this, but I'm enjoying my extended birthday, with its puffin-a-day service. The most recent arrival is this cartoon from
weegoddess, a particularly neat sysnthesis of how we anthropomorphise puffins with their actual observable traits.Best of all, though, K. sent me Angela Harding's print of puffins at Fair Isle North Lighthouse. I subscribe to Angela Harding's mailing list, and have been coveting this print ever since she linked to it there - now I have my own (admittedly mniature) copy, and can close the tab on my desktop!
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Forever is Now
A Guardian article describes the annual art exhibition in which the chosen works are displayed in front of the Pyramids. I'm ambivalent about this. On the one hand, I enjoy site-specific art, art designed to do whatever it is that art does wihin a specific landscape; on the other hand, osn't it cheating, using the Pyramids to make your art look good? But I liked the picture of Shilo Shiv Suleman's giant lotus blooms, and I scurried off to the internet in search of more pictures.
Well, the bad news is that the more I see of those flowers, the more I suspect that what I really lie here is the photograph itself (credited only to 'Forever is Now'); other pictures leave me confused. There's a good one on the artist's website (scroll down) all golden light and with a gaggle of cyclists included for scale; elsewhere, a clearer representation makes me wonder whether flowers are improved by being hugely magnified: I don't want to imagine the insects that they might attract ...
The Art d'Egypte website has more pictures of this and previous exhibitions: it is so designed that the pictures (one per artwork) are awkwardly cropped. This German site has some better images of the 2022 exhibition.
Pretty pictures: it's what the internet is for...
Well, the bad news is that the more I see of those flowers, the more I suspect that what I really lie here is the photograph itself (credited only to 'Forever is Now'); other pictures leave me confused. There's a good one on the artist's website (scroll down) all golden light and with a gaggle of cyclists included for scale; elsewhere, a clearer representation makes me wonder whether flowers are improved by being hugely magnified: I don't want to imagine the insects that they might attract ...
The Art d'Egypte website has more pictures of this and previous exhibitions: it is so designed that the pictures (one per artwork) are awkwardly cropped. This German site has some better images of the 2022 exhibition.
Pretty pictures: it's what the internet is for...
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The Sellotape Queen strikes again
durham_rambler has just heased out to his appointment, with a package to post: a birthday present for K. whom we visited in Ludlow. Even with first-class postage, it will probably arrive late. There is no justification for this: I bought it in good time. In fact, both gidt and card were purchased at the Piece Hall in Halifax, on our way home from that visit. Why am I so bad at wrapping and sendong gifts? Oh, I'm no genius at finding them, either, but on occasions like this one, when I had found something which was the perfect combination of appropriate and silly, why do I delay over getting it into the post? It was, admittedly, breakable (but not actually fragile), and I would have liked to find a box of the perfect size in my stash of might-be-useful-one-day boxes... And then I couldn't find the Sellotape...Well, it's done. A box has been confected from cardboard and lined with bubble wrap, and the whole has been smothered in sticky tape. My stepmother used to complain that my father and I shared a packing technique which relied on lashings of sellotape, which was effective but inelegant, and a challenge to open. I just hope it will succeed, and that K. will like her present.
The card was this one, by Kate Lycett, whose work I saw in one of the little galleries in the Piece Hall, and would like to see more of. In contrast. here's Hebden Bridge A to Z in wood engravings.
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Interior design
Yesterday's Guardian had a story about a series of photographs of the mantelpieces of creative people. As I type that, I think how sickening it sounds, but the initial photograph was rather jolly. So, even though I usually skip these house-design articles, I read on. It's a personal project, and is quite open about being inspired by the photographer's mother's mantelpiece in the first place, but even so, I was growing irritable about the extent to which these creative people were the friends and family of the photographer. However, now that you have been warned, I did quite enjoy these photographs. In particular, scroll right down almost to the end for Virginia Ironside's show of hands.
durham_rambler consulted the tide tables, and declared that this morning we should visit the castle: this gave us the longest possible overlap of castle open, causeway closed, and so the best chance of avoiding the crowds. When did Lindisfarne start to be so crowded? There have always been visitors, of course, but I was quite shocked by the crowds we had to negotiate yesterday, driving through the village. Anyway, durham_rambler's strategy worked, and for much of our visit we had the castle to ourselves (and some very discreet staff).
The display in the castle has been radically altered since our last visit. This is not surprising. We were last on the island three years ago, in the aftermath of Covid, and they seem to have been restricting visiting: my diary says "The castle is already fully booked for the week, but we have a slot to visit the priory tomorrow." So the last time we were in the castle must have been in 2018, in the aftermath of major building works, when the interior was mostly bare, but for an art installation. Now the furniture has returned, and as previously represents the period when the castle belonged to Edward Hudson. There is more emphasis on the process by which Edward Lutyens transformed the shell of a Tudor fortress into a holiday cottage like no other, but there is still room to show the results of that transformation. Information boards quote guests, particularly Lytton Strachey, who was not impressed: "Three miles of sand, partly underwater with posts to show the way - rather alarming to the nervous... then an abrupt rock with a building on it". He visited more than once, though, so it must have had some appeal:
In the upper gallery - which I remember as a music room, often full of the cello music played by Madame Suggia, a frequent guest of Hudson's - there is Embodies Cacophonies, a light and sound installation by artist composer Liz Gre. A video downstairs explains something of the background of the piece, which was intriguing: the thing itself less so. Trails of fairy lights heaped up and hanging from the ceiling; gauzy hangings; music triggered by the movement of visitors (perhaps this was one thing which would have worked better if we had not had it to ourselves)...
We left the castle and reached the Ship with five minutes to order our crab sandwiches before they stopped serving lunch. Then home through the rain, pausing only to buy some biscuits, to dry off and make coffee...
durham_rambler consulted the tide tables, and declared that this morning we should visit the castle: this gave us the longest possible overlap of castle open, causeway closed, and so the best chance of avoiding the crowds. When did Lindisfarne start to be so crowded? There have always been visitors, of course, but I was quite shocked by the crowds we had to negotiate yesterday, driving through the village. Anyway, durham_rambler's strategy worked, and for much of our visit we had the castle to ourselves (and some very discreet staff). The display in the castle has been radically altered since our last visit. This is not surprising. We were last on the island three years ago, in the aftermath of Covid, and they seem to have been restricting visiting: my diary says "The castle is already fully booked for the week, but we have a slot to visit the priory tomorrow." So the last time we were in the castle must have been in 2018, in the aftermath of major building works, when the interior was mostly bare, but for an art installation. Now the furniture has returned, and as previously represents the period when the castle belonged to Edward Hudson. There is more emphasis on the process by which Edward Lutyens transformed the shell of a Tudor fortress into a holiday cottage like no other, but there is still room to show the results of that transformation. Information boards quote guests, particularly Lytton Strachey, who was not impressed: "Three miles of sand, partly underwater with posts to show the way - rather alarming to the nervous... then an abrupt rock with a building on it". He visited more than once, though, so it must have had some appeal:
In the upper gallery - which I remember as a music room, often full of the cello music played by Madame Suggia, a frequent guest of Hudson's - there is Embodies Cacophonies, a light and sound installation by artist composer Liz Gre. A video downstairs explains something of the background of the piece, which was intriguing: the thing itself less so. Trails of fairy lights heaped up and hanging from the ceiling; gauzy hangings; music triggered by the movement of visitors (perhaps this was one thing which would have worked better if we had not had it to ourselves)...
We left the castle and reached the Ship with five minutes to order our crab sandwiches before they stopped serving lunch. Then home through the rain, pausing only to buy some biscuits, to dry off and make coffee...
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Back in Kirkcudbright
It's a lovely drive from the Ayrshire coast to Kirkcudbright, even in the rain: you drive up the Doon valley into the hills, then follow the Water of Ken down again. The signs insist that it's the tourist route to Gretna, but you don't have to go there, you can just admire the scenery, soft green hills and silver water, trees dotted about for decoration, and plenty of sheep. At the top, just after the border, there's a herd of Belties, belted Galloway cows, to make it quite clear that you are now in Dumfries & Galloway: and we sighted another example of the road sign bearing the conventional 'Beware of cattle' image, edited by painting a broad white band across the midriff of the silhouette of the cow, so that it now conveys the message 'Beware of Belties'. (Previously spotted on last Sunday's Magical Mystery Satnav Tour.)*
We stopped in St John's Town of Dalry for lunch at the Clachan Inn. The quirky décor maybe goes a bit over the top - there's nothin wrong with any of it, in fact it's all fun, but there is just so much... But the food was terrific. We have a booking for this evening, so we couldn't do it justice, but they let us sit in the bar and order a starter from the menu: three juicy scallops in a nest of squid ink risotto, on a layer of creamed cauliflower (and a glass of dry cider). They don't open on Monday or Tuesday, or I'd be plotting to return.
When we reached Kirkcudbright, the on-again-off-again rain was on: rather than come straight to our hotel, we called in at the Galleries. I wanted to see their temporary exhibition, Andy Goldsworthy's 'Winter Harvest', but was a bit disappointed in it: I knew the title described some of his early work, but had hoped for some sort of context. Always a pleasure to look at the pictures, though. A floor down, we looked into Creative Legacies - William Hanna Clarke and Alison Kinnaird MBE because it was there, but with, if anything, a faint hostility (I'm opposed to heredity on principle). I knew nothing about either of them, and was very struck by some of Alison Kinnaird's glass pieces. Not everything: some finely engraved botanical images were beautifully done but - well, fiddly. But a war memorial, an architectural triptych and something you could call a self-portrait:
made a great impact, and while the lighting obviously helps, the use of light is part of the artwork, so that doesn't count against it. The piece shown is Red List, and depicts crafts which are on the Red List of Endangered Crafts, of which wheel-engraving is one (others pictured include Shetland lace knitting, wooden flute making and glass eye making). So I have learned something today.
*ETA: Leaving Kirkcudbright on our way home, I spotted another modified cow road sign; and shortly after it, a modified deer - at full gallop, fine set of antlers, white midriff. Local artist getting carried away?
We stopped in St John's Town of Dalry for lunch at the Clachan Inn. The quirky décor maybe goes a bit over the top - there's nothin wrong with any of it, in fact it's all fun, but there is just so much... But the food was terrific. We have a booking for this evening, so we couldn't do it justice, but they let us sit in the bar and order a starter from the menu: three juicy scallops in a nest of squid ink risotto, on a layer of creamed cauliflower (and a glass of dry cider). They don't open on Monday or Tuesday, or I'd be plotting to return.
When we reached Kirkcudbright, the on-again-off-again rain was on: rather than come straight to our hotel, we called in at the Galleries. I wanted to see their temporary exhibition, Andy Goldsworthy's 'Winter Harvest', but was a bit disappointed in it: I knew the title described some of his early work, but had hoped for some sort of context. Always a pleasure to look at the pictures, though. A floor down, we looked into Creative Legacies - William Hanna Clarke and Alison Kinnaird MBE because it was there, but with, if anything, a faint hostility (I'm opposed to heredity on principle). I knew nothing about either of them, and was very struck by some of Alison Kinnaird's glass pieces. Not everything: some finely engraved botanical images were beautifully done but - well, fiddly. But a war memorial, an architectural triptych and something you could call a self-portrait:
made a great impact, and while the lighting obviously helps, the use of light is part of the artwork, so that doesn't count against it. The piece shown is Red List, and depicts crafts which are on the Red List of Endangered Crafts, of which wheel-engraving is one (others pictured include Shetland lace knitting, wooden flute making and glass eye making). So I have learned something today.
*ETA: Leaving Kirkcudbright on our way home, I spotted another modified cow road sign; and shortly after it, a modified deer - at full gallop, fine set of antlers, white midriff. Local artist getting carried away?
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Reasons to visit the Faroe islands
I wouldn't normally think of a road tunnel as a must-see attraction. At best it's something that makes the journey easier - and if I'm on holiday, I'm more likely to complain that it also makes the journey less interesting. But I might make an exception in this case.
Bonus link: more about the art works, from the tunnel's website.
Bonus link: more about the art works, from the tunnel's website.
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Pictures at an exhibition
- The Starry Night
- I knew that it is possible to photograph the Milky Way. of course, and I've seen some very impressive results from people doing it. I had somehow failed to realise that it is a Thing. But yes, there are whole societies dedicated just to photographing the Molky Way, and here is the announcement of Milky Way Photographer of the Year. There are some wonderful pictures here. though they don't necessarily benefit from being seen en masse: the family resemblance becomes overwhelming.
- Sunflowers
- The holiday plan we abandoned when lockdown happened would have taken us to the south of France - not the southwest, which we know well, but Provence... I still haven't quite given up hope of acheiving it, so I need to file these fascinating developmemts in Arles for future reference.
But what to make of the claim that previously "The town was gently asleep. People only came here for the old Roman city"? Well, that gave me the excuse to link these two things into a post...
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... tranquilles, sérieux, savent les secrets de la mer, n'aboient pas. ..
100 for the Ocean is a collaboration of 100 photographers to sell prints in aid of ocean conservation. Their prices are serious, though not stratospheric, so I won't be buying; the collection is also mysterioudly lacking in puffins. But well worth a look - there's an emperor penguin that I can only describe as 'in flight'. But my favourite is Dmitry Kokh's House of Bears, in which polar bears have reoccupied an abandoned Soviet weather station. (here it is again in the Wildlife Photographer of the Year competion, as insurance against link rot).
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Light under a bushel
You can blame larryhammer for this post. He posted a poem about a selkie, Wilfrid Wilson Gibson's The Dancing Seal, which I hadn't met before, and liked. It begins:
Skua Light was also new to me, and I looked it up. There was no trace of any lighthouse of that name, but plenty of lovely photos of seabirds - some of them skuas - posing in front of a variety of lighthouses.
And then there was this: a lighthouse trail, on similar lines to the puffin trail we visited last year, but across the north of Scotland and the Northern Isles. How had I missed this? It had happened in 2021, and we didn't get out much in 2021, but shouldn't I have been seeing pictures? Flickr, what happened to you?
I couldn't find much sign of it on the internet, even looking for it. Here's the website of Wild in Art, who have a portfolio of blank sculptures for your very own trail. They give a web address for the lighthouse trail 'Light the North' but it seems to have been allowed to lapse.
There are some more pictures in the press.
larryhammer for this post. He posted a poem about a selkie, Wilfrid Wilson Gibson's The Dancing Seal, which I hadn't met before, and liked. It begins:When we were building Skua Light —
The first men who had lived a night
Upon that deep-sea Isle —
Skua Light was also new to me, and I looked it up. There was no trace of any lighthouse of that name, but plenty of lovely photos of seabirds - some of them skuas - posing in front of a variety of lighthouses.
And then there was this: a lighthouse trail, on similar lines to the puffin trail we visited last year, but across the north of Scotland and the Northern Isles. How had I missed this? It had happened in 2021, and we didn't get out much in 2021, but shouldn't I have been seeing pictures? Flickr, what happened to you?
I couldn't find much sign of it on the internet, even looking for it. Here's the website of Wild in Art, who have a portfolio of blank sculptures for your very own trail. They give a web address for the lighthouse trail 'Light the North' but it seems to have been allowed to lapse.
There are some more pictures in the press.
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A timely discovery
I have been wandering through the artwork of Maurice Gouju (aka Goujo and Amalric), of which the internet offers an extensive display. Which isn't exactly what I was looking for...
I had managed to decipher the tiny signature on the back cover of my copy of Georges Simenon's La danseuse du Gai-Moulin and wanted to know more, but I haven't managed to find any information about the artist, beyond his name, and of his cheerful poster designs. And I did eventually find his design for Fayard's issue of Simenon novels. He appears to have provided a single design which could be varied by the use of different colours: mine has a grey typewriter on a bright pink background. The back cover shows a glass, a tobacco pouch and a pen. I wonder whether this, too, was used on different books, but I suspect it was, because it doesn't have any particular application to the plot.
This poster for the National Lottery seemed particularly appropriate, as Christmas comes to an end: three kings bearing a double chance of winning the lottery, to wish you a joyeuse fête des rois. Tonight we will go to Phantoms and the Phil to hear three new ghost stories read by their authors, the event which marks the end of our Christmas.
I had managed to decipher the tiny signature on the back cover of my copy of Georges Simenon's La danseuse du Gai-Moulin and wanted to know more, but I haven't managed to find any information about the artist, beyond his name, and of his cheerful poster designs. And I did eventually find his design for Fayard's issue of Simenon novels. He appears to have provided a single design which could be varied by the use of different colours: mine has a grey typewriter on a bright pink background. The back cover shows a glass, a tobacco pouch and a pen. I wonder whether this, too, was used on different books, but I suspect it was, because it doesn't have any particular application to the plot.
This poster for the National Lottery seemed particularly appropriate, as Christmas comes to an end: three kings bearing a double chance of winning the lottery, to wish you a joyeuse fête des rois. Tonight we will go to Phantoms and the Phil to hear three new ghost stories read by their authors, the event which marks the end of our Christmas.
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Post Christmas post
Deliveries have resumed after the bank holidays (and between the strikes) and Christmas cards continue to trickle in. Admittedly, the one that arrived this morning had been posted after Christmas (but I know why that was, and am just pleased to receive it). Yesterday, though, briught a card from our friend the Botanic Artist. Cards from her own drawings are often among my favourites, so my first reaction was diappointment that this wasn't one of those - but then I looked properly at the image, and wasn't disappointed any more. Looking at the back of the card for more information, I found the handwritten note: "I really like this artist!" So do I.
Her name is Annie Soudain, and here is an interview with her, which includes some of her images. Scroll down to see the salt marsh print (with teazles) from my card, but I also love the tideline picture. Next time I need some cards, that will probably be one I order from the artist's website.
Bonus link: the Botanical Artists connection.
Her name is Annie Soudain, and here is an interview with her, which includes some of her images. Scroll down to see the salt marsh print (with teazles) from my card, but I also love the tideline picture. Next time I need some cards, that will probably be one I order from the artist's website.
Bonus link: the Botanical Artists connection.
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Wise men bearing links
- From the Guardian's Country Diary:
- Maes Howe at mid-winter.
- Also from the Guardian:
- the traditional smell of Christmas (can you contribute to the Encyclopaedia of Smells?
- Explore the portfolio of the Frères d'art:
- I've barely dipped into it, and am already a little breathless (Look at this fisherman with a cormorant! or This one's called 'Disconnection'!...)
With thanks to the Flickr contact who made the introduction.
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On the beach
I was sorry to leave Roscoff, but we had plans - not all of which turned out to be completely weatherproof. After Wednesday's glorious sunshine, we woke to rain, and the threat of strong winds later. A gap between showers gave us a chance to visit the Chapelle Sainte Barbe on the edge of town - it's not about the chapel, it's about the viewpoint - but we decided against the Exotic Gardens (even though at least some of these are within greenhouses).
This left us with time in hand on the way to our next hotel, and we decided to spend it in Saint Pol de Leon, which was on the way. All I knew about Saint Pol was that it is in the centre of the Breton vegetable farmlands - the cauliflower and artichoke capital, says the guidebook. It turns out that it also has two spectacular churches. The one about which the guide is most enthusiastic - it has the tallest spire in Brittany - was closed, but we plunged out of the rain into the cathedral, and had a lovely time looking at its many curiosities. .But it makes sense to defer describing these until I can post more photos, so I'll add that to the list of things-to-post-later...
Instead, some pretty pictures: the otherwise delightful bookshop between the two churches didn't have any postcards of those curiosties, but I was rather taken by their cards from the Eor Glas Studio: have a browse. I like the sleeping sailor best (yes, even better than the puffin).
Today we are in Carantec, at the seaside. The little town occupies the center of a headland, and all roads lead down to the sandy beaches which fringe its perimeter. We walked down to 'the port', which seems to consist of two restaurants, a shelter where you can sit and enjoy the book exchange until the rain blows over, and a causeway which allows you to walk across to the island for about two hours on either side of low tide. Then the path climbs up between the houses, and down again to the next beach; it's a bit of the GR 34, in fact, the sentier des douaniers (I've probably wondered before what it says about our two nations, that the English prefer to ascribe footpaths to smugglers, the French to customs officers...):
Photo chosen because, although it doesn't make the most of the beach itself, it does show some of the most impressive of the local architecture. There are plenty of more conventionally seaside houses: Carantec would seem to have attracted people who could afford to build themselves holiday homes with a sense of fun. But this little ensemble takes the biscuit.
This left us with time in hand on the way to our next hotel, and we decided to spend it in Saint Pol de Leon, which was on the way. All I knew about Saint Pol was that it is in the centre of the Breton vegetable farmlands - the cauliflower and artichoke capital, says the guidebook. It turns out that it also has two spectacular churches. The one about which the guide is most enthusiastic - it has the tallest spire in Brittany - was closed, but we plunged out of the rain into the cathedral, and had a lovely time looking at its many curiosities. .But it makes sense to defer describing these until I can post more photos, so I'll add that to the list of things-to-post-later...
Instead, some pretty pictures: the otherwise delightful bookshop between the two churches didn't have any postcards of those curiosties, but I was rather taken by their cards from the Eor Glas Studio: have a browse. I like the sleeping sailor best (yes, even better than the puffin).
Today we are in Carantec, at the seaside. The little town occupies the center of a headland, and all roads lead down to the sandy beaches which fringe its perimeter. We walked down to 'the port', which seems to consist of two restaurants, a shelter where you can sit and enjoy the book exchange until the rain blows over, and a causeway which allows you to walk across to the island for about two hours on either side of low tide. Then the path climbs up between the houses, and down again to the next beach; it's a bit of the GR 34, in fact, the sentier des douaniers (I've probably wondered before what it says about our two nations, that the English prefer to ascribe footpaths to smugglers, the French to customs officers...):
Photo chosen because, although it doesn't make the most of the beach itself, it does show some of the most impressive of the local architecture. There are plenty of more conventionally seaside houses: Carantec would seem to have attracted people who could afford to build themselves holiday homes with a sense of fun. But this little ensemble takes the biscuit.
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The Saami of the Kola Peninsula
Photographed by Natalya Saprunova (via - ah, I found it via the Guardian's 'My best shot' feature, but I see they had previously run a selection of these photos as a photo essay).
Warning: the portfolio includes a severed reindeer head. But also colourful costumes, fine embroidery and a strong contender for Best National Flag. An endangered language is mentioned but not explored.
Warning: the portfolio includes a severed reindeer head. But also colourful costumes, fine embroidery and a strong contender for Best National Flag. An endangered language is mentioned but not explored.
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More photographs
Not mine, this time, but the Astronomy Photographer of the Year shortlist - some truly spectacular shots!
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Another life
I had never heard of Sheila Paine until I read her obituary in the Guardian's 'Other Lives' section. Now I want to know more, to read the books she wrote about her travels - that may not be so easy! Something to explore when we return from holiday ...
But I wish I'd seen this exhibition of her photographs.
But I wish I'd seen this exhibition of her photographs.
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Phases of the moon
On Tuesday, for the first time in a very long time indeed, I took myself down into town. We've been managing fine without Durham's increasingly limited retail opportunities, but I had a little list of errands, and since durham_rambler was busy addressing the planning committee at County Hall, this seemed like a good opportunity.
So I went to the market, and replaced my watch strap and battery (the battery had expired, with perfect timing, a couple of days earlier); while these were being fitted, I checked the bookstall, and although they didn't have any of the books I was particularly looking for, this did mean I could order them elsewhere with a clear conscience (and have done so). I went to the bank, who have locked my bank card, and established that I have definitely and incontrovertibly forgotten my pin, and they will put a new one in the post. I shopped half-heartedly for a condolence card, and didn't find one. And then I went to the cathedral, which seems to have captured a satellite:
This is Luke Jerram's itinerant artwork Museum of the Moon, which I had been looking forward to even beforesteepholm posted about seeing it in Bristol. Her verdict was "It won't keep you enthralled all day, but it makes quite a visual impact!", and I couldn't have put it better myself.
( Not better, but at greater length, ... )
durham_rambler was busy addressing the planning committee at County Hall, this seemed like a good opportunity.So I went to the market, and replaced my watch strap and battery (the battery had expired, with perfect timing, a couple of days earlier); while these were being fitted, I checked the bookstall, and although they didn't have any of the books I was particularly looking for, this did mean I could order them elsewhere with a clear conscience (and have done so). I went to the bank, who have locked my bank card, and established that I have definitely and incontrovertibly forgotten my pin, and they will put a new one in the post. I shopped half-heartedly for a condolence card, and didn't find one. And then I went to the cathedral, which seems to have captured a satellite:
This is Luke Jerram's itinerant artwork Museum of the Moon, which I had been looking forward to even before
steepholm posted about seeing it in Bristol. Her verdict was "It won't keep you enthralled all day, but it makes quite a visual impact!", and I couldn't have put it better myself.( Not better, but at greater length, ... )