This ersatz life continues. Walking is about the only entertainment available — at least, the only one that should be depicted on here. The monument on Stoodley Pike has featured several times on this blog (follow the tag); the houses are the northern end of Heptonstall; and last week’s snow has all gone, for now.
The white stuff hasn’t featured properly in my life since I was last in Tromsø in April 2018, and there is presently none of it in Hebden Bridge. But it took only a short walk up into the hills to be faced by scenes like this. Contacts in Tromsø also suggest that at the moment, they have none at all, while Spain and Portugal suffer under the worst winter in living memory. This is one of those shots that honestly is not monochrome, though you wouldn’t know it.
2021 has limped into existence, and whatever else it brings, it will see the 10th anniversary of this blog (on 26th August). I make no predictions for the year, but I have made some resolutions, mainly that I will continue to live my life in the way that I need to in order to sustain my physical and mental health, whatever obstacles are placed in the way. That’s what it’s about isn’t it? Health? So we are being told, anyway.
This is the Strid, near Bolton Abbey in Yorkshire; one of the north of England’s natural wonders although the reason for this is not immediately apparent on this shot. The river is the Wharfe, and it’s fairly sizeable at this point, where it flows through a band of limestone. Above and below this gorge it is over 10 metres wide. So how does it squeeze itself through this defile, so narrow one could almost cross it with a stride — hence the name? The answer lies below: concealed by the water is a fearful chasm, undercut with potholes and very deep. Fall in here and I wouldn’t fancy your chances.
Without even having to be subtle about it, the moronocracy have ensured not a single pub nor place of entertainment will be open for New Year’s Eve anywhere in the UK, so I don’t feel 2020 is really ending — it will go on to infect our future for years to come. It’s going out cold, too: this was probably the coldest day of the year. This view from the upper reaches of my house has appeared on the blog many times before but it’s a useful mainstay, and on this one I like the addition of the headlights of the car caught heading up Birchcliffe Road.
A slight dusting of snow in the morning, nothing serious but in Britain it’s the kind of thing that leads to everything getting cancelled, meaning I couldn’t attend my planned football match this evening and thus get 11 different places in 11 days. There are still things to see at home, however. Which, looking back on 2020, is just as well, isn’t it?
More than the hills and relatively extensive views seen yesterday, this is how I expected the Norfolk coast to look. Maybe the weather wasn’t quite as good as it seems here, but those are the benefits of post-processing.
What ho, it’s Christmas. I try to get out on a walk on this day if possible: seems somehow more respectful (to myself, as much as anything) to do more than just consume. There’s even a Christianity reference here thanks to the well-sited church. Though what the giant cotton bud is doing out in the North Sea I do not know. For more pictures from today see my County Tops blog. And a happy Christmas to you all, whatever you were doing, however you celebrated it, in this particular time.
The reason I came to Bath was to bag another of my County Top walks (see my other blog), the morbidly-named Hanging Hill. That was duly collected a few miles after taking this shot, from the ascent of Penn Hill, a slope of mud with a decent view of the city. During this climb I passed this dog walker, and his companion who seemed for some time to have decided that he was ditching his owner in favour of this new and more interesting person. You can’t just tell them you prefer cats, can you?
The River Duddon starts at Wrynose Pass and carves out a very fine course for itself, both with its valley and its spectacular estuary (which has featured in its own right on this blog, more than once). It’s just the kind of place that we need ever more in the modern world. The five cyclists you see here know this, I know this. This is the true measure of ‘public health’.