Another shot taken out of the windows of a moving train — grubby windows too. But I think the dirt is disguished well enough on this shot, taken from near Attadale station on the rather pretty Dingwall to Kyle of Lochalsh line. The sort of train journey that it’s slightly pointless to take for any reason other than just to do the journey…. but there are good enough reasons for that.
This is Clachnaharry sea lock, the northern end of the Caledonian Canal, completed in 1822 after a mammoth building project that finished years later than planned and way over budget, and so late that one main reason for building it — to protect shipping against Napoleon — had become obsolete years before thanks to Waterloo. Sounds like some modern infrastructure projects we could all name.
I did get another half-decent picture of the Old Town in Edinburgh this morning but having done that yesterday, let’s choose one from further north on the day’s journey. Taken through the window of the train as it left Inverness (which is my excuse for the grainy quality); but that was the way I saw most of the day.
After Blackfriars the other day — another very good view from a railway station, namely that of Grange-over-Sands in Cumbria, located right on the shore of Morecambe Bay. What’s not to like? (And don’t say ‘the wind turbines’, which IMO add to environments, rather than subtract from them.)
Seaford Head is one of those unsung places that few people seem to have heard of despite it being just as dramatic as places like the White Cliffs of Dover, Beachy Head and other places that look rather like it. If you like this shot, catch it before it all crumbles into the sea, like most of the rest of the east and south-east coasts of England eventually will….
What yesterday’s football shot did not make apparent was that I have transferred down South for the coming week, firstly in leafy rural Sussex — specifically, Crowborough, where I grew up. This place has appeared on two previous days of the blog, back in July 2013, but I really don’t make a habit of returning. Why am I doing so this week? Well, I could elaborate on the details but basically I just want a quiet place to hang out, start my sabbatical and get some inspiration to start writing what I have to write. And, so far, it’s largely provided these things. (The fact this was taken on a golf course has no significance, I can assure you.)
One thing I always do forget about this place, though, is quite how hilly it is. Crowborough is definitely the place to bring anyone that you want to disabuse of the notion that the south-east of England is flat. We are hundreds of feet in the air here, and in the distance, those are the South Downs, some 20 miles away. The south-east may not have the mountains of the north, but it certainly has the bloody hills.
As noted on Tuesday, this was another day spent entirely at home, but at least the sun was out. The mobile mast across the valley — which has probably featured on a dozen shots or more by now (e.g. this one) — and the trees around it catch the first rays of sunlight to make it over the valley walls. The bird is a little extra touch.
If you think I was staying in and working on a day like this — you obviously don’t know me very well. This picture is taken from around 3,000 feet up, on Skiddaw, fourth-highest mountain in England, yet with almost no wind today it wasn’t even particularly cold. A glorious day: can the rest of 2019 be like this please?
On the drive over to parents and parents-in-law for Christmas, a view over to Heptonstall, which rises above Hebden Bridge (being the original village) and has featured on many pictures in the past. Perhaps I have post-processed this one too much but with the continuing grey light, in colour this one looked kind of wan and washed out, the mist being just patches of out-of-focus space. In black and white I prefer it and the church comes out more.
Little to add except that it was time to get out into some mountains again — even if they weren’t very high. The late December gloom never really lifted all day, but for this shot, it doesn’t matter.
On a day spent entirely at home, marking — at least there’s always the view over the town to provide some photographic inspiration. Of course, it didn’t really look this gloomy at 3pm on this December Monday. Or did it?
Being 42 