It’s our silver wedding anniversary this week. “Take me overseas!” the wife demanded, so I said, ‘sure’, and we have headed to the Isle of Wight. Well, you have to cross the sea to get there: starting with Portsmouth Harbour, pictured.
My limited experience of vehicles like the ‘Sweet Basil’ (its name is just visible on one side of the prow) is that they are nice, peaceful ways to get around the place — but they take their time. And living on one for a week might be just about doable: any longer and I’d be, like, where’s the bath? Nevertheless downsizing has an obvious appeal, at some gut level.
On the journey to Dundee, whether made by car or train, crossing the Firth of Forth is always a highlight. Today, a mostly sunny train journey was interrupted by occasional heavy showers and one of these kicked in just as we left Inverkeithing, but that didn’t matter, this shot will still do (particularly as to get any picture from the rail bridge itself involves timing it very well to avoid getting big, red chunks of steel in the way). Here, you in fact see both road bridges: the roadway in view is that of the first, 20th century version, since superseded by the 21st century bridge whose stanchion and (just) cables are the ones behind.
There are many worse ways, and places, to spend a Thursday. Taken from the Howtown to Pooley Bridge ‘pleasure steamer’ service, following a good walk up Place Fell; soon to be duly recorded on the Wainwrights blog.
Let’s permit Scotland to offer up its combination of mountain and seascape one more time before we have to head home. The Beauly Firth is the far end of the Moray Firth; this shot is looking inland, to the Highlands beyond. And yes, somewhere over there it is raining.
A trip out to the furthest south-western extremity of the British Isles (assuming we treat Ireland as separate) — namely the Isles of Scilly, a hundred or so lumps of granite stuck thirty miles off Land’s End, of which five are inhabited. The ‘capital’, Hugh Town, is located on St Mary’s island, and built on a narrow isthmus, which is apparent here thanks to the houses having blue sea behind them as well as in front, which is why I chose this picture — that, and the profusion of coloured things (buoys?) in the sea.
That’s one of the harder-to-reach County Tops bagged as well. There were lots of photos from the day I could have chosen to give an impression of this distant part of my country, but see the other blog for more.
Back to Oxford, so I can perform an aspect of my job that still does bring pleasure, and sit in a library for at least two days. The walk to my accommodation took place partly along this stream, a branch of the Thames. Perhaps I did this shot, in spirit, on Saturday, but I’m doing it again. Note the heron hanging around inconspicuously in the centre, hoping that the prey won’t notice it.
We spent the day on the island of Árrain Mhór, which in Gaelic just means ‘Big Island’. And it is fairly big, maintaining a permanent population of a few hundred, enough to justify a regular ferry service from the mainland, anyway. And here is the 3.30pm boat back to Ireland, coming in reasonably on schedule.
Hardly a great photo technically, and converted to black and white as much to conceal deficiencies as any other reason. But it does suggest that when there is a boat in the Canal Street lock in Manchester city centre, this is often the most interesting thing to see on the walk into work. It’s nice that this old transport system is still used: not everything useful has to be hyper-efficient.
A day out on the Leeds-Liverpool Canal, which takes a roundabout route between those two cities so is here pictured near Skipton — place #350 to be depicted over the lifetime of the blog. Old Master Pete, the boatman, waves as he takes the family past a herd of cows who seem to have the right idea about how to deal with the day’s heat.
Being 42 