These have to be among the world’s most stoic horses. The poles in this field are one end of the series of guidance beacons for one of the runways at Heathrow. Gigantic flying machines like the one seen here are coming into land every few minutes, and the noise is incredible. But they don’t seem all that bothered.
Curiosity, and the need to stretch my legs during a day sat working on a report, took me down the road to investigate the old flax mill that stands there, a relic of just one of many attempts to institute some kind of working cash crop economy on St Helena — doomed from the point in the 1960s when the Royal Mail decided it no longer wanted to use string to tie up its parcels and would instead rely henceforth on nylon. Now the place seems to be used as a cow byre: but the dairy industry here didn’t survive regulations on hygiene, or was it something else? Laws and practices developed for quite different contexts have never really gone down very well in this remote and distinctive place.
“Please. You’ve gotta get me out of here. I didn’t ask to make my life here, a day’s journey from the nearest grooming salon.”
I might think the same if, like this critter, I was living at Scalderskew in the Lake District — I do not know of a more isolated dwelling in the country. If you’re interested, the most prominent peak in the background is Seatallan.
“Whaddya mean, in nine and a half years you’ve never had a pig on this blog thing of yours?”
“Nope, never.”
“I wanna be FIRST. (Oink.)”
Bagged my second County Top in a week, a trip that took me through the urban delights of Wigan, which are more extensive than you might imagine. On the outskirts of town resides this ruin, still proudly marked as ‘Park House Farm’ on the map but now mouldering into decay. Urban explorers — catch it now before it is razed/incorporated into a new housing estate/featured on Grand Designs as a restoration project engaged in by those with too much money. It is presently a spooky, melancholy spot.
One of those days where I pointed my camera a lot at nice things, but didn’t manage to come up with many photos that I liked. But these cows will do — they look suitably ruminative and peaceful, a state of mind I am trying to occupy at the moment, even if mostly, I am failing.
The first morning of 2016 was a rather chilly and grey one but it was still good to drag the family up a nearby hill and then buy them a pub lunch as compensation. Pic taken on the way round; the cow virtually demanding that I work on its close-ups.
Passed on a walk through the countryside, on a muggy day. I dislike this kind of agricultural mess (why should someone feel free to litter the place just because they farm it?) while at the same time liking it as a subject for a picture.
As captured in Leeds’ Meanwood Valley Urban Farm, which is why I could get close enough to this beast, for long enough, to be able to get the shot. But semi-tame animals can still look good, if I had eyelashes like that I’d pull big style.
Being 42 