Saturday, 22 July 2017

Socialising...

I’ve done a bit of socialising with old friends, in Scarborough, York and Hebden Bridge. I’m glad I left the Fox & Goose in Hebden Bridge last night before having that “last pint” (and then maybe a couple more after that) because that’s what makes for a sore head the next morning.

Instead I woke up refreshed. I didn’t immediately know where I was… but that’s pretty normal for a nomad. It’s surprisingly unscary not to know. As Jon Kabat-Zinn says, in the title of a book, Wherever you go, there you are

Burton Agnes Hall...

Thursday, 20 July 2017

Sledmere House...

I was photographing the gardens of Sledmere House when this horse and trap came by...




Wednesday, 19 July 2017

The BBC...

What BBC presenters are paid is one more issue that isn’t keeping me awake at night. I haven’t had a TV for 15 years or more, and don’t miss it, though that didn’t stop the BBC sending me letters demanding to know why I hadn’t paid my license fee. The idea that I didn’t watch TV seemed inconceivable.

Oh, and those ‘TV detector vans’ were just a ruse, a kind of urban myth. They weren’t actually able to detect who was watching TV without a license…

Bridlington...




Tuesday, 18 July 2017

Bridlington...

Visited two of East Yorkshire’s stately homes - Burton Agnes Hall and Sledmere Hall - and took plenty of pix. Then I parked up in a lay-by, edited pix and listened to the semi-final of the Women’s World Cup, England v South Africa.

It shouldn’t have been such an exciting game. South Africa only scored 218, and the commentators seemed to think it would be a cakewalk for England. But wickets kept falling, and the last five overs were excrutiating to listen to. One of the pundits left the commentary box, because she “felt sick”; another was dancing a jig on the balcony to calm her nerves. And the two who described those last five overs were so overcome with emotion that they could barely talk. It was getting to me as well. But not to Anya Schrubsole, coming in at number 10, who, needing two runs off three balls, wacked her first ball to the bounday.

India play Australia on Thursday, and the winner of that match will play England in the final on Sunday. Lords, I hear, is a sell-out… which suggests that women’s cricket has succeeded in capturing an audience. C’mon England!

The harbour, Bridlington. The sculpture, the Gansey Girl, by Steve Carvill, is a recent addition to the quayside. It depicts a young woman knitting a gansey, the traditional jumper worn by fishermen...


Monday, 17 July 2017

ATM...

Instead of fretting about the BBC's choice of a female Dr Who, I processed another 100 pix today, in a little campsite near Beverley, North Yorkshire. It’s my kind of campsite: informal, without too many rules and regulations (just a hand-written sign: No kite flying). There was no wifi or bar, but, to be honest, campsite bars tend to be awful in all respects: decor, ambience, beer, food, staff and clientele.

I hear talk of the ‘cashless society’; maybe it’s here already…






Sunday, 16 July 2017

Today's quote from Krishnamurti...

"Why is there, one must ask, this division—the Russian, the American, the British, the French, the German, and so on—why is there this division between man and man, between race and race, culture against culture, one series of ideologies against another? Why? Where is there this separation? Man has divided the earth as yours and mine—why? Is it that we try to find security, self-protection, in a particular group, or in a particular belief, faith? For religions also have divided man, put man against man—the Hindus, the Muslims, the Christians, the Jews and so on. 

Nationalism, with its unfortunate patriotism, is really a glorified form, an ennobled form, of tribalism. In a small tribe or in a very large tribe there is a sense of being together, having the same language, the same superstitions, the same kind of political, religious system. And one feels safe, protected, happy, comforted. And for that safety, comfort, we are willing to kill others who have the same kind of desire to be safe, to feel protected, to belong to something. This terrible desire to identify oneself with a group, with a flag, with a religious ritual and so on gives us the feeling that we have roots, that we are not homeless wanderers"...

Storm clouds over Gloucester Quays...


Beverley...

Saturday night in Beverley, North Yorkshire; unwisely I parked up in the town square for the night. I should have seen the bouncers outside the pubs and drawn the obvious conclusion that Saturdays nights in Beverley might get a bit rowdy.

The noise seemed to have died down by midnight, and I dozed off… only to be awoken by the van being rocked from side to side by unseen hands. I shouted… and the rocking stopped. I thought I might have difficulty getting to sleep after that… but I didn’t.

Sunday morning in Beverley is quieter and more to my liking. This is one Yorkshire town which reminds me of all the market towns I’ve seen down south. I took a stroll, took some pix of the North Bar - the only bar left standing - and now I’m enjoying a mug of tea in a cafĂ© adjoining the square…

Tewkesbury Abbey...