Cartmel, Cumbria, UK.
A response to the Weekly Photo Challenge, Trio
Cartmel, Cumbria, UK.
A response to the Weekly Photo Challenge, Trio
In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: “Happy Place.”
I am blessed to live in an area criss-crossed with public footpaths and bridleways.
Perfect for that week-end recharge.
Here are three instagram edited snapshots taken close to home. Not masterpieces but they sum up some of my happy places.
In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: “ROY G. BIV.”
Unlike my much beloved, I had not heard of Roy G Biv as a method of remembering the colours of the rainbow. In our school, we learned:
I’d enjoyed looking at several responses to this prompt and had been stuck for a suitable shot until this morning, when I saw the spines of the unwatched films in a Hitchcock box-set. Ok, so there’s one extra shade in there, but I was struck by the coincidence of the seven other spine colours.
Like most of the films so far, to good to miss.
Amongst the plans we made before arriving here was a trip to the nearest fishmonger in Louth. We are not that far from Grimsby where fish is still landed on a daily basis and we hope that this will mean fine fresh produce. A simple view in these days of global food transportation, but we’ll hold onto it for now. Besides, fresh fish doesn’t travel that well. Unless it is in the sea.
On this basis we make an early dash to Louth to visit Igloo Foods.
As we wend our way through its higgledy piggledy town centre I get a sense of faded glory. Louth is a market town and thankfully has many apparently thriving independent shops, a diversity of trades – an active ironmongers is always a good sign to me. But the discount shops have moved in. Just here and there, not in great numbers. I wonder how it will look in five years time, or maybe only two.
There are a couple of characters about who, given a change from shell suit to Victorian street garb, would have been ne’er do wells in a Dickensian novel. The ambling youth later blocking our way, apparently innocently staring into a shop window (it was empty), then following us a little too close until I brave a sharp stare – I’m onto you – and stop him in him in his tracks, is a case in point.
Only when we reach the next corner do we realise how quiet that little side-street was. I ask Si if he saw the man with the roll-up sat on the steps near to where we encountered our temporary shadow. Despite this, I love this type of town. Narrow dysfunctional streets, not knowing where you are, a slightly shabby appearance being spruced up in random places, independent traders each with their own speciality, having to visit at least four shops for your weekly purchases, and recommendations of who might have exactly what you want.
I also favour this time of day, just before opening time. Blinds being raised, unloading of goods, shouted “hello”s and “nice day”s, butchers carving up and hanging meat carcasses, windows and pavements being washed down, savvy shoppers arriving early for the best cuts, the promise of a good day’s trade.
We collect our fish, grab a quick cache, then revert to type and complete the shopping in the co-op supermarket. Sad really.
A quick drop off of provisions then onto Gunby Hall, a National Trust property with pretty gardens and a prettier cat called Committee, because she looks like she has been designed by one. Much like Min the cat back home. She lazily greets us whilst sunning herself on the path to the greenhouse.
We find that we do not tend to visit the houses of National Trust properties, but the gardens and woodland walks. The former gives me ideas for our more modest patch back home, and the latter allows us to stretch our legs in a tame environment, plus some ideas for the wilder (less maintained) part of our garden. Gunby has the added bonus of a church (sadly locked), with views over the fields.
Close to the estate, and still part of it, is Monksthorpe Chapel, which has what looks like a cess pit, but is in fact a disused outdoor baptistery. On our way there we pass the former site of RAF Spilsby, now featuring a poultry farm. Large sheds emit a familiar smell, pervasive and persistent. We are pleased to leave and head to a grass verge near Revesby to have our lunch.
Being in these parts means a trip to Coningsby, home of the RAF Typhoons. It’s a sunny day and makes for good plane watching. Himself is pleased as we sit in the car park full of similar couples but mainly many solo males armed with tele-photo lenses galore.
Down the road is Tattershall village boasting a fine 15th century castle-keep. We have visited before, decline the audio tour and head straight for the ramparts.
It’s a clear day and the views are splendid. Lincolnshire does not have the dramatic beauty that you find in Snowdonia or the Lake District, but, being reasonably flat, you get a real sense of space around you. The skies here are huge. Really huge.
Next to the castle and visitor centre is the Holy Trinity Collegiate Church. A fine building with intricate stone work and a wonderful east window.
We return to the cottage via another of our favourite spots, known to us as the Scenic Lay-by. It is on the blue stone ridge and its allows us to look over towards the cottage, just about.
Dinner is delicious. Halibut baked in lemon and pepper, accompanied by purple sprouting broccoli and seasonal Boston new potatoes.
We round the day off with an impromptu stroll partway along the Roman Road which passes though Tetford.
Splendid. Just splendid.
In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: “Intricate.”
Intricate does not always mean small.
We came across this splendid device in the formal gardens of Culzean Castle, near Ayr in West Scotland. We had visited the castle before, but must not have visited the walled garden. Standing on its plinth, this multi-faced sundial towered above me and told us over and over that it was about 12:30.
I remember wondering at the amount of thought, effort (and time!) which would have gone into designing this intricate timepiece.
Many faces, but giving the same answer. We could learn something from this.
In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: “Early Bird.”
It was the Sunday between Christmas and New Year, and many people were sleeping off their seasonal excesses. The cache had been launched the previous evening and we headed off to try our luck at being the first to find it.
Our dedication was not only rewarded with a clear log book, but also with crisp early morning views over the marshes towards Wales. The sun was still low when we took this shadow selfie.
I particularly liked how the light picked up the frost on the marsh reeds, and the subtle differences in the sky colour.
Having difficulty getting to my writing challenges, so for a quick fix, I have entered
I took this at Doddington Hall Gardens, Lincolnshire, almost two years ago today.
I like the contrast between the well trimmed yews and the relaxed lawn with wildflowers.
Doddington Hall stands majestically at the end of the avenue. There was only one way to head from here.
In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: “Afloat.”
But could also have been included in the photo challenge : “Blur”
I had been searching for this photo when the Blur challenge was posted, but it was only this week when I was considering Afloat that I stumbled across it.
We were on a short geocaching trail and had found the third of the morning. Geocaching so much more than just finding and logging. It is also about the journey, local history and geology. And TREASURE.
It is possible leave or trade “stash” (as it is sometimes known), and we have some physical mementos with personal connections or which can transport us back to the find.
Some of the best stash is meant to be shared but left at the cache. On this occasion, a bubble blower tube.
So, there you have it, two “middle aged”, should know-betters, hiding the bushes and blowing bubbles, unbeknownst to the dog walkers passing by just yards away…
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