Times They Are A Changin'

On a largely restful day between trips to Cornwall and Rome I was able at last to reflect on events in North Africa and the Middle East and closer to home. There are countries which are regarded as philosophically hostile to what is broadly described as 'the West' and which are generally guided by Islam whether or not distorted in interpretation by factions with their own less devout agendas. Curiously, they are often characterised by oppressive regimes which seem, paradoxically, to do little to represent their populations. Whilst the incidental tourists and insurrectionists of such countries are in clear minorities, the larger populations seem, as in any country of the world, to be decent people wanting only reasonable comfort, stability and peace for themselves and their families. Now those countries are set to tear themselves apart. Whilst this might mean, in the short term, a safer journey on the underground, the long term implications are potentially dire. These are the butterflies stirring in deep distant forests; with so many wings in so many forests the ensuing catastrophe may leave no person on the planet unscathed. The world needs stability in all of its constituent parts and in those parts controlling the oil more than any. Ironically but pragmatically this is why the West has for so long tacitly supported regimes which could charitably be described as dictatorships, countries where the division between the military and politics is somewhat blurred. Now it is the responsibility of the West to guide tentative democracies without cynical manipulation.

At home, one of our reactions to  the tiny minority of people who apparently wish us harm has been control orders. These have recently been in the news on the grounds that they are to be replaced but what is to replace them keeps in place some unsound legal principles. The number of people affected is small but the principles are huge. Accusations are levelled at these individuals to justify substantial restrictions on their movements and activities. We are assured that 'compelling evidence' exists to justify such restrictions but the authorities are not prepared to put forward this evidence in (open) court. That is what is wrong. It is simply, unequivocally, unacceptable in a western democracy, even when faced by an enemy implacably opposed to every facet of that democracy, to base our response on 'evidence' which has not been exposed to the full rigours of our legal system. Such arguments as 'we can not reveal our evidence because that would compromise the sources of our evidence and gathering methods', are fatuous and flawed. We can not compromise our principles even to defeat those who deride and seek to destroy them.

If there are those, even ostensible UK citizens, who so much admire the austere regimes of such as the Taleban then they should be invited to live amongst them. It is evident to me from some years of observation that some of the most reactionary and volatile individuals are those least likely to thrive in authoritarian states or structures with their narrow but often fluid ideologies.

Devon & Cornwall - Day 4

In a lush green field beside the A30 and not far from Exeter, a solitary deer raised its head. Seeming unperturbed by whatever had momentarily caught its attention, it returned to its grazing. A golden evening closed a blue day and became bronze. Extraordinary evening light washed across Devon and touched Axminster but dusk reached Dorset before I did, save for a few bronze beams against coast facing trees and Bridport lay in the pleasant mist of evening. A day as bright as yesterday was dull had heightened the senses. It made it possible to be grateful for almost everything.

Our decision to return home was fixed but a day of unbroken sunshine made it possible to linger along the way and to meander. It was still cold but our hearts were warmed by the light and everything seemed to be a photograph. We left Rosecare mid-morning and stopped soon at Otterham Station for another excellent breakfast at Piers Cafe. The sound of arriving motorbikes brought no peril; rather a sedate bunch of middle-aged men on a 'Sunday Out' and dangerously eating........bacon sandwiches. Presumably the one with the Norton was the non-conformist. I dabbled with Bodmin and conceded that Greg should get at least one shop for every ten railways/airports/bus stations etc.

On today's route that meant Trago Mills (near Liskeard). Trago Mills is an amalgam of retail styles and has the best bits of none. It is essentially a very large junk shop cum indoor boot sale and I am fairly sure that no-one actually knows why they go there. But they do so in their hundreds and thousands. This is the classic place to buy things you didn't know you wanted and to be convinced that you have saved money in doing so. There is a nasty undercurrent of overt nationalism at Trago, a bastion of UKIP and focal point for anyone vaguely anti-metric, anti-European or, possible anti anything that happened since 1750.

I never tire of crossing the Tamar Bridge with its view of the adjacent and remarkable  Brunel railway bridge. Thus to Plymouth where, I must admit, my enthusiasm waned a bit when I could not suck inspiration out of the  monolithic city centre war-damage replacement buildings. There must be much more to see but today was not the day to linger. Fortuitously our escape route took us past Laira, a name which encapsulates the glory of a railway which is no more. The depot is still large and, on a Sunday, is full of trains. In the UK we like to dramatically reduce the number of trains running on the one day when most people are free to travel.

With no script to work from I decided to go to Newton Abbot to meet a friend who works in CGI, a volatile industry. We met, pleasantly, nearer to Torquay and I was glad that our travels of last year had given us some knowledge of the area. And so, north via Exeter and then we sped across the south west to the accompaniment of the beautiful sights recorded above. It is so nice to go travelling but it's oh so lovely to come home.....

Please enjoy my photographs on Flickr and Facebook.

Devon & Cornwall - Day 3

Grey battled against brown and brown against grey to be the dominant colour of this very cold day. The icy hand gripped a little tighter and almost no sunshine slipped through to the three counties we covered in a 200 mile drive. My main objective from our base near Bude was Minehead, terminus of the well-heeled (or should that be ‘wheeled’?) West Somerset Railway. One does not normally think of Morrisons as an oasis but the example in Bude is such a place offering a decent breakfast and fuel prices which, in an exploitatively priced region, are comfortingly low. In Clovelly Cross, one independent was charging 140.9 for diesel. They may well have higher costs and lower alternative income streams but they do not seem to appreciate the disincentive effect of their high prices so that only the desperate or hard-of-planning would stop for either fuel or shopping thus reducing income streams still further. The A39 is a poor road largely not deserving of its classification. To cross from Cornwall into Devon is to enter a disaster zone of neglect and inadequacy. The difference in County Council spending is visible. The topography and serpentine route alone of this road should see it downgraded – it is more ‘A-‘ than it is ‘A’. It takes a long time to cover any distance at safe speeds. I was pleased to visit the Woody Bay station of the Lynton & Barnstaple Railway, a short piece of track in deep Devonshire countryside and not particularly near either town of its appellation. Snow granules fell during my shivering visit; that is how cold it was. Roadworks took us through Lynton and Lynmouth on remarkable gradients. It was on this section that we perhaps missed most on such a discouraging day. The cliff drive away from Lynmouth would be spectacular in brighter conditions. Only a little further on, we encountered Exmoor ponies in the middle of the road and completely unperturbed by what little traffic there was.


Minehead is not an unpleasant place although I think it teeters on the brink of English seaside awfulness. The Butlins’ architecture is actually striking. There lay here a salutary example of failing memory which I hope to attribute to having been to so many places. We parked at the station and I admired its neatness and smart, modern but sympathetic signage. But I was baffled as this was clearly not where I had seen WSR locomotives on a previous occasion. A man leaving the shed explained all, causing me to ‘remember’ (perhaps too strong a word) that the earlier visit had been to Williton. It was time for lunch, the prosaic but adequate KFC and a startling Chilli Rod. I would at this stage say how much I like to get a hot rod inside me but my less couth colleagues would only snigger; some would be envious and some, inevitably, curious.

Light was not on my side nor was the penetrating cold but I was determined to get something out of my own misdirection. Minehead station has an extraordinarily long platform and I walked its length to be rewarded by the sight of several dmu cars which brought back more partial memories. To be honest I have to look them up in old Combined Volumes such was the proliferation of manufacturers at one time. Naturally, we drove to Williton too and there, as last time, I received warm hospitality and benefited from wearing my hi-vis coat. I was shown round the shed and some enhanced positions for photography. I was very grateful. Williton is the home of the Railway’s diesel locomotives. When I looked at an engine block and was assured that it could be fully restored and installed, I was amazed; it looked like junk. Such enthusiasm, skill and application go into running a railway like this. When you turn up to a running day and all the steam and diesel is running, you might never imagine the winter travails of the volunteer shedsfolk.
The day now was fading and our energy with it. We had no desire to retrace the awful A39 and planned another route via Tiverton and the A3072. Greg still had some shopping to do and with no prospect of returning to Barnstaple, Tiverton was the choice. If it were on a pulse rate monitor, its carers would be concerned for its condition. It would be hard to imagine a duller town and one which, even in its shopping centre, was shockingly quiet on a Saturday afternoon. There was nothing now to do but refuel a second time in Bude. £65 on diesel in one day reflects the true cost of leisure today.

Devon & Cornwall - Day 2

It is 10pm on a Friday and this blog is the last thing I can do online tonight. I hope it is read and enjoyed. I am tired and happy; as relaxed as I get being paranoid and with OCD. It was deeply cold overnight and then all day but during that day soft sunshine slipped through the fingers of the icy hand gripping Cornwall. We intended to go to St. Ives but made it only as far as Newquay and were still perfectly happy. We ate breakfast at Piers Cafe on the A39 at Otterham Station. It was very enjoyable and of good quality ingredients. I was pleased to get a photograph at Newquay Airport before we continued into the town. It was distinctly off-season but there was still plenty to see and do. I have published photographs on Flickr and Facebook. I can't say I enjoyed my Cornish pasty lunch but perhaps that was because there was too little room on top of my breakfast. The Blue Reef Aquarium was excellent. Some of my enthusiasms and wonderment have come late to a cynical mind and today, for the first time, I was gripped by some of the things which live in the sea (not literally for those of you who might have hoped for more from my encounter with an octopus). The variety is endless and unfathomable. From Newquay we decided to head back towards Tintagel. We missed the signs to the castle but, viewing it from the Camelot Hotel, found it very disappointing as I had in fact been warned by my brother in law. Roadworks are very popular in Cornwall or at least prolific and it was a somewhat circuitous route back to Rosecare avoiding Boscastle.

We returned to Tintagel in the evening and as a family group for the improbably located 'Indian Ocean' restaurant. The food was tasty but unexceptional. Service was good but some dishes arrived at the table a little colder than they might have been.

Devon & Cornwall - Day 1

Believe it or not, it was snowing a little in the morning and remained bitterly cold throughout the day. It was also predominantly dull but there was some very pleasant if short-lived sunshine in Okehampton in the afternoon. I went to see my Mum before we started our travels and we left Lee on Solent at the intended time. The machines at Rownhams were rather generous – a profit on this occasion of £134. Roadchef could do better with their services and the poorly maintained Rownhams has nothing to recommend it other than what are known in Las Vegas as ‘loose slots’. The state of the car park surface is shameful.


The drive along the south coast is not a fast route and certainly not at my elderly pace but we had no need to stop at Bridport and continued to Exeter. The dismal airport there with a terminal which is little more than a shelter with a coffee shop, is rarely good for photographs but today I braved a biting wind to get a shot of a Titan 737. A short hop to Exeter services allowed us to use M&S Food for lunch which, as I have previously posted, is about the best bet on the motorways these days.

My main objective of the day was Meldon Quarry near Okehampton where, strangely, there are stored some Southern Region emus, important examples of slam door stock which is very under-represented in preservation. They were clearly visible but difficult to photograph through overhanging trees. I really need to study more closely the focusing options in my camera manual. I was courteously accommodated in a safe position but, obviously, cannot wander around a working quarry and its plant. I have my hi-vis coat which has already paid for itself but could not summon up a hard-hat or steel-capped shoes. Nevertheless I was pleased with what I had seen.

Awkwardly located roadworks at Pipers Pool meant a circuitous route to my brother in law’s farm of which I saw rather little as Greg drove and I slept. I felt the cold could very much restrict our weekend activities but we shall see day by day.

The Starting Post

One usually feels the need for leave as an increasing pressure relieved only when the last duty is complete. Such things as preparation for travel no longer stress me as we are very experienced in UK and foreign travel and Greg is a proficient packer. My relief came soon today and my only disappointment was that a dark afternoon did nothing to encourage any preamble to our latest meanderings. I have enough things in mind to fill our time in Cornwall and remain flexible if the weather remains, as seems likely, unkind. We sometimes risk failing to enjoy the present by dwelling too much not on the past but, strangely, the future. We spent some time this afternoon considering our travel arrangements for November when we fly to New York to join Celebrity Silhouette. In fact we reached no firm conclusions.

I am feeling very privileged and excited as I have received permission to do some photography in the Ops Room  to support a forthcoming Heathrow nostalgia evening. As one of Heathrow's living fossils I am pleased to contribute and hope that my photographs will be good enough to distract from the mostly mythical anecdotes about my past years in Heathrow Tower and no fewer than three approach rooms.

My blog will remain updated and illustrated throughout our travels and I hope you enjoy both prose and pictures.

Stress

Today was, frankly, a bit of a strain. A band of pseudo-bruising gripped my abdomen and did little to encourage activity which was, nonetheless, necessary. We visited my Mum and I took the opportunity to take some photographs in the painfully drab Leigh Park. Photography has been very much on my mind but I need to think out much more carefully what I want to say on my greatest concerns. I have a real problem with copyright law not in so far as it might affect my own work in its own right but in any depictions of other peoples work. Of much greater concern though is the ongoing risk of being branded as a terrorist or even a paedophile by some low grade hi-vis-clad moron who is likely, charitably, to be myth-guided more than genuinely malevolent. Can we not live in a society where we routinely assume that an individual is neither a bomber nor a child-molester as is, after all, statistically likely?

I went to work on a day off with little genuine enthusiasm but a greater desire to make the next two days, my last for a while, as simple as possible. I was annoyed with myself for having forgotten that our kitchenette is being refurbished. I am glad that it is being done but, for today, it was another irritation. I am grateful to my employers for lifting the quota time restrictions on internet use. This progressive and pragmatic policy will make breaks more pleasant. Earlier I benefited from the admirably clear explanation of a colleague on the subject of forthcoming tax changes affecting pension contributions. I very much resent many aspects of the birth to death tax regime which oppresses us and find it entirely illogical that pensions themselves are taxed. In particular I find it extraordinary that the tax exempt contribution limit should be reduced in one go from £255,000 pa to £50,000.

I am excited by our travel plans bolstered last evening by a November cruise from New York to the Caribbean. However, I am slightly concerned that our ambitions might outstrip our budget. After 2011, we might need to be more restrained. Everyday life is becoming more expensive with fuel prominent amongst our costs and significant because I enjoy driving for leisure and touring our ceaselessly fascinating country. I might need too to assuage some guilt over part of our autumn itinerary. The first port of call is Labadee, a Haitian territory but secure and private for the use of cruise passengers. I can not claim I would like to see the poverty, unrest, corruption and disease which mark everyday life in post-earthquake Haiti but it might not be morally comfortable to be so close to it in western style luxury.

Nothing - The Day That Died

A fitful sleep marked by dehydration led to an unconfident morning assessing the degree of my recovery. I was able to eat and shower but remained in my pyjamas feeling sore and dispirited. Such light as there was made me think of my cameras and that I was in no position to use them. I hate to miss the Sunday Times but really could not be bothered to get it. I was gradually feeling better but also numb, disinterested and unfocused. I hoped that the NFL Championship games would lift me.

And so day turned to night.

'One Way Or Another' or 'Both Ends Against The Middle'

There are rival titles for this entry of Saturday 22 January, both descriptive enough if read carefully. Although the day started fairly normally, it soon deteriorated as I was overtaken by some very nasty bug. I had managed to struggle through Mum's shopping in as much as I was present while Greg did it and it was too cold to wait in the car. I literally lost count of my bathroom visits both at my childhood home and my own and eventually collapsed into bed to wake at hourly intervals for the inevitable. I must say I am grateful for the comforts afforded me during an illness trivial compared to many around the world and the conditions in which they are suffered. We have four bathrooms, reliable warmth, a comfortable bed and possibly the largest stock of toilet tissue this side of ASDA. And, of course, I have Greg, always Greg.

Greg himself had been similarly struck down on Wednesday night and then Thursday and we had assumed it was food poisoning. We frequently eat different meals and now we are wondering if it is or was a violent bug instead. My discomfort continued for many hours and, after managing green tea, I thought it strange that Gaviscon soothed me most as much as anything for its presence in a very empty stomach.

I wondered too how this post might be received appearing as it does during my absence from work. I can only say I haven't the strength even to reach the car although my laptop has reached me. Perhaps that says something awful about my priorities. Oh well, as Oscar Wilde purportedly said 'either that wallpaper goes or I do'.

Slipped Through My Fingers

The evening was golden and it was blue but the silky colours which caressed the dying day could not deny that that day had slipped through my fingers. A little regret was partially suppressed by a few photographs snatched before tantalising late sun fell into dusk. I was lucky to have a defuser colleague at hand when an unexpected incident at work upset me more than I would have imagined. I bounced back as one must and stayed on for an important meeting. All these things are important but now my desire to get back to recently ill Greg competed with the desire to do a couple of things and mixed with disappointment that many of my photographic aspirations would remain still on a to-do list. Many of my Flickr photographs are taken not strictly to satisfy my own hobbies other than Flickr itself. They are taken instead to contribute to various groups. One such is the improbable 'Chinese Restaurant Worldwide Documentation Project'. It excludes rather pragmatically such restaurants in China and Hong Kong but I am rather enjoying adding those I see more easily. My humble documentation of those in my own area seem to attract a respectable number of views.

With Greg recovering from his recent indisposition, we felt able to eat Indian food this evening. The latest 'Taste the Difference' boxed meal from Sainsburys was flawless. Quantities and flavours were excellent, the composition of the meal avoided the predictable and to consume it was uplifting.

To continue with upliftment I turned to the living room and our recordings of Great British Railway Journeys. No praise is too high for the series or its presenter, Michael Portillo. The programmes delicately balance railway interest with extraordinary history and contemporary narration. So soothing is the content that a problem has now arisen on more than one occasion. I fall asleep not with ennui but sheer contentment and we have to return to the recording at a more wakeful moment. If I can do anything in life as well as Portillo presents these programmes then I shall have achieved something. Perhaps I shall have to settle for loving Greg and my friends in my own peculiar way.

A Broken Day Mended

Because I had rearranged my days off for our social commitments I felt I had nearly shot myself in the foot. The best weather of the three days arrived after a heavy frost but I had no spirit to go to London as originally planned. I want to photograph Rivelino's 'Nuestros Silencios' but it can wait until a visit in early February. As I have written previously, good photographs can not be taken without motivation. So, the day started from scratch. We dropped a friend in Winchester where I hoped to visit the military museums. I was disappointed to find almost no external exhibits. The sunshine, although welcome, produced an overbright and hazy light which would hinder photography anyway. I am looking forward to the passing of a cycle which will see me on leave in Cornwall, Rome and London but did not want to waste this day. We drove down to Eastleigh where the railway was also disappointing. It is the time of month for 'Buses' magazine although it seems to take a couple of days to reach the shelves. Rather than go to Fareham, we parked in Eastleigh town for its shops. It is a pretty dull place with, as far as I can see, only one bright star in its firmament (one of the nicest people in the world) but we did wander in the Swan Centre and High Street. I didn't quite know what to make of the museum which I had hoped might be more railway oriented. In fairness I have to say that their ethos is in fact to highlight the other aspects of the town's history.

There are several interesting things which can be seen from the M27 but can not, of course, legally be photographed. One such is a mill whose location we managed to pinpoint for 'landside' access. I went there today and was delighted to wander round by the Itchen and be charmed by the (converted) buildings. Greg had gone in Hobbycraft and, re-united, we lunched well in Haskins. It was finally time to go home and rest and think a little of the megabytes in my holiday destinations.

Sexy Food, Mediaeval Wonder and Modern Art

The timing of my breaks and the fact that I had had a substantial breakfast with a furtive half slice of fried bread meant that I never did buy the alluring buttercream coated sponge which tantalised me from the red light section of the sandwich counter in our staff restaurant. The single cherry eye of this gateau-whore temptress was still in my mind as pre-lunch rumbles assailed a stomach ready for the more attainable earthly pleasures. That stomach had not quite forgotten the teasing combination of fried bread and baked beans which, in a restaurant which can not consistently provide a draining spoon, are remarkably good.

With flashes of watery winter sunshine enough to convince me that something could be salvaged from the weekend, I had eschewed rest for a drive to Salisbury. We went specifically to see modern art at the cathedral but for now my mind wanted pizza and my eyes drew me to Boston Tea Party http://www.bostonteaparty.co.uk/ . This small chain of West Country restaurants serves excellent food if my burger was anything to go by (although Greg was not quite so impressed with his slightly dry macaroni cheese). Where the earlier cake had, confusingly, been a tart, the burger which reached my table with its promised accompaniments was a fully legal, highly skilled masseur soothing me towards a culinary orgasm.

Amusingly, the following is one of (and in my opinion, the most apposite) of several quotations adorning the dining room wall: 'Great restaurants are, of course, nothing but mouth-brothels. There is no point in going  to them if one intends to keep one's belt buckled' [Frederic Raphael]

Truly the burger was about as similar to the products of nearby Burger King as I am to the inhabitants of some far distant exo-planet; one of the best I have had and with a bun which was actually made of bread which appears to be unheard of these days on the high street.

Thus fortified and with the return of drizzle never far away, we entered the precincts of Salisbury Cathedral. Even on this dull day the sight of this extraordinary edifice on the approach from the south had been deeply inspiring. Even with no sunshine to make its stone glow in the manner of such buildings the inspiration is only magnified by proximity and, inside, however lacking in religious conviction, one is moved in a visceral way by an undefinable atmosphere. As a photogapher, I was moved even more as a thousand subjects presented themselves and my humble mini-tripod supported countless available light opportunities. I could have stayed for ever. Built to the glory of God, everything in and around the cathedral celebrates every aspect of human existence whether divinely created or not.

I had travelled to see and photograph 'Water-Towers' by Bruce Munro. In the cloisters of Salisbury cathedral he has found a stunningly sympathetic setting. I shot in available light and my first picture on review caused me a sharp intake of breath and a welling of tears. The work is remarkably engaging and adds to the atmosphere as well as drawing on that which is already there. I suggest you see it before February 27th.

Both stomach and soul had been satisfied so it was hard to resent the rain which accompanied the walk back to the Old George Mall and its car park. With or without a God, life is very good.

Friday

Here in deepest southern England and clinging to the coast, it was the most Mancunian of days. It is perhaps unfair to suggest that Manchester is rainier than anywhere else but the monotonously wet view across my dashboard this morning took me back to 1976, to the A34, to the A6, to the end of long drives from  home back to an uncomfortable cadetship posting to a place where it seemed to rain as often as not. Rain was a part of my life then; the Orwellian rain you might find on the Road to Wigan Pier or simply use to keep your aspidistra flying. The kind of rain which moistened Lowry's Mills. The kind of rain which, in my small life, made Guide Bridge and Reddish what they were. What would a blue 76 have looked like if it were not wet? It was meant to be wet and dulled by sub-Pennine gloom.

These are the days which suck purpose from your mind and hope from your soul if circumstances have not already contrived to do so. This is a time of difficult decisions for me and the distraction of foul weather does not help to focus my thoughts. I am very fortunate that Greg drives me around a lot on my days off which allows me to observe the things which might be photographs. On a day like this anything but the most specialist photography is all but impossible so the potential subjects simply join a 'to do' list.

We braved the weather to visit Fareham and get Greg's hair cut. One thing leads to another and for lunch I had a surprisingly good baked potato. I am not disposed to procrastination and like to get things done so that when a brighter day, metaphorically or otherwise, arrives, we are free to enjoy ourselves. Such a day is already in prospect. I hope Tuesday will bring brightness sufficient to encourage travel to London where I want to absorb (and of course photogaph) Rivelino's 'Nuestros Silencios' now standing (poignantly) next to the Houses of Parliament.

The Supermarkets Never Sleep

Regular readers will know that the supermarkets are frequently the target of my ire. Careful readers will know that this is not without cause.

Today the duty manager in Tesco, Havant received my attention and gratifyingly crumbled when faced with the indefensible.

A large yellow ticket annotated 'Special Purchase', drew attention to Tetley Tea Bags (160s) at 77.6 per 100g. Above on the shelf, stood 240s at 70.4p per 100g. Thus, in no way can the smaller packet be construed as a special purchase. This is exactly the kind of practice which drew the attention of consumer groups and Trading Standards last year. It is exactly the kind of practice which must be eradicated. Supermarkets put a lot of effort into misleading us. If you don't like it, complain to the manager and, if you are not satisfied, contact Trading Standards.

Although these practices are not unique to one supermarket, note also that Tesco is also selling its diesel at an unecessary and greedy 132.9.

Restraint

With diesel costing up to 133.9 in my area and quite possibly more elsewhere, it was gratifying to see continuing restraint at my local ASDA.

The oil companies started to insidiously raise their prices in the period BEFORE the application of the latest fuel escalator and the VAT increase. The greed of the oil companies has compounded the ineptitude of the previous government. As ASDA probably do not sell fuel as a loss leader, it can be argued that prices of 130.9 and above reflect ruthless profiteering well above the impositions of the present tax-hungry coalition.

Perseverance, Faith and An Understanding of Light

This second post follows on nicely from my earlier essay. Strong winds overnight were not enough to blow the cloud out of the way as early as I would have liked. It was very frustrating to watch a BBC forecast which did not accurately depict even the current situation and, ultimately, proved quite inaccurate on timing. Nevertheless, I was not prepared to be cowed into staying at home and set off for a planned trip to Brighton. I decided to stop at Shoreham Airport where the lunchtime interpretation of goulash was wayward but tasty. I got some unexpectedly pleasing photographs in flat light but still was not encouraged by the prospects for Brighton. My gamble was that the cloud would clear late - with about one hour and a half of useful daylight remaining - as has happened a few times recently

Our arrival saw continuing gloom and our surroundings and initial experiences did nothing to dispel that. The area around London Road car park is pretty grim. So much of Brighton is faded and drab with much neglected property both residential and commercial. Surprisingly, the car park itself is a finely honed paragon of modernity with shuttered entrances and exits. I wanted to see Class 313 units recently displaced to the Brighton area but there was none at an incredibly dull station dominated by Class 377. It seemed the same with the buses where the uninspired Brighton & Hove livery does nothing to lift the monotony of predictable modern types. The services at least seemed intense and the street furniture sharp and up to date with intention boards. We had chosen unfortunately the day of the 3rd round FA Cup match between Brighton and Portsmouth. We saw no trouble from vociferous fans of either side but the police certainly disturbed me. There were dozens and possibly a couple of hundred. This annoys me deeply and on a couple of levels. When do you EVER see even a tenth of this presence at any other time. Police officers are all but invisible most of the time. At events requiring (or potentially requiring) crowd control, their presence is mandated and then the organiser has to pay for a service they can not decline. I suppose they have to be prepared but I found the numbers excessive and the frequent movements of their vehicles ostentatious bordering on provocative. Every now and then a flock of hi-vis jackets and limb protectors would break into a jog and the motion in combination with the expressions on the officers' faces gave two impressions; the whole was like the movement of a shoal of fish with about as much purpose. But if anything was to be drawn from the facial expressions it was reminiscent of combat troops from WWI to Gulf 2 where they looked at least as scared as their opponents. I felt my photographic attention to the interesting fleets of vehicles mustered for the occasion might cause one shoal to descend upon me so, disappointed in that respect, I descended to the sea. There is no light like seaside light and, as my gamble paid off, it shone upon the Brighton front. There is more dilapidation within yards of the sea but so much to photograph. The West Pier is an obvious subject but we saw also sculpture and preserved fishing posts as well as the extant Palace Pier in an incomparable light..

Right to the end of our visit and the end of usable light there were more opportunities. Brighton newcomer The Big Lemon brings some colour to the bus scene albeit with vehicles older than I was expecting and finally, offering some unexpected symmetry to the day, a gloriously simple poster decorated the hoardings protecting the straitened Astoria in Gloucester Place.

A day well spent and my photographic principle exercised.

An Essay on Flickr and Photography

Photography, being a branch of art even when intended as documentary, inevitably gives rise to subjective judgements. Opinions, even on technical merit, can only be personal. As a photographer of only modest ability and operating within my own criteria, Flickr gives me hours of pleasure both as a repository for my own work and as a source of inspiration. Where does inspiration become plagiarism? It does not have to. I think the answer lies within the 6bn+ images on Flickr itself. What is apparent as much as anything from the work there is the WAY people interpret what they see. This is most evident in the views of the world's most photographed subjects. It is possible still to be original, to see something that has not been seen before or in way it has not been seen before. I saw this this morning in albums of Paris and Rome. Some of the pictures are remarkable. In these I do not include HDR images which have not yet persuaded me of their raison d'être nor are they likely to do so.

HDR is an example of several things I do not need to do to my pictures. I do not use Photoshop and keep any PP to a minimum. I like to work with what presents itself to the camera and use basic photographic skills to make the picture. These skills seem sadly lacking in many pictures today. The analogy I would use to illustrate the difference between those of us brought up with often limited film cameras and those exposed (as it were) only to the digital age is that of the introduction of the calculator. It was evident that when this now everyday item arrived, you needed to understand the underlying mathematical calculation to be sure that the indicated answer was correct. To use a digital camera effectively, even with extensive reliance on its automatics, a grasp of some of the principles is not only desirable but, I think essential. I can not really understand people who 'snap'. I understand it less when they are satisfied with the results.

Several things should go hand in hand. There has to be some sort of composition. Verticals are important unless a skew is an intentional part of the image. Objects can be used to frame a subject. Awareness whilst taking a shot is important. General awareness should go with an understanding of light. One should be aware of anything or anyone within or entering the frame which is not wanted. This is particularly important with compacts where depth of field options are limited. Our eyes process out a lot of unwanted information which a camera will capture unblinkingly. This includes clutter which detracts from the intended subject and shadows arising from particularly harsh light. Even with the range of equivalent ISO available in digital cameras, an understanding of light is perhaps the most important tool in ones box. Harsh light will create the unseemly shadows already mentioned and very dull light will suck the contrast from the picture. In my opinion photographs can not be forced. Without inspiration and volition the image will be poor or diminished.

Online storage or sharing is a mixed blessing. Personally, I do not 'dump' on Flickr although one of its functions is storage. My OCD comes to the fore when people do not caption, or tag with correct spelling or do not check the date stamp. The great thing about Flickr is that it provides an opportunity to encourage other people and I won't deny that receiving similar encouragement is a big thrill.

Shape

There is a bit of me which feels it might be wrong to be discontent when I am fairly privileged. I expect though I am entitled to be a bit down sometimes. With work behind me for 3 1/2 days there was less immediate uplift than normal because the weather was absolutely foul. We have leave booked for Jan/Feb and hitherto have been unable to decide where to seek sunshine or at least the possibility of it. In spite of the longing for celestial illumination we have a budget limited by bookings already made for this year and, frankly, we have been to so many places, we found it difficult to get as motivated as you might expect. At last, we decided on Rome, a city I love and which will probably at least be sunnier than Hampshire. As we discovered on a previous visit, the hotel is painfully expensive but that seems unavoidable. We have booked an opera but I imagine the highlight will be watching trains at Roma Termini.

So now the year in prospect has taken shape. Rome will be followed by Palm Springs and San Diego. This might be our last trip to Palm Springs for some while as we recently received the shock news that Inndulge has changed hands and we do not count on wanting to go again after our already booked March trip. In an unexpected way this might be liberating because it was becoming difficult to leave the rut we were happily in and try other itineraries of which we have many in mind. Two cycles of leave in November might now see us reach Australia for the first time in 20 years, who knows? In the meantime we shall spend one week of June on a Norwegian Fjords cruise. This is a compromise itinerary with exactly the highlights I wish to see without becoming 'fjorded out'.

Unless the price of petrol/diesel passes that of gold - which it might yet - we shall also enjoy a lot more of our own country which means Britain rather then England. That will start in Cornwall in January and continue probably via a series of railway open days and bus rallies amongst other attractions. All this should help me to my now modest target of 5000 images on Flickr sooner rather than later.

Southampton

Visiting a pharmacy is like watching one of those episodes of Springwatch where nothing actually happens. You know the ones; where they are waiting for the tits to come back to the nesting box to feed their young but they do not because they do not want to see themselves on television and are at a neighbours watching Emmerdale until Kate Humble goes to bed. If you think I've gone all Eddie Izzard on you, it's about the pharmacist's lack of movement. Any there is can be captured only by time-lapse photography; in previous ice-ages they have been overtaken by glaciers. This means that in a 10-15 minute visit you can not expect to see any actual activity. In the time it takes to get a prescription, new drugs are invented and fully trialled. I think that gets my message across. We had been to see Mum, who is stable. I took her to the doctor, a visit which inevitably resulted in another prescription so that her repeat sheet is now similar in both length and contents to the BNF.

Mum wanted very little shopping and there was some brightness so we took full advantage and went to Southampton. I shall gloss over the bit where I lost £40 on the machines at Rownhams and just hope that there is someone to resuscitate Matthew at this point of his bedtime read. We saw three cruise ships; Artemis, Saga Pearl II and Boudicca were all present with the striking Anvil Point across the water at Marchwood. We went on to Ocean Village where I got exactly the photographs I wanted. As a development though, I don't get it. It seems very dull, lacking vibrancy. Perhaps I am becoming more curmudgeonly if that is possible (although I prefer to thing of myself as misanthrope rather than curmudgeon, if only to get 50% of my colleagues running for a dictionary). We went to the Hall of Aviation and I was, at first, not impressed with its slightly gloomy and very cluttered interior. I have to admit though, on balance, and although this is far from the best aircraft museum, I enjoyed myself and relished the challenge of shooting in available light.

With my stomach sending messages about lunch we went to West Quay now relatively tranquil on the first day of a new term. Lunch at Giardinos was very good but a little adventure lay ahead. I was photographing the Christmas decorations when Greg made me aware that I was being gesticulated at across a void by a security guard. I dealt with the challenge swiftly, confidently and unflinchingly. The guard and his companion had moved on by the time I reached their original location but I caught up with them. I asked if he had a legal basis for the hand signals by which he had indicated that I should desist from my hobby. The security people were in fact extremely courteous and effective but also uncomfortable applying flawed management policies. I had the Data Protection Act quoted at me and crushed the argument with my superior legal knowledge. I was concerned that the guards have been asked to use spurious and unfounded justifications to explain why photographs may not be taken. To Greg's very well hidden delight, I decided to see the duty manager. He was very professional, an effective communicator and after a civil and worthwhile discussion, also very helpful. I should be able to arrange to take some more photographs in the future and they are in no doubt now that I don't take kindly to the complete misapplication of the Data Protection Act.

VAT went up today just to make life that bit harder for all of us. For those shops which have not adjusted tickets or tills but are charging the higher prices - there is no excuse. There was plenty of warning and software changes should have been implemented overnight. I must congratulate ASDA in holding diesel at 128.9 which was a relief after the journey from Southampton was marked with prices ranging from 131.9 to 133.9. Less praise is due for the reliability of the printers at their pay pumps. Neither was working today and the rather ineffectual intervention of a fleece-clad ASDA-ette did not seem likely to change that. Quite apart from anything else she was roughly the same height as the pump (so still taller than Dave B. then) but, even standing on the plinth, not well placed to delve into the innards of the printer. Bizarrely, in order to attend the errant receipt paper, she had chosen to close one of the two pay booths which was enthusiastically received by the full forecourt.
If I have made you smile today please say so. Autographs are free as is viewing of my (mostly) fabulous photostream at www.flickr.com/photos/johnoram

Waves Of Emotion

The weather was at last (partially) bright as promised and my hopes were high. I had arranged my shift to allow me to go beforehand to a bus display and running day organised by Friends of King Alfred Buses (FoKAB). First I wanted to see my Mum and, on the way there, collect the paper. As I was paying for the Times and Telegraph, two papers in the hope of finding some inspirational travel ads, I saw that an owl had arrived outside accompanied by a human. I love birds and was absolutely thrilled. I was also excited because this was a perfect example of an unexpected photographic opportunity and some vindication for carrying a camera almost everywhere. The pictures are now on Flickr. I was allowed to pet the beautiful bird and he sat on my arm. This made me deeply emotional; I have not been so moved in a long time.

My Mum unfortunately has not been very well and was less well this morning. She was evidently very anxious too and I spent some time arranging medical attention. I myself have used the out of hours service recently and, although it comes under great stress at holiday times, found it very satisfactory. Mum's triage call came quickly and while we were still there. A doctor's house call would take longer and we went about our business, remaining in touch by phone.

Winchester is a fascinating city and was today the location of the FoKAB running day. Fortunately, I had decided to go first to the St. Catherine's Park & Ride where there was an excellent display of buses and by far the best photographic opportunities. With patience, a quality which abounds in me, I was able to work around the hard of moving and semi-catatonic who chose to spend several minutes in front of each vehicle reading the informative placards. The position of the sun was not ideal for all the parked vehicles but I stoically accepted that my powers do not yet extend to manipulating the solar system. The vehicles present were magnificent in condition and variety. Those which meant most to me were the Portsmouth and Southdown examples; there were vehicles I had never imagined I would see again and I found myself again emotional. We went on to the city centre and it was clear that the area around Broadway and the bus station was much less satisfactory for photography although watching would have been good had I had time. I did not, as I now had to plan my journey to work. Pizza Hut, probably not more than a third full, seemed overwhelmed. We walked out when our order was not taken after about ten minutes. It was not a bad decision; our M&S lunch was excellent. The Brooks shopping centre is pointless and inadequate and its car park is both of those things as well as poorly designed and lit and claustrophobic. If you travel around the country as much as we do you will know how many car parks are completely inappropriately designed for the vehicles they are supposed to accommodate. Surely, it can not be beyond the wit of architects and structural engineers to produce a car park which does not have hopelessly tight turns and pillars projecting into every space. These inadequacies notwithstanding, Winchester is a city which deserves at least two more visits in the near future.

In the meantime, I would like to thank and congratulate FoKAB on an excellent display and running day. Weary though I was when I headed for work, it was also with raised spirits.

Compare and Contrast

In a morning at work I was part of a supervisory team which oversaw creative but effective staffiing and led to not a single minute of delay to any of our customers. Quite the opposite; the reduced number of aircraft which operated today will have enjoyed direct routings, expedited climbs and shortened approaches. All this was achieved without our staffing arrangements at any stage diminishing our ability to provide a service. This means the number of staff was at all times appropriate to the demand.

When I got home I went to ASDA. I wandered amongst ravaged shelves sorely in need of re-stocking, bought what I could and waited in straggling lines at checkouts of which about 25% were closed. A supervisory team of, at times, four seemed to be observing but  not mitigating and certainly not fulfilling bullet #1 on the adjacent placard which aspirationally referred to opening more checkouts when queues form.

Compare and contrast.