……there’d be days like these, so the song goes, and today was one of those days. Grey, bland and boring, so boring in fact that I spent a good part of the morning taking my frustrations out on a willow tree that required some judicious pruning, all the while hoping that the flat, featureless sky might open up and provide me with a little colour or at least some cloud to photograph. Alas it wasn’t to be, there was no improvement, in fact if I’d waited for any improvement and kept sawing that willow tree would be a stump about now!

I did venture out, more in hope than expectation, but I’d not gone far when I realised things weren’t going to be any better wherever I chose to set up, it’s not often that I can’t find some spark of inspiration, or at least enthusiasm, but I couldn’t think of anywhere that was going to look good in today’s light. Nothing for it but to get a little inventive then, a quick visit to the greengrocer and the florist and return home to see what I could come up with.

There are some amazing exponents of the art of deconstructing objects and photographing them, the results that some people achieve are amazing, breathtaking, mine still have some way to go but doing the simple things first often gives an insight into how the more complex things are achievable. who new you could have so much fun with an apple, a pair and a banana. The banana and the pear were for the chop, the apple survived….at least until tomorrow.

Silk purse to a sow’s ear, that’s the story of the weather today. After the beautiful frost and mist we’ve returned to the damp and dreary, the depressingly common, the bland face of what passes as seasonal fare at this time of year. The forecast for the next few days and through the coming weekend is for , yes, more cloud and a little rain at times, who would have thought it?

After a morning’s visit to Blandford and a few minutes spent doing a little job here after lunch I thought I’d best take myself out in the hope that I might find something to photograph for today. I was certainly going to struggle to find anything dramatic in the featureless cloud cover , no drama or colour to be had this afternoon, Battleship Grey was the predominant shade stretched across the landscape and that , coupled with the failing afternoon light left me with little inspiration and not much more in the way of enthusiasm. Still, I thought I’d give it a go, I’d only kick myself if I didn’t.

A short drive from home, less than the usual ’15 minute’ mantra, saw me at the little hamlet of Fifehead Neville where I knew, from one previous visit a few years ago, I’d find an old pack horse bridge, surely if anything would be crying out to be photographed it would be that? I was lucky, a week ago the incessant rain had swollen the little river that runs under the arches here to a raging torrent and trapped at least one motorist, today the waters had receded to merely calf height, easily accommodated by my wellingtons. The little medieval structure, now Grade 2 listed and rightly so given that anything that old and so quaint deserves to be preserved, sits quietly in the countryside on a road to nowhere, one can only wonder at what tales it could tell if it could speak, what characters have crossed it, what goods were carried and destined for where? The stories may be lost or untold but at least the architechture has stood the test of time.

Caught between the gate posts, entwined with the barbed wire and the gossamer threads frosted with the frozen dew the silky cobweb vies for space with the hard frozen metal. The hard work of the unseen spider highlighted in all its glory, bedecked with little shiny diamonds, nature as intricate as anything man made.

Today our early morning trip to Gillingham was undertaken with the temperature hovering at minus 3 and dropping in several places to minus 4, frost and fog were the order of the morning. The sun struggled to make any real impression until nearly lunchtime but I was thankful for that as it gave me an opportunity to wander the riverbank for an hour. I’d set out on Sunday last with the intention of photographing the little things, the contents of the hedgerow, the flotsam and jetsam that often goes unseen but I was seduced by the scenery and the cold, silvery landscape. Today, without the sunshine and the blue sky it was easier to focus attention and isolate small scenes rather than the bigger picture.

With the reeds, rushes and riverbank seeds heavily laden with the thick frost everywhere looked a little like a scene from Narnia or some such other snowy, fairytale creation. Where I’d struggled on Sunday to find a frosty cobweb this morning I could take my pick, although there weren’t as many as I’d anticipated, there were more than enough to go round but for all of that I still only ended up with one shot. The brittle, last season, cow parsley heads and the teasels bore the brunt of the hard overnight frost, covered, almost to the extent of looking like miniscule cauliflowers on slender, glass like stalks, standing tall in parallel lines between the slow old river and the well trodden, muddy footpath around the field to the mill. Tonight will be the last of the frosts apparently, they’ve been a very welcome change, hopefully we won’t have to wait long for their return.

We’ve been blessed with such a glorious weekend which has run on into the new week. We’ve had frost, fog and mist and then glorious sunshine, not that the sunshine has a lot of warmth in it at this time of year, it’s very thin but it’s a more than welcome sight coupled with the bright blue sky. This afternoon I wandered down to the old abandoned mill at Hinton St Mary and watched the waters race over the weir and into the millpond. All calm and serene on one side of the weir and then boiling, bubbling and frothing as it threw itself over the edge in it’s mad, kamikaze, rush to move on, eventually, towards the sea.

The crisp afternoon, the mirror calm of the river before it fell over the edge, the golden light as the water caught the late afternoon sun and then the sunlight dancing on the mill pond made for a very calming few minutes, despite the attentions of a bored black Labrador whose owner was full of apologies for the dog barking at this interloper on her patch. No apology required, after all, I was on her turf and she was only doing what any good guard dog would do in letting her owner know there was a stranger in the camp. A little petting and a few words quickly settled her and she was more than happy to allow me to continue wandering and enjoying the view, dog and owner last seen quite literally seen wandering off into the setting sun beyond the millpond.

I stood a while longer watching the sun sinking lower in the West, casting shadows as the light turned into a golden glow, I would’ve waited longer until it finally fell below the horizon turning orange under a darkening, deep blue sky but the temperature was dropping, evening was beginning to spread icy tentacles on the bank and down the lane where the water had run off fields waterlogged from the recent rainfall, not a walk I wanted in the half light, it was time to call it a day, and what a day it’s been.

For the second day running we’ve been treated to a glorious frost though the misty, foggy conditions that prevailed for most of the day yesterday were a distant memory today. The sun shone, and is still doing so as we speak, not a cloud in the sky and the ground and every available surface glistened, bejeweled with frost, minus 3C when I left home and not a lot warmer when I reached my destination just a short drive away. I left home later this morning to give things a chance to warm up but if anything, despite the absence of the fog, the conditions were crisper, the air a little sharper, a truly beautiful start to the day.

I wandered across the playing fields at Shillingstone in the quiet of the early morning, evidently I wasn’t the first, the frosty grass bore testiment to earlier risers and their four legged companions and walking down to the river I could see that I wasn’t to be the only photographer attracted to the scene by the conditions. On arriving it was evident that he’d been there for a while, he was packing away his equipment as I was setting mine up. As he returned across the river we stopped to exchange pleasantries, he informed me he’d been there since the crack of dawn, I felt he might have had the best of the light but that was my fault for not getting up and out far earlier.

As a photographer light, they say, is everything, early morning and late evening being the optimum times for capturing the landscape. The sun had already risen far higher than was entirely favourable and was beginning to bleach the scene, burning out the details and casting dark shadows, stealing the details from the delicate parts of my images, leaving me with brightness and contrast, the price I’d have to pay for sleeping in. In my defense I’d said that I was going to shoot nothing but the little things this morning. I had images of cobwebs and teasels covered in frost, hanging from fences, gates and post lines, in truth I noticed one lonely cobweb and that was in such a position that I’d have had to be a contortionist to capture it. Instead I was seduced by the scenery again, once more the river and the bridge became a magnet, my focus for the majority of this mornings wanderings. Am I disappointed, not at all, there’ll be other opportunities to catch the small fry whereas it might be a while before we’re treated to such beautiful conditions, as they say, make hay while the sun shines!

Stood on the lakeside in the half light this morning the moon was a misty, cold, glowing orb, well, a third of an orb as it’s waning at the moment. Whatever, whether it was waxing or waning it was decidedly cold as I set up to await the sunrise. In the gloom the only things that were stirring were the waterfowl and the odd curious carp which was attracted to the surface of the lake, drawn by the light of the moon or a tasty morsel floating along on the surface, there were certainly no signs of life from the fishermen’s tents that were dotted around the banks. It must have been a cold night for them as the frost was thick on the ground.

As the time wore on the darkness lifted but as it did so the mist and fog descended, my hopes of a golden sunrise weren’t looking good. The mist swirled, changing the light from cold and blue to warm and pink and then back again as it moved on unseen, and unfelt, breezes, thick at times it blotted out the trees, reeds and shrubs only to reveal them again minutes later as the mist thinned again. Slowly the light began to reveal the feathered residents as they swam, splashed and squawked in the half light of the dawn.

I never got my golden, mist shrouded sunrise, I had to find another location several miles out of and off the valley floor, by which time the sun had risen high enough to have bleached the best of the dawn light away though it did afford me one or two hurried shots. The magic of the morning had gone and although I didn’t get the sort of shots I’d hoped for and anticipated I was treated to other more subtle but nonetheless beautiful scenery. Getting up and out, enduring the frost, the frozen fingers and toes was well worth it in the end.

After yesterday’s dismal showing and being ‘confined to barracks’ by the rain it felt good to be out in the fresh air this afternoon. The sun shone gloriously, the wind that had been so cold this morning dropped and I resolved to wander The Trailway at least as far as Hamoon Crossing. The Trailway, the trackbed of the old Somerset and Dorset Railway, was part of the reason for beginning this blog initially and so I found myself wandering the inspiration looking for inspiration so to speak.

I do wonder about my sense of timing however. It’s recognised among photographers and artists that the best light of the day occurs either at dawn or dusk, well, sunset, when the light is lower in the sky and the intensity of the light is dispersed through the atmosphere rather than in the middle of the day when the sun is often overhead or at least higher in the sky. During the middle of the afternoon isn’t generally speaking the best time of day to be out and about with the camera and there were times today when the bright light and harsh shadows really didn’t do a lot to enthuse me. I did question my motives for being out but I guess it’s a bit like being a runner who runs for the endorphin rush, the feelgood factor, the thought of capturing something special or unique fuels the desire, it can be addictive.

Given that the conditions weren’t overly ideal I struggled at first, trying to get started. Often, once you get your eye in and take a shot it focus’s your mind and you begin to see possibilities and potential that you might not have considered in the first place. I found myself drawn to the lines and patterns cast across the fields in the warm sunshine and what appeared at first as an obstacle became the subject for the afternoon which was cut short by a rainstorm, what else, that meant a rather long, damp trudge home, the light had gone, my subjects disappeared in the ensuing gloom but at least I’d had a brief encounter back in the field.

It’s enough to drive anyone to drink, the weather that is. Yesterday’s lovely afternoon in the sunshine is today a dim and distant memory despite it being just 24 hours ago. Where yesterday it was a pleasure to wander today finds us scurrying and scuttling for shelter, the wind and rain have returned with a vengeance. On a plus note though , and almost miraculously, the floods have receded, where on earth at least four feet of water have disappeared to overnight I have no idea but it’s gone, well, from Sturminster at least. Further downstream it looks as though they’re still struggling.

So today, once again, I’m certainly not venturing out, tomorrow I might be persuaded if I can be bothered to get up at the crack of dawn as it appears from the forecast that there might be a window of opportunity before we’re treated to another deluge. I know they say that there’s no such thing as bad weather only inappropriate clothing but wearing a wet suit and flippers to walk the High Street is usually viewed as somewhat over the top and gives rise to ridicule. I think I’ll stay in and drink gin!

Well, normal service has been resumed, in more ways than one. After all the horrendous weather we experienced yesterday we have been treated to a beautifully sunny day, it did take a while to get started but it did eventually arrive. On the other hand despite the beautiful sunshine we are once again paddling, everywhere is once more under water.

It makes for dramatic viewing in places, whole fields have been swallowed up by the waters and the river cuts a broad, brown swathe through the countryside as it sweeps down to the mill here at Sturminster Newton. The River Stour here on the edge of the town, beloved of the novelist Thomas Hardy, froths, foams and boils as it sweeps over the weir , the millpond is more a gigantic lake rather than a mere pond, and races along on the current to be swept under the arches of the town bridge .

During the last set of floods I ventured further south, below the town, along the trailway but today the enormous scale of the flood across Durrant’s field was an opportunity too good to miss. Stood watching the swollen waters race over the weir was almost hypnotic, the roar of the water drowned out the busy, adjacent main road and despite the noise there was an air of peace and tranquility. I wasn’t alone in taking it in, there were others drawn to the spectacle, several like me with cameras to record the scene but others just marveling at the spectacle and probably glad to be out in the fine weather.

No prizes for beauty or music, sounds like a page from my old school reports, similarly, ‘does not take instruction well’ might also have featured on one or two occasions. Another firm favourite of the teaching staff seemed to be ‘ must try harder’, had any of my old school masters or mistresses seen this afternoon’s capers they might well have had just cause to scratch that one from the page. I was a very busy bee indeed.

Thanks to Storm Brendan I’ve been confined to barracks again today. If anything today’s weather here has been more atrocious than yesterday, and you know the old adage, ‘The Devil Makes Work For Idle Hands’, well, it’s true. I’ve long been meaning to try one or two techniques out and today’s inclement weather was an ideal opportunity, so, duly appointed with an armful or two of photographic bits and pieces I withdrew to the conservatory for the afternoon. Now, we don’t have the biggest of conservatory’s and once I’d rearranged things a little I found myself the proud owner of a space marginally bigger than a postage stamp and a little less grand than a shoe box. Not entirely conducive to artistic endeavour, more akin to escapology in the manner of Harry Houdini in a straight jacket.

The next couple of hours saw me contorting, contriving and pacing the short space between camera and ‘set’ as if on some tortuous catwalk in search of some contrived minds eye image and cursing the realities of scant space and meagre equipment. There were moments when one flash would fire and the other wouldn’t, there were moments when both flashes failed to play ball and there were moments when my expletives and profanities ( artistic licence I can assure you ) were thankfully drowned out by the howling wind and thrashing rain. In between each shot there was the short walk to assess the success or failure of the image, I must have walked miles this afternoon. As the title of today’s piece say’s, there were no prizes, there was no beauty and I didn’t get to play any music but I did, in my own mind, score heavily on marks for endeavour.