Today’s being a struggle! It didn’t start off that way, up with the lark and off to the metropolis for our fortnightly trip into neighbouring Somerset, no problem. Trip to Somerset successfully completed and return home, no issues, even managed coffee out. So far, so good, it’s what’s happened since that’s caused the struggle. This afternoon we’re out, not immediately, but imminently enough to discourage any serious wandering for fear of being late back and therefore late out. So here I am, sitting on my hands, not wanting to start anything and at the same time conscious of time slipping by, caught between a rock and a hard place. Possibly, probably, a victim of my own procrastination, damned if I do and damned if I don’t. I’m consoling myself with the thought that there might be an opportunity to do something later or, certainly, something over the coming weekend.

‘I never set out on my photographic journey with the intent, or intention, of photographing the landscape’.

Taken literally, and in the present, that statement just encapsulates how it is for me when I pick the camera up and head out, I don’t really set off with any preconceptions. I may have one or two ideas floating loosely in the ether which may or may not gel and coalesce but generally speaking it’s just a case of ‘lets go’ and see what presents itself. That same statement taken in the context of my own personal photographic journey is also true in the way that photography has led me, initially I found myself drawn to taking photo’s of people, friends, aquaintances , situations involving some sort of human interaction. I am predominantly a ‘people’ person. I like and enjoy ‘people’ , in the main, there are exceptions to the rule but they are very few and far between, and always have been. That may have been the result of judicious selection on my part but, in general I like ‘people’ and so it was a natural leaning in the early days to photograph the people I met and mingled with. Over time circumstances and opportunities change. I found myself drawn to the more graphic image, utilising the things around me that interested me, cars, bikes, buildings, flowers. Still life presents incredible opportunities and never refuses to have it’s photograph taken, unlike homosapien, it doesn’t ‘feel’ and therefore couldn’t care less how you record it or whether you do it justice or not. Nowadays when I wander with the camera it’s usually out into the wide blue yonder because that’s what presents itself and you have to work with what you’re given, to quote another maxim. However, this morning isn’t blue, it’s a murky shade of grey, it’s wet and cold, there won’t be much wandering this morning that’s for sure.

That’s a grand word, there are times when I think that ‘indolent’ sums me up to a tee. Not that I set out to be deliberately indolent, it just creeps up on me and overtakes. That said, today has been a perfect day for a spot of indolence. Last night’s wandering across the flood plain here under enormous and heavy skies suggested that the weather predictions of rain and strong winds would be proved correct, indeed they were. Today’s been a succession of heavy downpours blown along on some very gusty winds. As I said earlier, perfect conditions for a spot of indolence. Wandering far from home today has been a little like taking your life in your own hands so this afternoon has seen me wander no further than the confines of the garden armed with the camera in search of blooms and buds. Now, here’s where indolence rears its ugly head. To photograph objects close up, such as the insides of plants and flowers, it’s preferable to put the camera on a steady surface, such is the accepted and informed wisdom. It’s also a distinct advantage to be able to focus on the subject quite accurately in order to render a sharp image, always pleasing to have things in focus and a distinct advantage for the viewers. Well, I have a tripod, it’s a very nice tripod, a reasonably fine tripod, guaranteed to hold my camera very steady indeed….it tends to reside snugly in it’s case for most of it’s time because I’m too lazy to get it out. Indolence one, photographer nil. In order to focus accurately, and employ a technique known as focus stacking to ensure sharpness at close range you need a tripod. Indolence two, photographer nil. You see how this is going? Having said all that, I blame the weather, far too unpredictable to be messing about with flippitey, floppitey, three legged things in such adverse climatic conditions, far easier to point, breathe in and shoot, trusting to luck that the subject falls in focus and hasn’t been blown out of frame by the wind. I’ll leave you to make your own mind up on whether point, breathe in and shoot works or not.

After yesterday morning’s foray to the Brocante and a reasonably successful few hours taking photo’s I was in two minds whether or not to go out again last night. I mean, how many photo’s does one need, what does one do with them once they’re taken, why do we feel the need to take so many….what is the meaning of life! That said, what might I miss if I don’t go out, will I miss another beautiful sunset, will I miss the drama of the huge open skies we enjoy down here, will I miss that one, elusive killer shot…hardly, not at my photographic level, but all the same, I did go. I couldn’t resist the lure and although there wasn’t a great deal of colour in the evening sky I spent an hour in the quiet, sleepy, Monday evening countryside at the river. Last night’s company was a flock of sheep and attendant lambs, sheep grazing contentedly, lambs racing about up and down the riverbank playing games that only lambs can understand the rules to and which, in the main, seemed to involve rushing headlong along the riverbank, reaching a prearranged spot and then rushing back again. It was obviously a successful game as it was played and replayed for the entire time I spent there, after they’d got over their initial suspicion or curiosity of the creature with the camera and the three legged tripod thingy that is. A group of four fairly large bundles of wool on legs stood there ground and eyed me up, much in the way of a Mexican stand off, for the first five minutes of my stay. I also stood my ground. I won, they obviously didn’t regard me as a threat and raced off, little legs going nineteen to the dozen and tiny cloven hooves drumming the firm ground in the last of the late evening light.

Translated from the French for ‘ Secondhand Market’, it has a cachet that’s very definitely ‘Up Market’ and thus commands a price tag accordingly. Nothing is cheap, particularly nothing French or vintage, think of a price and chuck at least two noughts on the end . I understand that there’s a certain amount of effort and expense in traversing the channel, filling the back end of your average Audi estate with all and sundry ( not to mention several cases of wine, a dozen kilos of cheese and enough sausages to feed a small army ) and then getting it all safely back to good old Blighty. It can’t be an inexpensive affair, therefore , I guess there is some justification for the somewhat eye watering prices attached to what the French deem as junk. It seems we Brit’s can’t get enough of it and today, for the third year running, my partner and I have visited the annual Brocante at a location just over the border in South Wiltshire. For all my tongue in cheek blustering I have to admit that it’s not a bad day out. The people are friendly, always a bonus, the setting is lovely and the coffee and cake ( which must also be French given the prices ) divine. The goods and chattels are many and varied, albeit of a domestic household variety, soft furnishings, mirrors, garden furniture and accessories and a myriad of other ephemera, all designed to create a desire in the soul and a void in the purse or wallet. It’s a very vintage type of day, perfect for taking tea in deckchairs on the lawn while peacocks strut and screech within touching distance, all rather ‘British’ considering its ‘French’ origins. Nonetheless, it’s been a colourful and entertaining event, roll on next year I say!

Well worn and showing signs of a hard life. Lined and cracked, creased over years of service, yet still supple and capable when called upon. Colourful, full of character, still protective, telling a story of times long gone when they were once in their prime. Comfortable, like old friends, yes, cracked and creased but reliable and trustworthy.

I have had a lifelong love affair with things two – wheeled, well, since I was a teenager anyway. I blame a cousin, deep in the depths of Shropshire, for this addiction. As a family we would spend Sundays with my father’s brother and his family out in the countryside north of Bridgnorth on a private estate where my Uncle and his sons were employed. My cousin, the youngest of three and a good number of years older than myself, would load me and the family dogs onto the flat, wooden bed of a sidecar chassis which was attached to an old Ariel Square Four, a monstrous old machine, and proceed to thrash along the rough estate tracks and roads, no helmets, no thought to Health and Safety, just pure unadulterated fun and excitement. I was smitten. The sensation of wind in your face, the smell of oil and petrol, the rush of acceleration, the roar of exhaust….. freedom. If freedom’s a drug then I’m happy to have been an addict, aided by the two wheeled internal combustion thingy!

” Time you enjoy wasting, was not wasted” said John Lennon. Much is made on the question of wasting time and often we are made, conditioned perhaps, to feel that wasting time is almost a crime. If we aren’t filling every waking moment with something we are guilty of wasting that most precious of commodities. That said, we’re all different and for some doing nothing is as valuable as is rushing about and accomplishing things for others. I think I rather fall into the former category rather than the latter, I do , however, often feel pangs of guilt regarding this as I stroll the meadows, the lakeside or the riverbanks, fortunately they are only fleeting moments soon brushed off and discarded. Hooray for wide open spaces, huge skies and flower filled fields, sunrise and sunset, squalls and storms, they all have their place in my mindfullness and well being, I am more than done with the ‘rat race’.

Flat grey this morning, again! The morning started with promise, the sky was relatively clear just after five but by seven the clouds had rolled in. We can only hope for an improvement. Yesterday was so very similar at times but there were moments that reminded us that summer is on it’s way, there were times when the sun tried valiantly to shine through the grey murk. At least it was dry. Dry enough to wander out along the river, through the coppice and along to Colber, dry enough to get right to the waters edge rather than three, four or five feet away as has been the norm of late. Thomas hardy, he of literary fame, lived here and spent a great deal of time at the river, he wrote ‘ The swallows flew in the curve of an eight, above the river gleam in the wet June’s beam’. Given the state of the river in places hereabouts I think it’s been a fair time since it saw the curve of an eight, as to swallows, well, maybe a tad too early in the season yet but ‘ the river’s gleam in a wet June beam’ is a distinct possibility unless this weather picks up a bit!

At the end of another warm and wonderful day here in North Dorset what better than to wander the meadows as daylight falls and dusk gathers. Under a deepening sky, which slowly became almost ruby red, the meadows and the river bank proved to be an ideal way to say goodnight to the day. The still, warm air, gently stirred by the evening breeze, the cattle, moving from one pasture to another before settling for the night, a fine looking blackbird sat on a post, preening and fluffing up feathers ready for the night’s roost in the depths of a hawthorn hedge. All sights, sounds, and sensations heightened by the calmness of the moment, no other distractions to prevent you from taking everything in, we are lucky if we can find such moments in what has become an increasingly busy life. They are simple moments, treasure’s that should be enjoyed to the full , good for our souls, perhaps essential to our mindfulness.