Although, given the weather, it’s been too hot to be busy, busy, busy. In fact, it’s been that warm , particularly this afternoon, that busy doing nothing has been more the order of the day. Right from the word go this morning the sun has shone. We’ve had wall to wall sunshine and, for the first time in days, today we had a warm breeze rather than the cold, miserable biting wind that’s plagued us for the last week. Today felt more like summer than spring and a leisurely amble along the Trailway this afternoon showed plenty of evidence that people were enjoying it. The nearby river bank was well attended by folk apparently happy to enjoy the simple things on this Good Friday bank holiday. The millpond at Fiddleford was home to a larger number of people than I’ve ever seen at that location at any one time. That said there was no evidence of any hardy souls swimming in the pool though I’m sure it’ll only be a matter of time if the weather continues over the next few days as it’s suggested to do. Dog walkers were well in evidence and their pets appeared to be enjoying their canine capers in and out of the river, some in the shallows and others, with larger frames and smaller brains, more adventurously further out in the main stream, but all having the very best of times it seemed. Walking back towards Stur I was struck by the number of dandelions there were in the meadows. Some bright yellow and in flower and almost as many gone over already, the flower gone and the delicate dandelion clock fully charged and awaiting the breeze on which to carry it’s cargo of seed heads off to pastures new. My eye fell on one bright yellow flower and I noticed that, while most of us were doing very little other than enjoying the sunshine and fresh air, there were other creatures hard at work in the delightfully warm sunshine, busy as a bee it seemed.

Last night Helen and I were out! We don’t do it very often, definitely not as regularly as we should and every time we do we remind ourselves that we really should do it more. Last night we were ‘ out with the in-crowd’, ‘ in with the out-crowd’ ,or , as I would prefer to think and in the words of the Sam Cooke or Brian Ferry song, ‘in with the in-crowd’. The ‘in-crowd’ being those locals invited to the re-opening of our local Indian Restaurant following a grand refurbishment. The Mumbai Bay was certainly the place to be last night, great food, good company and very attentive hosts all combined to make it a very enjoyable evening indeed and one that we will certainly be looking to repeat in the very near future.

Fog, mist. It reduces everything, desaturates colours, deadens sound and generally dampens everything. It cloaks and envelopes, drapes itself across the landscape, It wraps itself around features, things loom from it’s uniform greyness and take on eerie, unnatural shapes and forms. Having said that, there are two distinct types of fog and mist I find. There is the cold, cloying, almost soul destroying bleakness of a winter’s fog. Then there is a spring mist, light and airy, warmed by the sun and shrouding the scenery in an almost golden glow at times, so it was this morning. Had I been up early enough and climbed up out of the valley here no doubt there would have been some spectacular cloud inversion across the Blackmore Vale. As it was the sun was already well in the sky when I ventured out. The mist still hung in the air, the barely skeletal trees, fast filling with the new season’s growth, silhoutted across the meadows and on further distant horizons. We’re given the suggestion of a beautiful day once the mist has been burnt off, though at the moment it’s stubbornly clinging on as the morning progresses. Fingers crossed for the fine weather that the weatherman has predicted.

Well, another damp and dismal morning here in North Dorset today. An early foray to Gillingham and back in the deluge didn’t bode well for the rest of the day, however, things took a distinct turn for the better after lunch thank goodness. I say it took a distinct turn for the better in as much as it stopped raining and the low, damp, misty conditions cleared somewhat. It allowed me an afternoon’s wander across the meadows and down to the millpond at Fiddleford. The meadows were quiet despite the Easter break being in full swing. There were very few people in evidence, the occasional dog walker, a grandmother with grandchildren reluctantly in tow and a family of five cycling along the trailway, the youngest of which did actually yell the immortal line ‘ are we nearly there yet’. The adult male in the troupe, who I took to be father, lied and said yes, probably knowing there was at least another mile and a half to go before reaching civilisation but not wanting to point that out for fear of said youngest protesting even more loudly. It seems that cycling is not necessarily for the very young.

… or the road that goes to nowhere! Well, that’s how it felt this afternoon anyway. I’ve lived in several locations where I’ve known lanes that are named, often in association with local folklore or some other historical connotation, Flying Horse Lane, Gypsy Lane and now The Halter Path. A lane at either end, and as I discovered today, a path in the middle, well worn and yet obviously abandoned in equal measure. It bears the evidence of walkers, those on horseback, tractor drivers and even cyclists but in it’s narrowest parts it’s only suitable for those on foot or foolhardy enough to risk cycling along it. I’d seen the signpost for The Halter Path in Sturminster Newton many times and though to walk the path, just to see where it went, today was to be the day I would investigate and so I set off full of anticipation in today’s afternoon sunshine. The metalled road gives out after a mile at Colber Farm and becomes a track, evidently used by tractors at some stage given the deep ruts and, in places, puddles the size of small swimming pools needed careful traverse for fear of being submerged such was the state of the path. Thank heaven for stout footwear I say. I’ve looked for the history of the route and couldn’t find one really, but it’s obviously a path with roots back in time, I did find a reference to the local dialect writer William Barnes who evidently knew the path in 1883 and I would also imagine it would have been well known to the town’s other famous literary incumbent Thomas Hardy. I could almost imagine Hardy wandering the path on a Sunday morning, returning home for a roast dinner and then setting down to write a chapter or two, using the track in one of his novels as he was wont to do. For me, I couldn’t get enthusiastic about it, it never really offered me much in the way of photographic inspiration, at the end of the day it led me from one point to another and back again, I guess that even the road to nowhere went somewhere.

I knew they’d be there, hiding, waiting. They’ve lain hidden, deep in the leaf litter, in the dark glades, just waiting for the warmth and lighter days before bursting forth again. I’ve seen the early signs for a couple of weeks now, long straight green stems pushing upwards from the woodland floor and then the first signs of new life forming, budding, biding their time until the opportune moment. Well, it’s arrived and then some. A quick foray through Piddles Wood this afternoon revealed banks of beautiful bluebells, fighting for space with the woodland anemones and the odd straggling primrose left over from last month. The gorgeous blue colour contrasting brightly with the fresh, bright green budding canopy that will eventually choke out the light and restrict the growth of those plants nearer the ground, but, for now the bluebell is champion again.

I missed to blog yesterday, though I did try, technology beat me again. Well, technology coupled with frustration. The new tablet works a treat, with the exception of letting me log into my blog site causing me some mild frustration. Having said that I could have logged in on the PC as I have now and posted from there, but, by the time I though about doing that I’d had enough of technology and decided that being a vegetable in front of the telly was the order of the rest of the evening.

I had got out, I had fully intended to post, I certainly got a photo or two to use and not blogging was a source of frustration, not for any reason other than I set off on this venture with the intention of creating something every day for a year, a diary by any other name. So far I think there has only been one previous occasion on which I didn’t make it, so far we’re into the high eighties or low nineties, things are going well. I suppose I could increase the daily tally on one or two occasions to balance things up but would that be an overindulgence on my part, I’d hate to deprive any avid reader of the benefit of my observations ( said with tongue very firmly in cheek ).

Last night’s venture was a slightly hurried affair, time was marching on and sunset, such that it was, began to loom large on the horizon quite literally. A brisk walk to the river bank seemed to offer the best potential and so it proved to be. The brisk, cool breeze that had been in evidence all day, taking the edge off the Spring sunshine, had dropped leaving a mild, moderate evening. The slow old river was it’s usual lazy self and the odd fish surfaced causing the mirror like surface to break and ripple gently, slowly, the circles ever increasing until they faded out to nothing and the glass like stillness returned. A large Heron, disturbed at the waters edge, unseen by me at first, took flight and it’s huge grey wings powered it swiftly down stream and away from any perceived danger posed my my clumsy stumblings. Not that I ever posed it any danger, the Heron’s flying skills far outweighing any of mine! I spent the next thirty minutes up and down the river bank attempting to capture the last dying ray’s of light before finally deciding to call it a day and head home with whatever I’d managed to capture, a great end to a good day.

Dear God! The Internet, I love it and hate it in equal measure. It’s become an almost integral part of our lives, we read the news on it, we keep up with friends on it, we shop on it, in fact it seems that we often live on it. When it works well I love it, when it works fine I’m happy with it, when it works less than fine it and I do not get on, skating on thin ice springs to mind, closely followed by ‘ which window is this computer leaving by’, a time honoured phrase in my experience. So far this week I have seen the demise of my tablet, hence no ‘Internet’ capability, I have ordered picture frames which have arrived damaged via the ‘Internet’, because of insufficient stock in store, they say that things happen in three’s…I am sat here with my fingers crossed as we speak!

So, technology and the Internet have a lot to answer for so far this week, thank goodness it’s Friday tomorrow. Hopefully calm will be restored by the end of the week, I may have a new tablet and my trusty editing suite , arrangements are in hand for the return and replacement of previously mentioned damaged picture frames, once again peace and harmony stand a fair chance of being restored in the household. It’s also meant that I’ve not been out this evening, despite the glorious sunshine, so tonight’s offering will be an image from the archives, thankfully I’ve got one of the still serenity of the lakeside, something to help restore my equilibrium and sooth my troubled brow.

After yesterday’s sudden and unannounced demise of my tablet and editing suite, not to mention a number of photo’s I’d not managed to back up, I’m now forced to switch on the old grey matter and think about what, why and how I edit the photo’s I take. It’s been easy in the past, I’ve used an editing suite that does it all for me, all I’ve had to do is turn it on and twiddle the knobs so to speak, alas no more. Now I find myself having to work for a living, at the moment I’m not sure I’m succeeding!

I do have to say it’s curbed my wandering for the last couple of afternoons, whilst the lure of the open fields is always a good pull, part of the reason was that it also gave me an opportunity to photograph the landscape, the flora, and occasionally the fauna within it. Unless I can get to grips with a new editing program I’m going to feel like a man wearing two left shoes, or something just as equally awkward. That said , trial and error is often the best way of learning I find. I appreciate that some people are quite happy and able to assimilate information and instruction from the written word, it’s just not something that works overly well for me. So, excuse me while I twiddle knobs, push and pull sliders and get to grips with ‘ short cut commands’, hopefully normal service will be resumed as soon as possible.

Disaster, Armageddon, Apocalypse….almost, my faithful old Sony tablet has expired taking with it my favoured editing suite so I’m reduced to using Elements. It’s been so long since I did anything with it I’m finding it a tad difficult, a bit like plaiting fog in all honesty. Still, I’ve long said that I really ought to make the effort to get to grips with Photoshop rather than utilising a far simpler, but just as effective, Android based programme. Now it seems I have no choice, well, not for the immediate future anyway. So, today’s less about the writing and more about the picture, not that today’s produced a picture cos’ it’s raining fit to bust again and darned cold with it as well, roll on tomorrow I say!