But today it was rather different. The crowds of tourists were missing and, rather bizarrely, it became more a case of parakeet watching than anything else.
But today it was rather different. The crowds of tourists were missing and, rather bizarrely, it became more a case of parakeet watching than anything else.
And I've done a lot. Visited new countries and places closer to home. Challenged myself to take more photographs on a regular basis. And, perhaps scariest of all, I have tried to write and see if I could find a voice for myself.
The time between Christmas and the New Year. It's difficult to define. Frequently, it feels as if everything is on hold, almost in limbo, before we restart the clock again in January.
The routines and traditions that so often remind us of our parents and our own childhood. A rare opportunity to remember a world that seems more innocent and so much kinder than how we live now.
Winter in a southern English town. Centuries old houses with wood-smoking chimneys and visible breath on their doorsteps.
For us, there were inevitably tears during and after the film, based around our empathy for the family and also on our own personal experience of suicide.
It’s no bad thing to remember and understand that happiness is achievable and within our grasp, whatever the timing or circumstances.
What is this life for, if not to sit on the top of a mountain and marvel at the setting sun?
It really is as romantic and enchanting as the guidebooks say, and also staggering in as much as there are breath-catching buildings literally around every corner. It is full of history, character and charm and houses some of the greatest and most important artistic treasures in the world.
Even that old bastion of English grumpiness, the security guards on the main entrance, were engaging and funny on our visit.
A shaft of light breaks through the canopy and shines like a spotlight on ground-cover plants that will soon be gone, their last hurrah before hibernations embrace.
There is a bit of a chill in the evenings and disappointingly, the heating has already made a brief appearance in our house.
We sat under the trees after hours on our feet, tired, thirsty and just a little irritable, as naïve tourists have a habit of being in warm countries.
Walk the streets more often. That would be my advice to anyone wanting to open their eyes and to see beneath the surface of their normal, everyday world.
Imagine this.
Walking along a gravel covered path, narrow, winding, thick vegetation on all sides.
We talk about composition and narrative. The use of subtleties and vagaries, encouraging depth and intrigue.