There is something about being around water that is clearly beneficial to so many of us. It is almost as if we sub-consciously give ourselves permission to relax and breathe again when we find ourselves beside a sandy beach, lake or river.
There is something about being around water that is clearly beneficial to so many of us. It is almost as if we sub-consciously give ourselves permission to relax and breathe again when we find ourselves beside a sandy beach, lake or river.
I walked this morning. For miles and hours. Along lanes, tracks and footpaths. Across fields and through woods. I saw the sun rise and gazed as the blue sky appeared over hedgerows and stone walls. I startled horses from their solitary feeding in fields of dew-wet grass and caused cows to stop and stare mid-chew as I watched them over the gate.
And to witness so many students out on the streets of London and across the UK last week in protest at climate change and the way in which generations before them have effectively destroyed their future was, well, a joy.
So I guess it is like taking a massive leap of faith whilst knowing you still have the safety net of obscurity lurking beneath you. Enough to challenge your boundaries but not sufficient to scare you back into the gloom of inaction.
However, at the risk of flippantly disregarding something of major significance to the future of the world, we have had over a week of beautiful and warm weather here in the South East and I wanted to recognise that fact.
We moved from social club to cafe to our final destination on the number 88A bus and met a raft of kindness and smiling faces.
A hero who admits to unimaginable moments of personal anguish and struggles to find normality after each visit. But a human who also talks of incredible exhilaration at the risks he takes and successes he achieves.
A flavour of spring in a winter landscape is sometimes all it takes to fill a heart and to raise a face towards the glorious sunshine.
Six miles of watching the skies, admiring houses we will never be able to afford and noticing people we don’t really want to meet. Time wasting yet strangely uplifting.
Some people show their kindness and inner beauty in a way that is as breathtaking as the most stunning view or the most idyllic of locations.
We are not all alike and whilst we may not want to be the same as many of the people we meet, it is good to acknowledge and accept our differences.
The vicar without dog collar was not the only local who took some time out of their day to make us feel very welcome and we both reacted positively. A great reference for a small town surviving, one feels, on a steady stream of visitors looking to take in a little history with their tea and cake.
But right now, these are people showing their kindness and inner beauty and it feels important to me that I recognise them for what they are doing and share it here.
The starkness of winter. Tall, bare trees becoming one with their own dark shadows in the low afternoon sunshine.
For the second time in just over a month I am planning to write about a powerful, moving and heartbreaking documentary.
It suddenly feels very modern and on trend to pass judgement and declare our moral outrage
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.