Travelogue/Travelodge

Travelogue to Travelodge, we took the road to little England, a land that has gone quite to seed, a land of smiles and good intentions, but sadly low on willpower. A land with heart disease.

Lintern-6580.jpg

England; no country for old men, but we've travelled south to see one. Oh how you've let yourself go, but then, weren't it ever so? Ours is not a city of dreaming spires and genteel similes shared, it's a city of creosote, concrete and dogshit, lazy racism, casual homophobia and maccy d's. We were always overfed and undernourished, we were always here. We've always wanted someone else to blame, we've always been held to ransom by the same elites. Nothing has changed. The only difference is Russian 'bots and a Waitrose. 

Lintern-6542.jpg

We pass Pray for Tommy Robinson graffiti in a blur, marvel at her faux-leopard-skin covered crutches, and eat an airless breakfast surrounded by massive, tattooed men with tiny hands clutching smartphones tightly. England sizzles in it's juices. We keep on driving, now on the Dorking road, along mellow sun-streaked ghost holloways, once arteries through a forest that stretched from Essex to the great chalk plains, fragile leather soles swapped for black liquid bones, already half auto-maton.

Lintern-6522.jpg

Finally, we reach the coast, and a little corner of a foreign field. This is where my stepfather lies. I water a thirsty shrub and clear away some brambles. Forever England, just off the bypass and in-between the housing estates. On the Monarch's Way, widely spaced beech trees hang from chalky Downs, flinty drove roads meander through coppiced woods. A shotgun rings out, spooking the dog. Piles of aggregate stir slightly in the heat haze. The traffic churns on and on, around the roundabouts. England burns. 

Lintern-6573.jpg

But back on the road, people are unfailingly kind. And in London too, there's a kindness in the crush that doesn't fit the narrative at all. Jan from upstairs offers to lend a hand, Mike and Debbie from across the road have noticed that Dave hasn't been around lately. Our parents might not take your help - they live in fear - but help is there. Dave has delirium; not only a metaphor but a real medical condition. He doesn't recognise his own home, his own fate. The meek can and will get fucked. England waits, ready to wake.

Lintern-6566.jpg

Mountain gold

A few photos from a two day trip in the North-West. Not exactly off the beaten track, but not the usual honeypots either (although you'll see a fair few of them on the skyline). Big, rough and tumble country, a natural circuit around a rugged glen, a high camp and no midges. The sun never quite sets in the mountains at this time of year. It's pretty perfect if the weather works out.

I went with a photography client, but when the company and conditions are this good, it's not work - or at least, it's not hard work! Matt has an interesting job working for the planning department at SNH, and for me personally it was energising to spend time with someone who has a layered understanding and appreciation of wild places. Whatever people come with is great - the range of experience is one of the best things about tutoring - as for Matt, he was pretty familiar with camera technicals, and more than able enough in the hills, which allowed us to cover some burly ground on foot, as well as (I hope) some alternate ways of looking and seeing.

I can't wait to go back for the Corbett, and to camp in the deer paradise underneath, studded with lochans and stuffed with craggy ribs of pink granite.

 

 

 

Taps aff west

Continuing the family theme, a few snapshots from three days on the west coast of Scotland between deadlines, staying on a formal campsite with the pack; a new camera (not entirely convinced), chronic hay fever, an eagle ignored as punters checked their phones, cuckoos and midges at dusk, ice cream at lunch, ridiculous beaches and ridiculous weather. Just as we were due to leave, we figured out the best thing to do was as little as possible. Hoping we'll remember that for next time.

Automatic for the people

A few photos from last weekend, on 2 wheels with the family in our new local woods. Cold and clear, some familiar ground and some brand new, low impact bikepacking with a trailer for the little'uns, and all about the destination not the getting there (for the kids, anyway). In some ways, the perfect trip. I've been away a fair bit, and at my desk far too much, so this was time well spent and well overdue.

"And into the forest I go" writes Muir, "to lose my mind and find my soul." Forests are fertile places for a childlike imagination, whatever age you are, and the Inshriach and Rothiemurcus pinewoods are a magical place to spend time and regenerate... although I'm disappointed to read human meddling is on the horizon here too. The predictability of our arrogance is now the only thing that surprises.

The photos were taken on a fixed lens compact camera set to auto. I'll keep it clean here - it's a family post after all - and spare the gratuitous bike shots for another time.