She’d seen him a couple of times around town, over a period of a few weeks, and sensed that he was closing in, seeking her out.
Hunting her down.
She feigned ignorance, of course. She didn’t want to let on that she knew he was following her. Didn’t want to give the game away.
So, she carried on as normal. Walking around like a tourist, she wandered into the Abbey Park.
She knew the place like the back of her hand, having all but grown up there. But still she feigned ignorance. If he thought she was just a tourist, taking photos like the hoards of visitors did during the summer, perhaps he wouldn’t give her a second glance.
Perhaps.
He’d tried to hide, of course, to bury himself in reading. But she knew the stance, the look, the outfit; he gave himself away a lot easier than she knew he would have liked to.
So, she had just walked on by, past the bench he was discreetly sitting on, under the magnolia tree where they had first met, all those years ago.
As if he thought she wouldn’t remember! The audacity of the man. The sheer gall of him!
And yet, the mere fact that he was there, that he was following her, gave her some reassurance.
He still wanted her.
He still needed her.
So, she resolved to go to him. Surrender to him. Accept his love, in whatever form he chose to give it.
But first, she needed to gather herself. To work out what she was going to say. She needed the words, the right words that show she was open to him.
Acceptance, but not desperation. She didn’t want him to think she was desperate.
Not again.
(This is a story based on candid street photos I took over a couple of days, and should not be seen as a true reflection of either of these people’s lives.)
We are fortunate to have a lot of historic places in Somerset. From castles to churches, manor houses to pubs, cottages to monuments, there is always something to see, to view, to wander around.
Wells Cathedral has one on the more awe-inspiring religious frontages in the UK, but inside has lots of other things to love.
This staircase leads from the nave to the Chapter House and on, across St Andrew Street to the ancient Vicars’ Close. It is a haven of quiet, in an already quiet structure.
He moved silently upwards, and even though his footsteps were quiet, he felt they echoed deafeningly in the stairwell. Behind him the choir’s voices, chanting something by Telemann or von Bingen, calmed him, urging him on, hiding his presence.
The candlelight flickered expectantly across the walls, shadow leaping out at him as the flame rose and fell with his steps. Ahead of him, in the room above him, he heard the first whispers of voices, the first hint that he was going the right way, that his ascension was surely guaranteed…
Some called it discrimination, others called it right and proper. But whatever the sense, dogs were definitely not going to be allowed here.
There’s a voice that keeps on calling me. Down the road, that’s where I’ll always be. Every stop I make, I make a new friend. Can’t stay for long, just turn around and I’m gone again. Maybe tomorrow, I’ll want to settle down. Until tomorrow, I’ll just keep moving on.
Before the lockdown, and after numerous attempts over the years, I finally made it inside Wells Cathedral.
It’s interesting to see the humdrum, day-to-day workings of something as substantial and revered as this, including a short break in vacuuming to discuss matters of the day.
Despite the fact that they knew each other, they also knew that they had to act as if they didn’t.
Rob stared at the screen of his phone from under his cap. He had a sport app open, but the words might as well have been in Swahili for all that he took them in.
Gareth knew why they were there. He’d brought Bella and Poppy along as an excuse to get out of the shopping. He looked after his Fiona’s bags as he sat on the bench.
Fiona was keeping herself busy in the boutique store across the square. She rifled through dress after dress, knowing she wasn’t going to buy anything, but also positioning herself to look out of the window surreptitiously, watching her husband oblivious on the seat opposite.
Rob had ‘bumped into’ Gareth like this a number of times over the years, a few words passing between them, as they slowly but surely, built up their relationship. He was mature enough at 18 to be beyond the grunting stage, but still – understandably – found it difficult to communicate with the man he knew to be his father.
Gareth got a lot of pleasure out of these fleeting moments. He wanted to see his son, to get to know him, but he also wanted to keep his secret firmly safe from Fiona. She wouldn’t understand, his indiscretion unforgivable after so many years that there was no point in talking to her about it, in letting her know, in welcoming Rob into their lifes.
Fiona had known about Rob for years. She also knew that her husband’s unfaithfulness wasn’t habitual; it was a slip, one night’s drunken recklessness nearly two decades ago. She had forgiven him, but would never own up to the fact that she knew about Rob, that she was jealous of Gareth’s relationship with his son, that she was guilt-ridden that she was unable to provide him with children of their own. But she would never allow Rob to be a part of their lives, their set up, their social group.
Of that she was certain.
(This is a story based on a candid street photo shot I took. In no way are the people mentioned real, and this should not be seen as a true reflection of thee two men’s lives.)
No, I’ve never seen the film (I know this will be a shock to a lot of cinema aficionados, but I cannot help that!). But I am familiar with the iconography, and this LP cover raised a Glastonbury smile!
‘Someday this lockdown’s gonna end’.
That’d be just fine with the boys in the flat. They weren’t looking for anything more than a way outside.
Trouble is, I’d been out there, and I knew that it just didn’t appeal anymore.
Bored of me nagging, yet?
May’s Mass Observation Project is coming up, so take a photograph based that sums up the theme COLOUR to you, however you want to interpret it.
Email the image to adayinphotographs@outlook.com by Thursday 30th April 2020.
Images should be a maximum of 650 pixels wide.
Include your name, website/blog address and a short note about the image, including where it was taken.
How we view life is all about the perspective we see it from.
2+2=4, but so does 1+3 and 3+1.
One result of the coronavirus lockdown is that we are stuck indoors with family members. Another result of the coronavirus lockdown is that we have the opportunity to spend time with our loved ones in a way we never have before.
Another result of the virus is that we have to queue for ages outside the supermarket, waiting to get in. However, this gives us an opportunity to stand and do nothing – or perhaps converse with those around us – providing us with time we would otherwise not have had.
Glastonbury Tor is a hill that stands 518 feet (158 m) above the surrounding moors, but is tiny when seen against the immensity of a clear blue spring sky.
May’s Mass Observation Project is coming up, so take a photograph based that sums up the theme COLOUR to you, however you want to interpret it.
Email the image to adayinphotographs@outlook.com by Thursday 30th April 2020.
Images should be a maximum of 650 pixels wide.
Include your name, website/blog address and a short note about the image, including where it was taken.
Mr Green had worked hard all his life, patiently listening to others and following their orders to the letter, often against his beliefs.
But if his employers had known what he truly believed, what his heart told him, they would have let him go in an instant.
His conscience told him that he was doing what he had to, and, despite the uncomfortable marriage between the two lives he led – his work and private ones – he kept himself to himself, his head down and his employers happy.
The sadness in his eyes sometimes leaked through, though, and his colleagues occasionally noticed But when they mentioned anything he smiled his smile and brushed aside their concerns.
He was happy, and as long as he could keep convincing himself of that, then his life would be peaceful.
(This is a story based on an anonymous photo found in a junk shop, and should not be seen as a true reflection of this person’s life.)
Another quick reminder about the May’s Mass Observation Project!
Take a photograph based that sums up the theme COLOUR to you, however you want to interpret it.
Email the image to adayinphotographs@outlook.com by Thursday 30th April 2020.
Images should be a maximum of 650 pixels wide.
Include your name, website/blog address and a short note about the image, including where it was taken.
There was a sense of loss, a sense that belonging had been forgotten years back. The shell was there, but the heart had been ripped away and buried deep miles away.
And yet The Watcher kept guard. He knew not who or what he was guarding against, but he was there. The one sense of permanence left, while life crumbled around him.
The worst element was the silence, the complete lack of noise. When the wind blew, and if it was in the right direction, the rotting boards creaked ever so slightly, but even their muffled cries echoed with a sense of obligation rather than any commitment, any passion.
But beyond that there was a deafening silence, that unnerving calm that always came before the storm. But the storm had been anticipated for months, for years, and yet it had still to break. So the silence, the absence, remained.
Another quick reminder about the May’s Mass Observation Project!
Take a photograph based that sums up the theme COLOUR to you, however you want to interpret it.
Email the image to adayinphotographs@outlook.com by Thursday 30th April 2020.
Images should be a maximum of 650 pixels wide.
Include your name, website/blog address and a short note about the image, including where it was taken.
The lockdown in the UK came within a couple of weeks of me moving from West Sussex to Somerset. (Editor note: Oh really, CKPonderings? I hadn’t realised you’d moved, given all of the Glastonbury photos you’ve posted of late!)
There was plenty to do on the house, but the restrictions put in place by the UK government meant that we were unable to get anything started as quickly as we would have liked.
Back in West Sussex, with us both working full time, we were not able to spend as much time on the garden as I would have liked, and one of my missions for the move (and the eventual change to part-time work) was to enjoy and make the most of the new patch of land.
Glastonbury is known for its Bohemian, back to nature lifestyle, and I had in mind that I wanted to have a go at growing some vegetables and fruit, but the lockdown gave me the opportunity to speed that process up a little.
The back garden has a strip of decking across it which, even when we came to view the house, we knew had seen better days. It would need replacing or landscaping at some point, and my “Good Life” plans provided an ideal opportunity for that.
So, armed with nothing more than an idea floating around in my head, I decided that a section of decking could come up, and compost could go down and a veggie patch would be born!
Take into account, however, that I am not necessarily used to building projects, and the small tinkerings that I have attempted up to now haven’t always ended in glorious success.
The positive for this was that, whatever the outcome, the decking would ultimately have to go anyway, and, if push came to shove and the vegetables came to nothing, I would have a nice new flower bed to fill!
The decking proved to be a harder foe than I had anticipated…
As I mentioned, it had seen better days and, quite frankly, it was quicker to count the planks that were not rotten than the ones that were. However, it put up a valiant fight.
Surprisingly, it was the crumbling piece of wood that proved harder to lift than the solid ones, but, at the end of my first day of heaving, shoving, swearing and sweating, I had managed to clear around half of the 7ft x 8ft section I was planning on.
One of the things that the lockdown has taught me is to pace myself, rather than going hell for leather, trying to get everything accomplished in the quickest possible time. So, after a day off, I got back out to the project.
This time, it seemed quicker to achieve what I wanted to; the remaining planks came up a lot easier to lift, and soon I was down to the bare joists.
Mother Nature had taken its toll on the wood, and the first joists crumbled at the merest hint of a saw. Time had been ticking on, however, and I left it there for the second day’s work.
Day Three of the project and I was definitely into the swing of things by now. I had a plan: there were three joists to cut and a number of battens to remove, and if I was able to do that, I would be happy!
Again, however, six cuts with my saw and a bit of brute force meant that the decking was no more!
I had kept a number of the planks – as much as anything, the more solid ones would allow me to replace some of others that had rotted – and used five of them to edge the hole I had created. They would be no good for standing on, but they made it look a lot tidier!
God Bless Click & Collect!
A week or so ago I had ordered some compost from my local B&Q. (Well, I say ‘some’, it turned out to be nearly 1200 litres of the stuff!)
As much as anything, getting this from the shop before I started any work gave me the incentive to get going – it would be a complete waste of money buying all of that compost without then making use of it.
So, decking lifted, compost ready, the last stage of the project was in sight!
Filling the hole began, then! After the first few bags, I admit I did panic a little about whether I had, in fact, purchased enough of the black stuff, but I needn’t have worried. It turned out to be almost the perfect amount!
So, the vegetable patch is ready, and there remains only the small matter of putting some actual plants in it.
Again, with the lockdown, there are no physical shops open, but online stores are there, and I have placed an order, which should be with me at the beginning of May!
As I have already suggested, I have never undertaken this sort of project before; I am not a manual person, and, while I am not afraid of hard work, I do have a tendency to get bored easily and give up if things aren’t going the way I want them to.
I am personally impressed, therefore, at how it has turned out; it’s not perfect, but it will suit its purpose for the first year, anyway. Who knows, this could be the start of big things to come!
More, I am sure, to follow!
Another quick reminder about the May’s Mass Observation Project, then!
Take a photograph based that sums up the theme COLOUR to you, however you want to interpret it.
Email the image to adayinphotographs@outlook.com by Thursday 30th April 2020.
Images should be a maximum of 650 pixels wide.
Include your name, website/blog address and a short note about the image, including where it was taken.
CKPonderingsToo 