A Visit To Bletchley Park
Last weekend we decided to head off up north (or “oop north” if you’re an inhabitant of the wildlands beyond Hampshire) to take in our annual Super League game in Yorkshire. Travelling up north involves driving in the car and it’s far enough away to warrant a stop en route so – with a printout of a map of England (other countries are available), two compasses, and a ruler – I used an old trick from my days studying Engineering Drawing (before it became Technical Drawing (before it became Graphic Communication for my exam (which I got a B in, thank you very much))) and drew a perpendicular line exactly halfway between Portsmouth and Wakefield to identify the ideal place to halt, have a stretch of the legs, and possibly take in some sight of interest. I quickly realised this was only of any use if the roads between the two destinations were absolutely straight and, since they’re not, reverted to Plan B of closing my eyes, plonking my finger down somewhere between London and the Midlands, and hoping for the best. Plonk! My index finger landed on Milton Keynes and a shudder rippled down the length of my spine. First time’s just a test, I told myself silently, and prepared to pick again when I spotted the word Bletchley nearby. In the back of my mind there was a whirr of dials and cogs and a memory made itself known: Bletchley Park. Codebreakers. World War 2. Alan Turing. Enigma. A quick search confirmed that Bletchley Park was indeed in Bletchley (cf. Leeds Castle) and we had our mid-travel pit stop arranged! Your first experience of the secretive nature surrounding Bletchley Park comes in trying to find the place. Up the A5 we did travel until we saw a brown sign directing us towards our destination. We followed it and then saw another sign. We followed that one and then hit a roundabout where there was no indication where to go so picked an exit at random. A few minutes later with no signs at all we turned around and headed back. We saw a new sign and followed that until we reached another junction with no obvious indication where to go. About to pick a route at random again I just spotted at ground level, half-covered up by grass a small sign with an arrow pointing the opposite way. Nice try, Bletchley Park, but we finally found you! Bletchley Park itself was not what we were expecting. But I don’t really know what we were expecting. Probably best I just describe it. Huts and buildings, a mansion, a...
A Damp Weekend In Dorset
A bit of a spur of the moment thing, but this weekend my wife and I decided to have a short break in the neighbouring county of Dorset. The weekend started on Friday evening. Many do. Straight from work we dropped off work-related stuff, grabbed a bag full of clean clothes and toiletries, and set off westwards down the A27 towards Bournemouth where a hotel was booked. It rained on the journey. Rain, actually, may not be accurate enough to describe what the car had to travel through in its passage from Hampshire to Dorset. Quite frankly, if you’d been a passenger in the car and I’d turned around to comment that I was sorry for having driven into the sea but with luck we’d make it to a distant shore before the seals around the window gave way and heralded our drowning doom you wouldn’t have had cause to disbelieve me. It was wet. The speed was slow, the concentration was high, but eventually we reached the hotel. That evening we had a quick walk around the area near the hotel but it was dark and raining – of course – and we were hungry so after a quick perusal at what was on offer we decided to eat at a place called Cristallo. As we arrived a couple were just leaving and decided to recommend the steak. I followed their advice and it was one of the best peppercorn fillet steaks I’ve had. Nice. Also consumed: garlic bread, tiger prawns, desserts, and a bottle of chianti. Very nice. Friday finished with a couple of stops in two nearby pubs. The first was busy and noisy and… odd. Everything seemed geared for young people but there were precious few of them. We actually constituted some of the younger members and that’s wrong. The second pub, right next door, was a pub that couldn’t decide if it wanted to be a sports bar or an Irish bar and so settled on both at the same time. Sitting next to a photo of the Southampton 1990/91 football team encouraged us to drink up fast and vacate the premises. That and the pub calling time at eleven. Eleven. On a Friday. To go with the photo it was like drinking in the nineties too. Saturday! After getting some inspiration from the literature left in our hotel room for tourists we decided to head for Dorchester. There now follows a message to Dorset: Dear Dorset, Please consider relocating some of the revenue from the three point eight million speed cameras in your county towards repairing the potholes in your roads. I mean...
Sports Bar
Another dip into my photo archives to see what I can resurrect from previously unprocessed or too simply processed or otherwise rejected shots and this is a picture of Churchill's, the sports bar on the Diamond Princess which was the ship we cruised on during our honeymoon in 2008. This was taken on the first day of cruising out of Hong Kong, which was the second day of playing with my then brand new Tokina f/4 12-24mm on the Canon 350D. It was early in the morning and we'd headed down to the bar specifically to watch some live American Football. We knew that Churchill's was the only place on board where you could smoke indoors and we knew that it was possible to buy cigars there; neither I nor my wife were or are smokers but we both thought it might be an experience to sit in an American sports bar, watching some football, maybe sipping on a bourbon, and allowing the smell of cigar smoke from some other patrons to add to ambience. Sadly, what we got was an inability to get any drink from anybody and only two other passengers plus a steady stream of staff members who nipped in to have quick – and decidedly revolting-smelling – cigarettes. Not what we were after. Google+: View post on...
My Easter Holiday In Yorkshire
This Easter I went on a holiday with my mummy and daddy and we went to Scotland to a place called Yorkshire. My daddy drove the car because my mummy doesn’t drive because my daddy says he doesn’t trust whitey to drive cars. I don’t know what that means. We left very early in the morning so that we could avoid all the other cars on the road but daddy decided to use the London M25 and he complained that that plan fell to shit straight away. His words. After the London M25 daddy drove the car on the M1 and it was full of roadworks because it was a bank holiday. Daddy swore a lot but then he laughed because some other cars didn’t understand what an average speed check was and they were only slowing down for the cameras and then speeding up and daddy said he hoped they got fined a million pounds. We stopped in a motorway service station and had a wee and then mummy and daddy looked at the map to see if there was somewhere interesting to stop and they said that there was a place in a national park nearby which looked interesting so we went to the Peak District. We drove through a place called Ripley and mummy and daddy laughed and kept saying “Ripley!” and “mostly” because they like a film where a little girl like me says “Ripley!” and “mostly” but then daddy said that Ripley was a shit hole. His words. We drove to a place called Matlock Bath but we didn’t see any baths which is silly although we were only there for a few hours. Mummy and daddy laughed and kept saying “Matlock” like Grampa Simpson but they don’t always laugh and say the names of places they travel to. They are weird but they aren’t that weird all the time. Matlock Bath was pretty and had a river in it and cable cars which we did not go on. The place we stayed at in Yorkshire was called Wakefield and mummy and daddy like it there because they like a rugby team who plays there called the Wildcats. Mummy was upset because they used to have a nice light blue kit but now it’s white or dark blue and ugly as shit. Her words. We watched the Wildcats play rugby against the Tigers and the Tigers won the game although the fight in the stands behind us was more even. Daddy was disappointed with the game even though he and mummy always see Wakefield lose when they watch them. Daddy was also disappointed with...
Matlock Bath
Back from our short jaunt to Yorkshire and much photo uploading, deleting, and basic processing is taking place, as one might expect. Our first stop – unless you count the service station when I needed to pee, and I'm not so you shouldn't (and, besides, there are no photos of the service station or of anything that occurred in the toilets (you'll be immensely pleased to hear (really should stop nesting comments inside parentheses now))) – was in the Peak District, so called on account of its peaks and it being a district if I were to hazard a guess. We parked up in a lovely little place called Matlock Bath and had a wander up and down its main, winding road, checking out the shops selling interesting touristy tat (the missus bought a rather lovely, textured hoodie that looked like it could have been designed by Giger) and enjoying the views of the hills and houses, the river, and the people. Very nice place indeed. For #MonochromeMonday curated by +Bill Wood, +Charles Lupica, +Jerry Johnson, and +Hans Berendsen. Google+: View post on...
Mountains, North of Beijing
It's the weekend so it must be time for me to look back through photos from yesteryear (anything I took before last year) and see if I can re-process them or, in some cases, process them for the first time. This is a shot of some of the mountains to the north of Beijing (in case you missed the title) with a road winding its way between them as shot from a vantage point on the Great Wall of China (as opposed to another Great Wall that may have been passing by). Google+: View post on...
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