Tag: Black and White Photography

NORTHUMBRIAN SUMMER PART IV

Posted on Posted in Architecture, Art, Black and White Photography, Family Life, History, Reportage, Scotland, Street Photography, The UK Chronicles, Travel photography, United KingdomTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 4 Comments

Edinburgh, Scotland 2025

We’re still in Edinburgh. We’re walking down the Royal Mile. It’s festival season. There are plenty of shows to watch, and the one we saw first was by Max Von Trapp. Not to be confused with the Sound of Music Von Trapps, but a comic magician. One of my favourite kinds. The jokes and tricks rolled fast, as did my laughter.. Kate laughs at all the jokes, even the more adult-focused ones, just like Killian did when we visited the festival when he was that age.

Saint Giles was our next stop. As you know, I’m Catholic, not Protestant. As we wandered through the national Cathedral of Scotland, I was struck not only by the beautiful organ music, but by the lack of the familiar Stations of the Cross, the statues. The centre of attention was not the Lord and the sacrifice of the Mass, but the preacher’s pulpit. I felt this lack and prayed my daily Rosary, head bowed in prayer.

I joined Kate outside, slightly perturbed by the experience.

Lunch was a kebab. Simple and delicious. Kate loved it.

It was time to move on to see Greyfriars Bobby, a wee brown dog, famous for his loyalty. The legend is such that the people of Edinburgh raised a statue to honour him, and people rub his nose either for luck or as a sign of affection. I went into the Greyfriars Pub for some Guinness, reflecting on my own dog Molly, now 16, who greets me every morning as if I’m her favourite person and gets all excited when I get home from work. I can see why wee Bobby was a legendary dog, and why he inspired so many people.

We wandered through the graveyard looking at the tombs of the citizens of Edinburgh from the past. And we found a certain Thomas Riddell who JK Rowling used in her books. Kate acquiesced and allowed me to take her photo in front of it.

We ventured towards the Covenanters’ section of the graveyard, supposedly the most haunted section. I felt nothing and saw nothing, but Kate started to have a headache. We paid our respects and decided to find Bobby’s grave at the entrance. Kate noticed the sticks put on his grave, as you might leave a favourite dog toy. She just had to go and find him a suitable stick. Bless that dog. Teaching us a valuable lesson in pure love years after his death.

We ventured back out onto the streets of Edinburgh, leaving the relative tranquility of the graveyard behind us. This was about to be the reason she wanted to come to Edinburgh in the first place: a cocktail bar. But not any ordinary cocktail bar. The Geek Bar, decorated every four months into a new theme. The theme she wanted was from a video game that she plays with Killian. Oh no—they’d changed everything… It was now all about Stranger Things on Netflix—something I had heard by name but knew nothing else about.

Liquor? Maybe quicker, but it’s not something I’m a great fan of. The lady took our order and explained the concept. I felt as if I was in Starbucks for the first time. She asked which flavours I liked, and with her expert help, I made up my mind. The drink was obviously dangerous—too smooth, too sweet—and I couldn’t feel the alcohol. Neither could Kate, who was only allowed a mocktail. I have to be a responsible parent after all. The second round was just as deadly, and I was beginning to feel very happy. I wonder why…

So maybe, at the end of all this, the real magic isn’t in the tricks or the drinks or even the famous city. It’s just—being there. Following your children into their weird, wonderful universes, and watching them set the place on fire with laughter.
And really, what’s better than that?

NORTHUMBRIAN SUMMER PART III

Posted on Posted in Architecture, Black and White Photography, History, Reportage, Scotland, Street Photography, The UK Chronicles, Travel photography, United KingdomTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 4 Comments

Edinburgh, Scotland 2025

It was my daughter’s turn to have some Dad time. Before we left France, I asked both children to think about what they wanted to do the most in the UK. Both of them said they wanted to go to Scotland—Edinburgh in particular. The Lourdes trip when I took them both had drained the coffers…

Killian had been.
Virginie had been.
Kate had never been.

It was my daughter’s turn to have me all for herself.

When I told them,
Killian nodded. “That’s fair.”
Virginie smiled. “We’ll do something together.”
And just like that, it was settled.
This day would be hers.
Just her. Just me.
Edinburgh, at last.

It would be a long day. I wanted to give her a full day—to let the city work its magic… We couldn’t visit everything, but for the first time I thought of Princes Street, and the Royal Mile, and Greyfriars Kirkyard. She’s fifteen—shopping first, history later—yet I’d offer her the quiet places anyway.

I just wanted her to feel the city, not just the shops.

We could always come back.

And next time, she’d walk these streets not because I brought her,
but because she chose to.

We walked along Princes Street looking at the chainstores, even daring to go into H&M but soon left once we realised that you have to be skinny to dress there. We moved on to M&S and had our second breakfast. The bacon roll she had on the train was “interesting” but hardly filling. I saw outfits that I thought she might like but was told, non!

I was on the lookout for a tweed spectacle case but despite looking in numerous tweed shops, I only saw the same things over and over again. I was disappointed, but Kate wasn’t! She saw a beautiful tartan étole that called out to her…

How could I refuse her? It would be perfect for winter and the wool was so soft.

We crossed the bridge next to the National Gallery,
Festival posters peeling in the wind.

Then she stopped—a shadowed shop glowing with silver.
The same one where Killian chose his claddagh six years ago.
“Like Killian’s,” she said, tapping the glass.
Not a question. A claim.

Inside, the air smelled of wool and old metal.
She ran her finger over the trays—
Past the ornate knots, straight to the simplest ring.
“This one,” she told the jeweler. “Like my brother’s.”

I watched her try it on, heart facing outward.
Right hand. My heart is free. (I didn’t need to say it.)
“For remembering,” she whispered.
Not “growing up.”
Just: This is mine now too.

Edinburgh breathed around us—
alive, urgent, temporary.

NORTHUMBRIAN SUMMER PART II

Posted on Posted in Black and White Photography, Family Life, Landscape Photography, Northumberland, Reportage, The UK Chronicles, Travel photography, United KingdomTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 4 Comments

Craster 2025

It was getting close to lunchtime.  I was enjoying this father-son day and dared to ask if we could go out to Craster.  I really wanted a picture of Dunstanbrough Castle,something I had seen in a YouTube video by Thomas Heaton but it wasn’t to be.  Just take the images you can and enjoy the process.

We would visit Craster.  But first food.  Despite the blueberry muffin we had shared earlier, I was going to indulge us in one of my other UK rituals – The Marks and Spencer sandwich.  I have a great fondness for the feeling of being home and returning to my youth.  The French are a wonderful people and make so much top notch food, but you can’t get a decent Cheese sandwich anywhere.  Wonderful cheese, and marvelous bread, but the idea of putting both together, has totally escaped them.  

The French make glorious food. But they’ve never quite grasped the sacred simplicity of a cheese sandwich. Or the sublime elegance of a prawn sandwich—peeled pink shrimp, mayonnaise, in a relatively grainy brown bread full of goodness. A British delicacy, perfected.

So I bought three: the Ploughman’s, the Wensleydale with carrot chutney, the Ultimate Prawn—nothing but the best for my father. And a bottle of sparkling water.

Food fit for a king. Or at least, for a man who’s earned his rest.

Guided first to the car park, and then to the village by my father going against the wisdom of the GPS Sat Nav we had arrived.   We passed the smoke house—thick plumes curling into the breeze, the air thick with oak and salt. The kind of smell that clings to your sensorial memory. I didn’t take a photo. But I inhaled it, sweet as any incense at mass.  Smoking local fish for local people. 

At the end of the street was the Jolly fisherman, who is not a happy angler, but the local pub.  Well, it would be rude not to… We both fought to pay for the pints of Guinness, but I won and we sat down at a table to drink them.  I think we have a duty to support local pubs as they’re closing at a rapid rate of knots in the UK. This “core” of British and Irish society must be kept alive! 

My  mother had tried to phone us but in vain.  Messages and calls couldn’t pierce the pub walls.  I suggested my Dad go outside to try and call my mother just to reassure her.  It still didn’t work.  I tried on my phone, but didn’t have any luck.  We both decided that my mother suspected that I might lead my father astray and take him to a watering hole.  Ooops!

In for a penny, in for a pund! The harbour, the lobster pots, the salt on the breeze—Northumbrian summer in its purest form. You’ll see it in the images below.

The Pyrenees Mountains – and the Pont d’Espagne which isn’t in Spain

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If the Vendée is Jane Birkin — elegant, understated — then the Pyrenees are full-on Marilyn. Proper mountains. Vast. Unapologetic. Even in May, some peaks were still capped in snow.

I was in Lourdes hoping to strengthen my faith. I think Killian needed that too — but more than anything, he needed his mountains. Now, finally, I get it. Up there, I saw him more clearly: less the boy I once knew, more the man he’s becoming.

Like most of us, he has his issues — but he’s working through them. And sometimes, he even lets me help. Those are the moments I think I might just be getting somewhere as a father.

He’d decided we were heading to see his beloved mountains. The place? The Pont d’Espagne — yes, in France, despite the name. I may have mentioned that. Maybe.

We left the impressive foothills of Lourdes behind and climbed into the real mountains. Snowy peaks against blue sky and drifting clouds. Windows down, music low, we drove toward the famous pont. It had better be worth it.

Killian and I travel at a relaxed pace. If the view’s good, we’ll pull over. Get the camera out. Take a few shots. See what happens.

Sometimes it works. Sometimes it’s a fiasco. But more often than not, we come away with something.

Oh no! Catastrophe! A village where you can park, and go and get an ice cream. Ah well. We took one for the team, and the lady behind the counter told us that the previous week they had snow and were shut, yet this week everything looked just like a day in May should look like. Ice cream seems to have this way of just hitting “that” spot. It’s not the tidiest of foods to eat, but it’s one I’ve developed a great fondness for it over the years.

I was already learning how to approach the infamous concept of the hairpin bend. As you know, a full head of hair hasn’t been my issue for years — let alone hairpins. But the name fits. The main thing is to drive slowly, carefully, and not die… Given I’m writing this now, reports of my untimely demise were, as they say, greatly exaggerated.

We arrived at the Parc National des Pyrénées. You go through a barrier that didn’t seem to be working — one that had given up on life and was just standing to attention, waiting for whatever ‘it’ might be. So, being the thoroughly decent chaps and all-round good eggs that we are, we tried to find a ticket. We couldn’t, but since we had tried, we said something that rhymes with bucket, and started walking to see, at long last, the bloody bridge. It had better be worth it.

I had the X100F with me and Killian was carrying my DSLR and kit. What a good lad he is. He later said that if I wasn’t lugging it around, we might’ve gone just that little bit further. So back to the pont…

Before we even saw the bridge, we heard it: the sound of the water was tremendous. Water is a primeval force, and this was huge. I wanted the “money” shot, and decided to try with the X100F, giving it a sporting chance. The Canon 6D Mark II, with its stabilised lens, would come out on top. Handheld at 1/6th of a second? Not ideal — but fun to try. You get the feeling of movement in your shot, and with the magic of ND filters, you’re not overexposed.

The site itself is just astounding — not just because of the view or the sound, but because of the raw power of the place. Killian led me grumbling up the hill and we sat down to have our picnic. We fed the ants a bit of our pâté en croûte and watched them discover it, then devour it completely. And devour it they did.

He led me past the téléphérique — closed, of course — and followed the river until we reached a wide, flat-bottomed valley with water snaking through it. We saw traces of horses and wild boars, which are a lot less boring than you might think. I noticed the clouds coming round the mountains as they go, but not singing. I don’t know a huge amount about mountains, but that’s usually a cue to get back to the car…

The walk back to the car was just about being father and son — taking the mickey out of each other as we went. It seemed to be the way we operated, and I wouldn’t change it for the world.

Notes in Monochrome: Music, Photography, and a Quiet Beach Walk

Posted on Posted in Black and White Photography, Bretagne, Music, Travel photographyTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 6 Comments

Those who know me know I’m alright at photography, reasonably OK at music, and not especially brilliant at much else. Over Christmas, I was off adventuring in China, but now I’m back in France, trying not to overcommit—and failing, as usual.

It turns out I’ve joined a new orchestra. Lanester, just next door to Lorient, who needed a horn player, and some of the musicians I toured with last year gave me the heads-up. “Only one full-day rehearsal a month,” they said. “Just come try it out,” they said. So I did. And here we are.  Oops a daisy

It’s early days, but I’m settling in, and I think they’re warming up to me too. I’m doing my best to approach things with what I like to call legendary finesse—and not my more traditional approach of putting my foot in it. So far, so good.

Getting to Lanester is a bit of a trek, but I’m lucky to liftshare—what the French call co-voiturage—with Anne, a colleague from the SBL and a percussionist in the orchestra. It’s good to have company on the road, especially someone who doesn’t feel the need to critique my driving. Not that anyone at home does that. Of course not. Never. Virginie, me darling wife…

Anne has serious percussion chops, which puts a bit of pressure on my playlist game. I found a drum tutorial version of Wipe Out by The Surfaris recently and played it for her—she was delighted. It’s nice to have shared moments like that on the drive. Adds a little rhythm to the road.

Anne also likes to arrive early to check over the percussion gear before concerts. On this particular day, we had some time to spare before the pre-concert rehearsal, so we headed down to the beach for a walk. Spring light, sea air, and the strange hush that comes with lowish tide—it felt like stepping sideways out of time.

Naturally, I had my camera with me. You didn’t think I’d go to the coast without it, did you?

There’s something about black and white photography that suits these moments. The beach in spring  isn’t always the bright, holiday postcard version most people imagine—it’s quieter, starker, but no less beautiful. Stripped of colour, the textures stand out: the grain of driftwood, the ripple of sand under wind, the blurred silhouettes of gulls in motion.

I love how black and white invites the eye to slow down, to notice more. Just like music, really—it’s not always the loudest note that makes the biggest impression.

Below, you’ll find a few of the images I made during that walk. Nothing posed, nothing polished. Just a quiet moment between rehearsal and performance, caught in passing light.

Where I’ve Been: Life, Photos & Bursting Tyres

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Good morning, dear reader.

Hello lovely people. I know it’s been a couple of weeks since I shared any photography—nothing for your perusal, your viewing pleasure, your delectation—but fear not: I’m still alive and almost kicking.

Life has been happening, as it tends to do. But I have been busy behind the lens, and I’ve got photos from left, right, and even centre. Lourdes. The mountains. The wild coast of Brittany. There was even a family photoshoot for my mother-in-law and two of her daughters. All with stories attached, of course. I just need the time to edit the images and write them up properly for you.

Recent Life & Travel Updates

So what’s new in my world?

Well, my son has moved into his own place with a mate—which is both a proud and surreal moment for a parent. As for me, I managed to burst two tyres on my car by accidentally driving up onto a particularly cruel bit of pavement. I was properly disgusted with myself.

Thankfully, the garage reassured me that I wasn’t a rubbish driver—that stretch of pavement had claimed more than a few victims. Apparently, I’m just one in a long line.

I’m now looking into getting a different car for my upcoming summer trip to the UK. That, and I’ve been eyeing drones—yes, partially because a mate has one, but also because the cinematic potential is just too good to ignore.

Dipping Into Video & Drone Photography

Lately, I’ve been making short training films for work, which has nudged me into exploring video for myself. It’s been a learning curve, but I’m enjoying it. Drone footage, in particular, would give my personal video projects that sweeping, cinematic feel everyone seems to be chasing right now.

It’s exciting to try new creative tools—it stretches the eye and challenges how I think about framing, movement, and story.

Favourite Photography Gear Right Now

If you’re curious about the gear I’ve been reaching for lately, here’s what’s been in my rotation:

  • Fuji X100F with the 23mm f/2.0 (35mm equivalent) – perfect for mindful black and white street work.
  • Canon 6D Mark II with the 16–35mm f/4.0 – excellent for dramatic landscapes and travel shots.
  • Fuji XT-2 with the 18–55mm f/2.8–4.0 – a solid choice for work-related video filming.

And yes—I’m still working in both black and white and colour. I love both approaches, but when I shoot black and white, I try to do so deliberately, not just as an afterthought in post. The choice of tone affects everything—the light I look for, the lens I pick, even the timing of the shutter.

What’s Next: Photo Editing, Writing & More

Music is winding down for the season after some fantastic concerts. Meanwhile, the world rolls on—there’s a new Pope I quite like, and it seems Donald and Elon are in a bit of a spat again (but let’s not get into that).

As for me, I’m getting back to editing, writing, and creating. Thank you for bearing with the silence—new photos, stories, and perhaps even videos will be coming soon.

Until then, keep well, stay curious, and maybe avoid the pavements.

— Ian