The Scenic Drive: A Journey Through the Northumberland Moors
The road from Alnwick to Rothbury takes you over the Northumberland moors and through steep valleys, giving you real taste of the British countryside. It is not only magnificent in the early morning light, but it has this way of taking your breath away at each bend in the road.
You might just have gathered by now that I was in the UK this summer, visiting my Parents in Northumberland. You may also have gathered that I wasn’t having the best of sleeps and was thus up a little earlier than most. You may also have gathered that I decided to go light on photography equipment this trip compared to last year, only taking my X100F with me to take photos. You may also have gathered that this trip was not just about photography but spending some quality time with the children, especially my son, who hadn’t been to the UK for a while. You may also have gathered that my son joined me on a couple of these photography jaunts. Right! I think we may have set the scene.
Photography on the Go: Minimalist Gear and Techniques
We were both in the car by 6am, having breakfasted and taken our collagen in yorkshire tea to make it at least a little palatable. This is an epic drive that I try to do at least once when I’m over. When you see the photographs, you’ll understand why. Like Bamburgh, I had to meter for the highlights knowing that I would be able to get back details in the shadows back home in Lightroom. The 35mm F2.0 equivalent lens of the X100F was fine to capture enough of the scene, and if I wanted to zoom, then it would mean zooming with my feet.
Capturing the Landscape: Heather in Bloom and Morning Light
Fortunately, there are plenty of places to stop by the side of the road on this route, which is a good job because at each turn everything changes. The sun was coming up on our left and filling the valley with light, and the top of the hill cast a shadow that I would have to compensate for later.
The road continues with views of the heather, which was in bloom and the pink added a wonderful contrast to the warm colours of the morning reflected on the landscape. It certainly felt a real privilege to be there and take it all in. We passed Cragside but decided to continue on to Rothbury.
A Taste of Rothbury: Discovering the Local Flavours
We managed to find a space to park in Rothbury, and out of the corner of our eye, we saw a bakery. An English bakery, but a proper bakery. No pain au chocolat or croissants, but sausage rolls, meat pies, even a haggis pie. We settled on sandwiches in proper bread cakes and millionaire’s shortbread as a sweet treat. Next, we just had to find a bench to sit on and eat our picnic. There’s just something about eating a sandwich in an English village in the sun. I daren’t imagine what the winters are like! Possibly a bit nippy…
Looking Ahead: Plans for Otterburn and Beyond
But there we sat, the two of us, munching away, deciding to go to Otterburn for more photos and possibly a rug, but that, Dear Reader, is a story for another day…
Sundays usually find me in the city of Nantes, where I prefer attending an evening Mass. You get a different crowd at the evening mass, and it feels more exclusive. This particular church stands out for its reverent atmosphere, the cherished celebrant, and the more traditional Mass it offers. It’s not just about tradition; it’s the sense of reverence it brings, allowing for leisurely Sunday mornings. But yesterday was different, and I found myself up at the somewhat ungodly hour to go to mass at 9:30 AM.
Why the early rise, you might wonder? I had a date with destiny at 1:00 PM, helping friends celebrate their 30th wedding anniversary.
If you’ve read my recent article about bidding farewell to my beloved X100F, you’ll recall the camera’s untimely breakdown. Fate, it seemed, had other plans for me. The ISO dial had broken down, rendering me unable to control ISO settings. It was a frustrating predicament for any photographer.
In an attempt to assess the camera’s condition, I had left it sitting in my glove box for over a month, thinking I might need to send it for repairs. But yesterday, as I turned it on, I was amazed and baffled to see it working again as if nothing had happened. It was a photographic miracle, one that put a smile on my face.
With my trusted camera miraculously resurrected, I set off for my friends’ home, ready to revel in their love story and join the festivities. It was a heartwarming celebration, marking three glorious decades of their union. But there was more to this gathering than just an anniversary.
My friends had recently embarked on a journey to adopt their second child, a precious soul from China. They were soon to depart for China, eager to bring their new daughter home. The air was filled with palpable excitement, the anticipation of a new chapter in their lives.
As I arrived at the party, I was greeted not only by the radiant couple but also by familiar faces from my past. Friends who had once been my teachers and companions in the orchestra I had been part of until the previous year had gathered. It was a reunion of kindred spirits, a chance to catch up on life’s many twists and turns.
The day took an unexpected turn when my wife joined the festivities later in the after. She had been having a meal with the people she had learned to drive a school bus with, so she was going to be late. Little did I know that the surprise and icing on the proverbial cake were yet to come.
A Serbian orchestra arrived, instruments playing and walked playing up to the rest of us. The moment they began to play, the air was filled with a symphony of pure magic. The musicians entertained us with their musical virtuosity, their music becoming the heartbeat of the celebration.
Under the summer sun and the backdrop of a joyful celebration, the strains of Balkan music filled the air. It was as if the very essence of celebration had taken musical form. The infectious rhythms swept us off our feet, and we danced with abandon, reveling in the sheer euphoria of the moment. Laughter, love, and music merged into an unforgettable medley, creating memories that would last a lifetime.
As I reflect on that day, I can’t help but marvel at how life has a way of surprising us when we least expect it. What began as a simple morning Mass and a camera conundrum unfolded into a day of pure joy and connection. It was a reminder that sometimes, the best moments in life are the ones we don’t plan for—the unexpected gifts that leave our hearts brimming with gratitude.
And so, my summer concluded with a flourish, with the echoes of Balkan rhythms resonating in my heart. It was a day of celebrations, a day of love and friendship, and a day that reminded me of the beauty of life’s unpredictable dance. It’s safe to say that I’ll be holding onto the memories of this day for a long, long time, and perhaps reconsidering the pace of my Sunday mornings in Nantes.
Hello Dear Reader. It’s been a funny old time lately. Something is not quite right. I can’t quite put my finger on it. It could be depression, or lowering of my mood, not too horrible, but not nice either. On the way to mass last Sunday I had a moment and cried. It could be because of work. New job, a transition from my old job that has been poorly managed, and has left me homeless in the factory. It could be because of good old-fashioned tiredness despite my super-duper sleep apnoea machine, and the holidays just being a week away. It could be lack of self-discipline; I have films to scan, and am having trouble getting the required results from my scanner, and therefore lacking motivation.
Hey, even with everything going on, I’ve managed to sneak out with my camera a couple of times and snap some awesome shots. I’ve got pictures of Nantes, the super cool Voyage à Nantes, a fun evening with friends, and even my buddy the barber doing his thing – cutting hair and beards like a pro. So, it hasn’t been all bad, you know? There are still moments of fun and excitement to be found out there!
It seems as though we are in a state of limbo. Killian and I have been doing a heroic job of holding down the fort while my wife and daughter have been away attending a wedding on our behalf and will be gone until Sunday. There have been no mishaps around the home and all the animals have been fed and watered. The dog and the two cats appear to be healthy as well!
Yes, a funny couple of weeks. On the news, or at least the BBC website, all we hear about is Ukraine, and how climate change is sizzling all of Europe, how fires are burning all over the place, and how it’s all due to climate change and how we must continue to worship at the altar of Greta, buy new and expensive electric cars to save the planet. The Vendée seems not have got the memo…
The photo was taken on my phone and edited in Snapseed.
As far as the photography is concerned, the photos were taken on the Canon 6D Mark II and the Fujifilm X100F.
Today was a good day. I like good days. A mixture of barbershops, photography, cake and tea, and most importantly, friends. On this sunny Friday afternoon, I had the afternoon off from work, it would be a perfect day to go to the barbershop and get this beard of mine seen too. I knew it was sunny just by looking out the window, and thought, let’s go manual today.
There is a rule in photography called sunny 16, that says when it is sunny, and not a cloud in the sky, you can put your camera at F16, the shutter speed identical to the ISO, or film sensibility, and all your shots should come out fine or at least well exposed. It means that all you have to do is to concentrate on the moment and press the shutter when the moment is right, and by that I mean, when you have the composition that you want from a scene.
Sean Tucker did a whole video about it and I thought, well, you’ve taken his advice in the past, so why not now. I was a bit of a sissy, and didn’t use a film camera, but instead used the Fujifilm X100F so I could see what I as getting, but to be honest, I didn’t really need to. I must have more self-confidence in photography, I must have more self-confidence in photography, etc. I didn’t go F16 but stayed a little more conservative at F11.
Right, the geeky, photographer part of this article is over. The rest of you can join in again.
So first the barber shop with a couple of photos along the way as my photographic warm-up. This visual warm-up is as important as the muscular warm-up is for a runner or any other sportsman. You get your settings right. F11 because there were a couple of clouds in the sky but not enough for F8. Remember the sunny 16 as a guide to this outing.
My goal was to go and get my flowing locks of hair shaved off, my beard to be transformed from a homeless guy into a dashing older Dude, and then get to Church, pop in to say hello to Jesus since I was too early for confession, and head off to the pub.
With less hair than before and having to battle away throngs of female admirers along the way, I eventually made it to the pub. It was a quiet day at the pub. Rob, or should I say the legend that is Rob, was standing outside ready to jump on any unsuspecting client that might come by and sit down on the terrasse. He’s a good man, and we share a love of being daft and talking utter bollocks. Our jokes are amazing, at least to us. Others might disagree, but under torture will admit they were slightly funny despite being awful!
After a couple of pints of water to quench my thirst and some awful jokes I needed to pee. On my way back up I fancied a little something to nibble on.
Rob, do you fancy some Pringles and some dip?
Not really.
Do you know what I really fancy Ian?
No Rob?
Some shortbread…
I wasn’t going to make it from scratch but I knew a place where I could acquire some for a reasonable price. So off I went to the Comptoir Irlandais. An establishment where you can find some of the world’s more comforting produce, tea, and shortbread included. Back to the pub.
Rob who is half Scottish let me know what a great fan of Iron Bru he is. Guess what I found at the Comptoir Irlandais? Yes, you’re right Dear Reader! Scotland’s number one hangover cure, not that I’m suggesting in any way at all, that the Scots would ever need a hangover cure, but if they did, this might be it. It’s a Marmite thing. You love it or you hate it. Judging by Rob’s little eyes when I came back with the shortbread fingers, and that special drink, I think we can safely say he likes it! We of course made a tonne of finger jokes, asking our Irish friend if she would like a finger. Yes, we were at that level. Fart jokes would have been a great leap forward. And I think the phrase, that’s what she said, was uttered a few times too! So all in all, yes, it was a very good day!
When I look back at this blog, it would appear that I have been “at it” since the 19th of February 2019 (or was it that I took the first photos for the blog on that day?) and it would also appear that I am still “at it!” There have been various themes to the blog, including a bit of photography, a bit of Nantes in France, a few obligatory bike shots, a couple of portraits, a couple of articles about my mental health, and my love of tea and cake.
Today, I will talk about tea and cake, and will also share a favourite address where one can partake in this passion of mine. Not that I’m turning into a lifestyle blog of course. Salivating? Get a napkin and wipe your mouth already!
At the beginning of the month, I had a rehearsal with the Symphonique des Bords de Loire, and with a couple of my friends from Cholet days, who play the fiddle, we went to have tea, and cake, in Nantes after the rehearsal. What a good idea! It would have to be La Passagère, in the Passage Pommeraye, and whilst waiting to be placed, we could ooh and ahh, looking at the cakes and thinking about what we might like to have.
It was just lovely looking through the menu and deciding how we would go about getting diabetes. You’ll be able to get an idea by exploring the photos… The girls had various forms of hot chocolate, and I had Darjeeling. Somebody has to keep standards up! They’re absolutely charming but French… We must show understanding.
So with blood sugar rising, we reminded ourselves of the “brunch sign” that we had seen whilst waiting at the entrance. We have two concerts in May with meeting times at 14h30, which is when they stop serving brunch. Well, it would be a shame to miss that. So we’re not going to miss that! At €28 a head, it seemed to be a good price for such a treat! That somebody has a birthday the same day, has nothing to do with anything. Oh no…
As the good friend that I am, I thought that somebody should do a recce. I would climb up to the parapet and ready myself to go over the top and sacrifice myself to control the quality of this brunch from La Passagère. Somebody has to do it, and as a gentleman, it has to be me.
I turned up and was seated. The waiter showed me the Brunch menu, placed some other people, and brought me the menu back. I was so excited that I missed half of it. Could I have Darjeeling please, even though I could have chosen any hot drink on the menu, even an Irish coffee, and with a choice of brioche, croissant, and pain au chocolat, I went for some pain and chose a citron pressé for my daily dose of vitamin C.
The gentleman brought me my tea, my viennoiserie, which looked perfect, and my citron, and then said, I’ll be back with the rest. The rest. Two short words hold such promise and make Ian, a very happy chappy. He came back with a tray with fromage blanc, granola, fruit salad, and my favourite jam in the whole wide world. Myrtille Jam. And a shrimp salad. There was me being even happier by the moment and remembering to take photos to show my friends in the group chat.
The only thing that I could complain about was the lack of more tasty fruit salad! The prawns were wonderful and felt almost meaty! Everything was magical. Is it the done thing to put jam on my pain au chocolat? Even if it isn’t, it won’t be the last time I do this. I might have to do it in private next time.
A very nice waitress came to see me and asked me whether I was ready for the next plate. What a sweetie, knowing exactly what to say to make me happy. Out came a very timid, yet heartfelt, “yes please!” Back she came with “la suite.” A parboiled egg that had had its shell removed, on a bed of some finely cut leek and carrots in a cream sauce. Cutting into the egg, the yolk was perfectly runny. A true taste sensation! The generous serving of smoked salmon was top-notch. Luckily, there was just enough bread to mop up the sauce and remaining yolk.
And that was just the start of a day of photography on a warm and sunny day in February. But that deserves its own article…
As a musician, even one as not as implicated as me, December can be a busy time and has proven itself to live up to its reputation of loads of concerts to finish the year, and carolling. For the moment, I have 3 out of 5 weekends taken up with playing the horn in one form or another.
At the end of the Season in the summer of 2022, I decided not to follow the new direction taken by the Orchestre d’Harmonie de Cholet. Not just out of loyalty to the outgoing conductor who, since 2009, become a close friend, but sometimes you just need a change of scene. I first thought of just having a complete break from music, which is a rash decision but one I have taken in the past. Friends were worried that I would stop music altogether, which would not only be a shame but also a waste of talent or work that I have put into learning the horn over the years. I had lost the love of performing, and rehearsals had become more a way of spending time on something I knew how to do but with less and less pleasure.
I was therefore on the lookout for a new ensemble that needed a horn player. When I was in the Cholet Conservatoire Symphony orchestra, I made friends who talked about this relatively new orchestra based just South of Nantes. You go to Facebook and see their page and try to make a choice. I made a choice. I am now the fourth horn in the Symphonique des Bords de Loire.
So what does this have to do with being busy in December? I’ll tell you. With concerts and rehearsals, I have been playing every weekend since the 26th of November. I am now 50, have taken up napping in a big way, and sleeping, or at least trying to sleep as a secondary calling. All this music is creating an enormous conflict of interest between music and my new vocation, napping. I have tried automatic pilot, but people seem to cotton on and even dare come up to me and try to talk to me when my body is still on, but the brain is experiencing a temporary outage. The sheer audacity of it all!
Last weekend, I did a paid gig for the Brass Quintet Arabesque, replacing my old horn teacher, the Grand, the mother Great, and all-around good egg, Jerome Percher who teaches the horn in the Conservatoire In Angers! He is also a massive football fan and maybe the evening match between our two splendid countries was just too much for him. Little did we know that Harry Kane would be less fortunate than us.
The idea was to have a brass band style quintet with two cornets, one tenor horn, one euphonium, and one tuba. Similar to what you might see the Salvation Army playing when they’re out around this time. We would play three sets of Christmas carols to add some ambience to the Christmas Market in La Roche Sur Yon, which is the administrative capital of the Vendée. It was a beautifully sunny day, but a tad cold. Yes, brass monkey weather!
Now I don’t technically play the tenor horn, but had studied the fingerings to know how to approach the instrument and not look too silly. It’s also much lighter than the more common, yet beautiful instrument, which is the French Horn.
Everything that morning seemed to go wrong. I was already nervous as I didn’t want to let the lads down and my heart was going like the clappers. Then slightly late getting out of the house, having to get the windscreen de-iced, as it was -5°C, which is chilly. Then the car pretended to not want to start. Ha ha ha, it was the car just trying to play a trick on me. The roads had been salted so fine, and I was headed down to La Roche. I had misread the text message with the meeting times and thought I was late. As it turned out, I wasn’t, and our lady answered my prayer for a parking space not too far from the meeting point. I, of course, couldn’t find my colleagues when I arrived in the square and then suddenly I saw Hervé and felt a lot less anxious!
We played our three sets, and the only upset was whilst playing I saw three ships. I think we all managed to sink them!
The organisers had prepared us some hot pretzels and some mulled wine, which just hit the spot and told us where the restaurant was, where we were to have lunch. The five of us needed feeding! Starters and main, or main and dessert, with drinks. I could get used to this. We ate, joked, finished our beer, and said see you later at Hervé’s house for the Soirée to celebrate Jean Michel’s birthday in a French and very fitting way!
I just had to get to Nantes, for confession, to get a little something for my evening’s host, wife, and daughter. Just enough time left over to pick up my wife, and get ourselves to our evening.
Jean Michel has a bit of a reputation as an epicurean, and not only a lover of fine cuisine, but a very accomplished chef! Upon arrival, we went to say hello to everyone, and were told to leave the kitchen, which is exactly what we did! The aforementioned legend that is Monsieur Percher was there with his lovely wife, and it was such a pleasure introducing each other to our respective spouses. The pre-meal beers were served and then out of nowhere appeared a magnum of very nice champagne, which was the first of quite a few exquisite bottles, which complemented Jean Michel’s cooking so well. We’re now in happy as a pig in shit territory.
It was a lovely evening and with the wine, I was beginning to feel a little tired, which is better than being a little tiring. It was time for little Ian to go beddy byes… My new vocation in life. Fortunately, my wife is a professional driver, stone-cold sober, and able to drive us home.
The next day was spent gently getting out of bed, and trying not to let on that I might be a little tired. By Sunday evening I was ready to go to mass, and who would I see, but Hervé and his family. It’s nice not being at mass on your own and was just the surprise I need to finish the evening off on a high point. That and going to the pub afterwards.
Next Saturday, I will play the tenor horn with the Tuba Class with Hervé as their teacher. The weekend after will be a lot quieter. Then three days in the factory before breaking up for two weeks holiday for Christmas, which, Dear Reader, will be a completely different story.
Until then, I wish each and every one of you a very happy, peaceful, and above all drama-free Christmas!
IJM Photography 