Tag: tea

The Quiet Orchestra of Cups and Crumbs: Indulging in Tea and Cake at Home

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There’s a hush within the walls of home, broken only by the gentle clink of china and the soft rustle of pages turning. Sunlight paints warm squares on the table, and a familiar aroma fills the air – the alluring scent of freshly brewed tea, mingling with the promise of sweet delight. Forget the clamour of cafes and the pressure of trendy patisseries; here, amidst the comfort of your own haven, awaits an indulgence both simple and sublime: the pairing of tea and cake.

This is not just a snack, mind you, but a ritual, a rebellion against the hurried pace of life. Here, you are the maestro, wielding the teapot and cake fork with practiced ease. No deadlines loom, no expectations burden you. Just the quiet orchestra of clinking cups, the warmth of tea on your tongue, and the crumbly symphony of cake yielding to your fork.

But before we lose ourselves in the indulgence, let’s ensure the foundation is perfect. Forget the sacrilege of microwaved water! A proper cup of tea deserves a touch of ceremony. Here’s the secret:

The Art of Brewing:

  1. Choose your weapon: Select your tea wisely. A robust Assam for an invigorating morning, a delicate Darjeeling for a contemplative afternoon, or a fragrant jasmine for a touch of serenity. Loose leaf offers the fullest experience, but quality tea bags work too – I’m thinking Yorkshire tea, Yorshire Gold, or even Barry’s Gold from Ireland.
  2. Heat the water: Water is the soul of tea. Use water heated to the appropriate temperature – boiling for black tea, around 80°C for green tea (except green tea is for hippies or stresed out millenials). Using a kettle helps achieve precise temperature control.
  3. Warm your vessel: Preheat your mug or teapot with hot water to prevent a temperature drop when the tea arrives.
  4. The infusion dance: Measure your tea – a teaspoon per cup. Add the tea leaves to the warmed pot, then pour the hot water gently over them. When using a tea pot, the rule is one spoon of tea for the pot and one spoon of tea per person.
  5. Let it steep: Respect the steeping time! Each tea has its preference – 3-5 minutes for black tea, 2-3 minutes for green tea (for hippies and stressed out millenials). Be patient, this is where the flavour magic happens.
  6. Strain and savour: Once steeped, strain the tea and discard the leaves (unless using a teabag). Now, breathe in the aroma, hold the warm cup in your hands, and take that first sip. Let the flavours bloom on your tongue. I always add milk, which takes off the tanin edge of strong tea.

The Perfect Pairing:

Now, to the cake! Choose a companion that complements your tea’s character. A rich chocolate brownie pairs well with robust teas, while a light, citrusy slice enhances the delicate notes of Darjeeling. Remember, this is your symphony, so experiment and find the perfect harmony.

With each sip and bite, the tension of the day melts away. The world outside can wait, for within these four walls, you’ve created a sanctuary of indulgence. No judgement, no pressure, just the quiet joy of the moment.

So, the next time you crave a moment of solace, skip the cafes and turn inwards. Brew a pot of tea, slice a delightful cake, and settle into the haven of your home. Let the quiet orchestra of cups and crumbles fill your senses, and rediscover the simple yet profound pleasure of indulging in your own company.

And remember, Nantes may boast charming cafes, but the truest indulgence often lies in the quiet corners of your own home, waiting to be savoured with every mindful sip and bite. Take a moment, dear reader, and indulge in the simple symphony of tea and cake at home. You deserve it.

A nice cup of tea made with love ? It’s a hug in a mug!

Capturing the Essence of Nantes: A Street Photography Journey with the Pentax ME Super and Kentmere 100 Film

Posted on Posted in Black and White Photography, Film Photography, France, Nantes Photography, Photography Tutorials, Street PhotographyTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 6 Comments

Dear Reader,

This is less of a tutorial than the last four articles but more a “how I approach the subject” kind of article. You can read about something I seem to do a lot of and have experience of. I’ll be talking about my film photography phase from this summer when my X100F was still dead

Have you ever felt that familiar tug of nostalgia while strolling through a city that reminds you of your hometown? For me, Nantes, with its maritime heritage and busy streets, brings back memories of Hull in East Yorkshire. Those of you from Hull will see the irony in this, wondering how the heck a town can be like Hull, but it has similarities… If you know, you know. It’s a city that feels like home, and it’s just a short 35-minute drive from where I live. Come with me through the streets of Nantes, with the Pentax ME Super and Kentmere 100 film.

Exploring Nantes Through My Lens

Nantes, like Hull, boasts a rich maritime history, or is it the other way round? As I set foot in the city, I can’t help but feel the past staring me in the face. The first thing I do is head to my favourite spot, Parking Feydeau. It’s become somewhat of a ritual for me. I park on the same floor, in the same space — predictability eases one worry when you’re out capturing moments, or as my son says, are you autistic Dad? The cheeky little bugger. No, I’m just me! An old Fuddy-Duddy.

As I step out onto the street, I take my first light reading with my camera. It’s a bit like taking the city’s pulse, getting the vibe for the day. My starting point is usually Quartier Bouffay, near the castle , and the fact that the pub is close by has nothing to do with anything! From there, I seem to find myself in front of the Sainte Croix Church. Sometimes, it’s for confession; other times, it’s just to warm up, both physically, spiritually, and visually.

Just as walking the streets of Nantes is a physical workout, and with a camera it is akin to a visual workout. You’re constantly observing, framing, and capturing scenes as they unfold. Rue des Carmes or the path leading to the Castle are some of my more frequent routes, but I’ve been known to start my journey at Place Royale, especially if a visit to my barber is in order. My beard and length has often been a debate between my mother and I. She prefers the shorter, therefore neat and tidy beard. I seem to like a little more length, going for the Father Christmas look. From there, I can explore the Rue de Calvaire or aim for the Tour de Bretagne. Should I choose Rue Crébillon, it will take me to Place Graslin, and I end up in the very French and very stylish Cours Cambronne. They do do a nice courtyard do the French. Sometimes I will head to Quai Président Wilson, to the Hangar à Bananes, where I go to the HAB Gallérie. The added bonus is that parking is free in this area, and after all as Tesco’s would have us believe, every little helps. Again, the fact that I have an address for a beer and a piece of cake has nothing to do with anything, and I will, of course deny everything!

Moments and Encounters: The Heart of Street Photography

As an older gentleman with a slight limp, courtesy of arthritis, I’ve come to understand the importance of comfortable shoes. Fortunately, I do happen to posess some comfortable shoes, allowing me the extra bit of ease whilst wandering around the streets. I’ve also done the odd reckie of spots where I can sit down— be it for a meal, people-watching, sipping a cup of French expresso that packs one heck of a caffeine punch, or, on rare occasions, enjoying a decent cup of tea, but as we are in France this a much more challenging endevour. The French can just be so French now and again. Ah, tea — that drink that is a hug in a mug.

Navigating the streets of Nantes with a camera in hand and a discerning palate for food has become somewhat of a habit for me. Some of the things I hold dearest to my heart, tea, and cake. In France, we encounter the “droit à l’image,” a set of laws governing the right to one’s image. Some people may feel uncomfortable having their photo taken, and I’ve seen it manifest in numerous shots of people’s backs. However, these unwitting contributors add a recognisable element to the urban landscape, showing human interactions in the city.

I recall an incident when a passerby accused me of taking his picture without permission. I had a 28mm lens, and he was merely an infinitesimal part of the scene I was capturing. Reassuring him, I explained that he was not the focus of the photo, and that I had only noticed him when he started yelling at me. So much of a muchness. It was a lesson in navigating the sometimes touchy waters of street photography in a culture sensitive to “the right to one’s image.” As it turns out, compassion is the universal language, but so is muttering under my breath when out of earshot.

Another way I combine photography and life in Nantes is through my visits to the local barber. Whenever I’m in the chair, I discreetly document the atmosphere of the shop. The photos I take are subsequently given to my barber, forming a visual record of his small business — it’s good to be good, and it’s my small way of supporting local businesses. As is drinking tea and eating cake. Nothing to do with my tummy, and nothing like Whinnie the Pooh…

The Pentax ME Super and Kentmere 100 Film: A Street Photographer’s Dream Team

Why do I choose the Pentax ME Super for my street photography outings? Well, it’s a matter of practicality and style. First and foremost, it’s compact — a small camera, and in my pocket another lens and a couple of rolls of film. In the world of street photography, less is often more. It’s a “Keep It Simple, Stupid” approach, and I am a great fan of simple.

But it’s not just about size as in many domains; it’s also about subtlety. A massive DSLR with a conspicuous zoom lens can be intimidating, both for the photographer and the subjects. With the ME Super and prime lens, I “zoom with my feet.” This set-up forces me to engage more intimately with my surroundings especially with the 50mm lens, and the result is a more authentic perspective of the city. Plus, let’s face it — the ME Super is just a really cool looking camera and its vintage appearance just oozes kudos and style. It makes me feel like a true photographer, even though I’m merely an observer of the city.

Now, let’s talk about the Kentmere 100 film. It’s practical and easy to find. This film stock is budget-friendly, a nicer way of saying cheap (Fomapan is another cheaper film stock too), which, if you have seen the prices of Kodak film, is a very convincing argument, yet it reminds me of more renowned Ilford films. One year, I decided to exclusively use HP5+, a faster film. Switching to Kentmere 100 or any other 100 ASA film gives me a finer grain, and I can still expose at F2 and 1/2000th of a second for that silky depth of field that just makes everyone go weak at the knees in “good” light. Bokeh whores I’m talking to you!

Street photographers often aspire to capture the kind of timeless black and white aesthetic seen in the works of Doisneau, Cartier-Bresson, or Vivian Maier. While we may never fully replicate their images, using black and white film, allows us a head start on our digital brothers. I’ve always been drawn to this style of documentary photography. Street photography, for me, isn’t just about street portraiture; it’s about observing the street and documenting it in a classic way — classic, much like myself, or should I say, old-fashioned? Whatever it may be, it’s certainly not modern and up-to-date, just like Yours Truly, but that’s fine too! We all have our place.

Tips for Aspiring Street Photographers

Now, for those of you who aspire to explore street photography, let me share some tips. Remember the phrase from the cover of “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy”: DON’T PANIC! When you’re working with a film camera, such as the Pentax ME Super with its 36 exposures, don’t expect to get 36 keepers. However, consider each photo that doesn’t quite hit the mark as a valuable visual note.

These notes help you study your subjects and how the scene changes with shifting light. Practise, after all, makes perfect. Don’t think that any photographer publishes all their shots; in fact, I curate and edit my photos carefully before sharing them on my Instagram feed. It’s all part of the learning process, using each “less than perfect” shot to refine your craft. And each photograph is a journey towards the ultimate photograph.

Dont forget those comfortable shoes, which, as I mentioned earlier, are essential. You’ll be walking and standing a lot, so prioritise comfort. Again, reduce your kit to the minimum. The less weight you have to carry, the fewer excuses you’ll have to sit down and maybe have a cup of tea and a piece of cake. But keep that option open, you never know…

I photograph to find out what something will look like photographed.

Garry Winogrand

Conclusion: Capturing the Essence

In conclusion, street photography is about capturing the essence of the city, and with the Pentax ME Super and Kentmere 100 film, I document the life, culture, and people of Nantes. It’s a city with a rich past and a vibrant present, and through my lens, I’ve sought to capture moments that reflect its unique character.

Each click of the shutter is a testament to the enduring appeal of film photography and its ability to capture moments that transcend time. It’s a classic approach in a modern world, much like my beloved Nantes itself. I mean, it’s not Hull, but not many places can rival Hull. If you know, you know.

If you want to dig into the Pentax ME Super itself — its controls, its character, and why it works so well for street photography — I’ve written a dedicated review: Why the Pentax ME Super Is the Perfect First Film Camera (Even in 2026).

So, Dear Reader, whether you’re a seasoned street photographer or just beginning your photographic journey, I encourage you to explore the streets of your own city or a new one. Embrace the art of observation, document its nuances, and don’t be afraid to capture this essence of the world around you. It’s a journey that rewards both the observer and the observed.

Thank you for joining me on this photographic adventure. I invite you to share your own street photography experiences and engage in a conversation about this beautiful art form. Until next time, keep clicking and exploring.

Friday afternoon in Nantes

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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!

Happy Birthday Blog!

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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…

Sea Mist

Posted on Posted in Alnmouth, Café Culture, Reportage, Travel photography, United KingdomTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 3 Comments

Right, I’m going to be completely honest with you Dear Reader, and tell you that the next few articles will be about my Summer (sorry 12 days in Summer) whilst in the UK. No novels, just photos. I might tell you a little about the context of the photos, how they happened, and under which circumstances they happened. So basically it’s my holiday snaps and not creative writing. Just thought it fair to warn you in case. You never know.

I mean, I say holiday snaps, but I have tried to keep a certain standard and make the photos look good! I wouldn’t dare do otherwise!

So, let’s get some context. The last time I was in Alnmouth I didn’t have my Canon 6D Mark II with me and I didn’t have my 16-35mm lens. As you might know by now, this is my other favourite set-up and rivals the Fujifilm X100F. Yes, I like to go a little wider when I can!

Now the following conditions were something that I had never seen before here but really knocked me for six. It was suddenly that the beach disappeared. This fog just came from the sea and ate up the entire village, like me, with a piece of cake. Gobbled it up as if it were the last cake on the plate. The whole place became quite eerie and when on the beach, I couldn’t even see the sea. I could only just make out some people sitting on the beach being very English and bloody-minded. Well, we got here. It’s foggy, but we’re still going to have a good time on the beach. It was almost French… Almost…

It was my first morning in the village and I had slipped out saying that I was off to take some photos. I was, of course, but said nothing about going to Scott’s of Alnmouth, which is a rather gorgeous deli, and coffee shop. It used to be the village Grocers, and I love what they’ve done to the place. It looks magnificent, and I also follow the owner on Instagram and was so happy to get there after so much time. I was welcomed as an old friend which always makes me feel special. The coffee was the best coffee that I had ever had in the UK, which is saying something. British people are good at tea. The French are excellent at coffee. The French have traumatised me with what they think of as a cup of tea. Warm tepid water with not enough tea, no milk, and a crappy little biscuit to say sorry. British coffee inspires the same disgust in me. Killian and I, famously, once tried Costa coffee, and said never again! And when I say never, I really mean never. However Scotts of Alnmouth destroyed the myth that the Brits know nothing about coffee, and I was very agreeably surprised. The generous slice of Tiffin that I had with it had nothing to do with my state of happiness. Well, it did, of course, but the coffee was superb!

Hello Dear Reader

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It has been a quiet three weeks over here in France.  I went to see my wife’s family in Brittany, and strangely enough I could go out, take some pretty photographs, and not get any grief from my mother-in-law.  Yes, miracles can happen. 

England and football had definitely come home just before buggering off to Rome.  Those three poor lads who missed penalties and got so much flack for it.  Disgusting.  I listened to the match on the radio in the car on the way home, but got home before the penalties, which would have been too horrible to listen to.  At least we got further than France, and beat Germany.  Small mercies, people, small mercies!  

My eejit son got back with his ex-girlfriend, but apparently with “different rules,” and “different bases,” and asked me to accept everything wholeheartedly.  Very optimistic, that boy!  There are more red flags in that relationship than in the last Congress of the Chinese Communist Party… And to quote the genius that is Forrest Gump, “and that is all I have to say about that…”  I’ve been forbidden from saying anything else. It happens, I suppose…

They have jabbed once me.  I think there is definitely a conspiracy about the COVID vaccinations.  Why don’t the injections hurt like hell, the way they used to when I was a child???  What is this utter madness?  As of the 21st July, the “passe sanitaire” has been imposed, firstly on theme parks, cinemas, and libraries, where more than 50 people can gather.  As of the 1st August, you cannot go to restaurants, cafés, shopping centres, and basically anywhere where everyday French life happens.  The President sounds like a scratched record, vaccinnez vous, vaccinnez vous!  Strangely enough, people are starting to feel a little iffy about the whole situation.

There are now huge demonstrations against this “passe sanitaire” and people are comparing it to the “Ausweis” that people had to carry about during the Occupation.  Has Macron committed political suicide?  Many are hoping so.  I’m for people being vaccinated but want it to remain a choice.  Aren’t we free to refuse a medical act?  Have Liberté, Égalité, et Fraternité, just disappeared from France?  Many think so.

A friend had his 26th birthday, so the weekend before, I took him up to Nantes to buy him his present.  As we are still allowed to frequent cafés etc, we enjoyed ourselves and only had two teas, and one visit to the pub.  Such restraint!  I was amazed.  I could have taken him to at least another two places.  He dared to tell as we were ordering tea number two, that he was no longer hungry!  I quipped, you don’t need to be hungry to eat this…  These youngsters!

I am still allowed to wander the streets of France, and might keep doing it and my goal, this week, is to take some photos of the Voyage à Nantes Art festival!  I might not be able to sit down and have a pint, but I’ll be a brave boy about it! Yipeeeeee!

Passage du Gois, and the Port du Bec

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I seem to have this habit of going into Nantes with my camera and using it as an excuse to have some me time, eat cake, and drink tea. Now I’ve been told about how self-care is important but it’s beginning to show around my waist. I think it might be making me lazy as far as photography is concerned too.

So, what to do? Go somewhere else that doesn’t have tea and cake! I also wanted to keep away from towns and cities. Too much familiarity, and I wanted to see if my Canon 6D Mark II still worked. It does. Yipee. And I wanted to set my self the constraint of using just my 50mm F1.8, the famous nifty fifty!

I love my Fujifilm cameras and haven’t switched back or anything but change is good.

It was a beautifully sunny day and just before midday. I got a sandwich at a bakery and headed off towards the coast. The car knows the first part of the way there as it’s the way to work. I passed the factory and gave her a swift hello. It looks so empty without her workers going about their daily duties. Maybe she needs a weekend as much as we do. Anyway…

I arrived at Beauvoir Sur Mer and passed the holiday home of a friend from the band. I didn’t see the car so continued without stopping. I arrived at the Port du Bec, and made my way down towards the boats wondering how those ramshackle wooden jetties can support the weight of a fisherman… Needless to say, I didn’t try to find out. Erring on the side of caution. I may not have the wisdom of an old man, but I’m not daft either. Maybe the beginnings of wisdom are that we know that we know nothing, but that we are too big to go and play silly buggers!

The blue sky was reflected in the sea. It felt great to be alive. The sun really makes a difference after so much rain. And I wasn’t the only one out. Over the bay I could see Noirmoutier in the distance protecting us from ravages of the Atlantic. All was calm. I like calm. I like calm about as much as I do tea and cake. I walked down to the sea and gently walked back towards the car and off to my next destination, the Passage du Gois.

The Passage du Gois is a passage. The clue is in the name… It is the passage between the mainland and the island of Noirmoutier on the Vendée coast. The particularity is that, like Lindesfarne in Northumberland, it is covered by the sea at high tide. However on the Passage du Gois, that tide can roll in faster than a galloping horse at a rather quick gallop.

One of the local spectator sports is watching motorists trying to beat the tide and there is a real danger that they might not make it. That’s what those beacons are for. They actually have a foot race where the runner finish with wet feet!

When the tide is out it’s a different matter all together. I once took a couchsurfer from the US there. We parked on the sand and watched people fishing for shellfish. She’d never seen anything like it in her life!

It felt great and the sea air always does me good. I might just have to go back…

The Port du Bec

The Passage du Gois

Christmas 2019

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Merry Christmas dear Reader. Ok. I know I’m a little late but that’s fine. Most of these blog posts have that impression of being slightly out of sync like a news reporter talking live from outside Parliament, or a badly dubbed film… trust me, I will wish you a Happy New Year by the end of June, I just don’t know in what year yet.

Christmas has been great this year. For those who know me I’ll just let that sink in. For those of you who know me as a tea drinker and cake eater, I mean cake amateur, this is the first Christmas where I have not been depressed for so long. The others can come back now.

I always make a difference between Christmas, and the secular Christmas , which is all about joining the orgy of consumerism, eating,and drinking. The kind of Christmas we have in France, buy all this nice food, buy all this nice wine, buy the expensive presents for those you love, and you will have happiness and people will love you. They’re so good at fooling us that we fall for the same bullshit year in, year out.

The Christmas I had this year was post Lourdes and my return to the Church. I still bought presents for my family, and loved the presents my family gave me. One was a machine that made tea. And I’m always so wary of people that claim that it is possible to make tea without using boiling water, scalding the teapot first etc. This machine is actually rather good. Will wonders never cease?

Right. Back to where I was. I travelled though Advent and what the readings in Mass during Advent teach us. I went to confession to prepare my soul. I asked God to bring my family together and celebrate the giving of Christmas the way that God gave us Jesus, Emmanuel, or God amongst us. Maybe before I was the problem, because this year I was in such a different place mentally.

We have a tradition of always having somebody over for Christmas who is alone or not with their family for Christmas. This year, it was a friend of Killian’s whose family had just suffered a death. He needed to be elsewhere as a self preservation mechanism. The table was laid out with finger foods, but the good stuff that makes this meal special the way Christmas is special. There was wine and beer. There were Christmas crackers that had been spotted my daughter in the shop where I get various cakes and sweets. The French don’t do Christmas crackers, and my son’s friend was slightly put off by the English tradition of putting a stupid flimsy paper crown on. but he did it and we all had a good time. I had just one beer so I would be clear to go to midnight mass.

Midnight mass started with a service at 23h30. As I drove up to Nantes there was hardly anybody on the roads. I parked and had never seen so many spaces in that car park. As I walked though the Quartier Bouffay, I could see nobody on the streets. I could see windows with lights on, and people around tables. As I walked pas the Sainte Croix church, I could hear the singing of hymns already celebrating Christmas. I saw the Soldiers guarding the Church just in case. I wished them Merry Christmas and felt thankful that it wasn’t cold. I walked on past Decré, past the Place de Pilori, and on towards the Cathedral. As I advanced, more people seemed to join me. Otherwise Nantes was sitting down to eat.

The Bishop said mass and the music was special in a way that only Christmas music can be. Despite being part of the body of the Church and celebrating mass like so many other Catholics in the world I felt alone. I was missing having my family by my side. I would have to wait for the next day, Christmas Day, to be able to have my wife and two children with me. That made my Christmas. That and really good tea, and some lovely Christmas cake with cheese on it…

PS. It’s actually the Epiphany today today, so technically I’m not late yet.

Out to tea

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It’s a slightly miserable Friday afternoon but has been made wonderful firstly, by my boss, who said I could leave work early, secondly, by a friend who works at the Fnac, but doubles up as a pro photographer, and lastly, by those lovely people at the Sugar Blue Cafe .

Those of you who know me, and those of you who don’t, but have read my blog, know that I have a weakness for cake, and cheesecake in particular. That, and a cup of tea.

I’ve been thinking of buying a drone to do some aerial photography, but after having talked to my guy at the Fnac, have decided against it, so no aerial photography on here. Sorry!

So, as I was leaving the Fnac I could see people with drops of water on their coats. My coat of course is in the car. Remember, I am an idiot after all. As I went through the doors, without the intervention of the security guards, I saw people coming in and shaking umbrellas dry. I could see drops of rain falling on the ground.

Bugger!

I wandered through the Marché de Noël, selling all kind of things that I have no interest in buying. At least there was some shelter from the little bit of rain. I went through the rain into the Place Royale where the fountain, which in all fairness can be described as a statement piece, has almost been hidden by chalets selling jewellery, saucisson, food, games, and all kinds of stuff that they want us to put into our stockings at Christmas.

There was the Carousel and I can imagine the children riding the mechanical horses having harassed their parents to the point of giving in. Or was it the parents off loading their children?

Phew. I managed to pass without giving into the urge to do the same as the children. I mean riding on a mechanical horse and not harassing my parents. At 47 years old I think I’ve grown out of harassing my parents, or have I???

It was nice to take some night time photos of the lights in the streets and of the square. I’m usually a right Humbug, which sounds so much better than a grumpy old fart!

Oh bliss, the Sugar Blue Cafe is still open. I do like this place. Oh bliss, the Sugar Blue Cafe is still open, and there is somewhere to sit. On a Saturday it can get very full very quickly, but the wait is always worth it. I love the food they do. It’s fresh, sometimes vegetarian, and always lovely. I ordered my vanilla cheesecake with the fruit of the forest coulis, and a cup of Lapsang Souchong tea, which has been a favourite of mine since I was an angst filled teenager. I had a bit more hair back then…

On either side of me are young twenty something women talking about pregnancy, the fact that her dad didn’t like the book she bought last year for Christmas, a friend who was refused a bank loan for a small business. Telephones are on the table next to their plates and cups. Modern teatime I suppose.

I look just like an old fella typing on his phone. I can’t be really bothered to listen anymore. When I write in English, I seem to block out any French. It’s as if I’m on my weekend now and I’m not interested in making the effort. Now they’re talking about marketing and business communication. You see Dear Reader, you’re not missing anything.

Apart from the cheesecake and tea….

Mass in the Cathedral

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If you’ve read the Lourdes article then you’ll know that I am a practicing Catholic, and after a break away from the Church I’m trying to get back to Mother Church. It was Sunday, and well, I hadn’t been in the morning as I could see the clock turning. I remembered a friend telling me about the 7pm in the Cathedral. I know it sounds like it could be a horse race (try the 7pm in Nantes…) but I thought I could make it.

I’d been in town taking photos; now there’s a surprise! Trying somewhere different in town where the last time I had gone with a film camera and messed up my film development. That will be for another article though.

A friend of mine is very very pregnant and about to pop. I found out when she told me on Facebook but I hadn’t got around to seeing her during her pregnancy and I was so happy for her and her partner be able to start a family. It couldn’t happen to nicer people.

Hang on, I’m missing bits out. So we’ve done photos. Check. We’ve done pregnant friend. Check. Have we done cake? Ah. Not yet.

Ok. Back on track. Right. So I have a pregnant friend about to pop and I asked if I could pop round for a cup of tea. She said yes of course, and I couldn’t turn up empty handed now, could I?

I know a place that does rather nice macaroons. The really nice French ones. The really nice French ones that everybody says, “We can’t eat all those,” but invariably prove ourselves wrong. I saw all the flavours and had to have three of each. I must have come away with about 30 of them. There was chocolate, praline, pistachio, almond, vanilla, lemon, raspberry, mango, salted butter caramel, and I think that was it… oh OK, not thirty, but nearly…

I arrived with my meager offerings and was promptly told that I shouldn’t have, but a large plate appeared and the macaroons were ready to be “tasted” flavour by flavour. We drank Ceylon tea, and talked about the fast approaching birth, and how people should stop giving expecting couples advice on how to raise their children. So I gave them unwanted advice on how to raise their children. Whatever you do to your children, do it with love, and you won’t go far wrong. Time flies like and arrow, and fruit flies like a banana. Before I knew it, it was time for me to leave and head off to Mass, hence the name of this article…

I am obviously a fool. My wife will confirm this. I trusted my GPS to get me to the church on time. Reminds me of a song… I was at the underground car park with only ten minutes to spare before mass. I was at the underground car park with only ten minutes to spare before mass, and, with this very pressing need to pee. That’ll teach me to drink so much tea in so little time.

I remember reading once that “a Gentleman should never run” and with my level of unfitness it has never been easier to be a gentleman… but I will accept walking at a brisk pace. I arrived at the cathedral doors and entered, trying to catch my breath, and compose myself. I saw the Père Hubert already dressed in his robes and in the starting blocks. He gestured to me as if to say, don’t worry son, you’re not late yet…

The music is amazing. They have the Cathedral organist just whacking one out on his massive organ. Yes. You know what I mean and I certainly don’t mean that! This is church after all!

Mass took its usual course but with the echo I couldn’t make out what the people were saying during the readings. The place seem quite full and I was very impressed by the whole feeling of the mass. Looking towards the high altar all light up. And the columns taking our prayers directly to God. I went to communion and regained my seat. At the end of Mass I recited the rosary as if to say thank you and please look after my family. Then I heard a bell being rung as the sacristan told people that he was going to lock all the doors and make sure every one was out. There was a small boy with his parents who seemed really impressed by the whole shebang.

Afterwards, I headed off to the pub for a couple of pints. Well, not really, I just had to find a place to pee!