The Roman poet Horace said that 'a picture is a poem without words'. Of course he would not have known about photography, living as he did over two thousand years ago. But I’m sure if he had, he would have looked for poems in photos.
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I am writing this at the end of March and spring seems definitely to have arrived in London. Street trees are in blossom, birds are more active and more vocal, and our garden is awakening. But my ‘story’ starts back in the tail-end of winter, February.
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I remember many a snowy January as a child, including some very bad ones. And well into my adult years snow was a regular occurrence. But in recent years we’ve seen it less and less, although northern England still gets its fair share. This January it probably got more than its fair share, as storms hit the UK, but in London we saw only a dusting of snow first thing one morning, gone almost as soon as it got light.
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I confess I’m not a fan of winter, it’s my least favourite season. Yes, I love Christmas: enjoying festive celebrations with family and friends, decorating the house, seeing the lights in London. And I can get pleasure from crisp sunny days, perfect for a walk whether in London or on a Northumberland beach. But I don’t like grey skies, and I especially don’t like the shorter days and longer nights.
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There’s a feeling of autumn in the air as we reach the end of August and head into September. And that's even though recently we’ve had some of the loveliest days of our rather patchy summer. Some leaves are beginning to turn, or even drop, and there are berries on many of the street trees in Ealing.
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While many of England’s grand houses were (and in some cases still are) home to the aristocracy, others were built by those hoping to emulate or even join that exclusive set. The so-called ‘landed gentry’ indeed had land but no titles, although they aspired to climb the social ladder. Among them was Sir George Bowes, a coal baron from north east England.
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This year our dreary spring has continued into this, one of my favourite months, with only a few brighter days. We did have one glorious weekend in the middle of the month, with temperatures more like summer than spring. But we also had more grey days and more wet ones.
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I don’t know about you, but logic tells me that there is no more reason to make a resolution to do something better / more / less on the first of January than on any other day of the year. And also that there is no more reason to believe we will succeed in sticking to that resolution then rather than on a different date.
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Where the River Tyne meets the North Sea lies the aptly named appealing town of Tynemouth. In the summer this is a popular low-key seaside resort, despite the chill of that well-named sea. And in winter it is an equally popular place for a bracing walk, either on the sands or on the paths and promenades above.
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The relics of Newcastle’s industrial past are being transformed. And nowhere is that more apparent than on the banks of the Ouseburn, a small tributary of the Tyne just east of the city centre. Here there are still plenty of signs of that past, including old warehouses and the remains of glass furnaces. But many of the old buildings have been transformed into cultural venues including galleries and artists’ studios.
