....stupidity plays a major part.......

Ah, the dangers and expense of being a photographer are not the ones that you would always expect. Yesterday I found myself in the wilds of Hebden Bridge, "Where?" You may well ask. It is somewhere between Halifax and Leeds. I looked it up on the Internet before I went and saw a few pictures but nothing that did it any justice. What a beautiful place, old, quaint and stuck in the past. Nestled in the bossom of a valley, surrounded by trees with a canal and a river running through the centre. Rising above it are various chimneys from watermills and Victorian factories, a perfect picture of Industrial life from the 19th Century.
I was actually there visiting a customer so I was suited. For anyone that is interested it is a nice black pinstriped 3 piece suit, stupid on such a humid day but there is something about a 3 piece suit that makes you feel that bit more elegant (yep, totally superficial).
I arrived early so I had an hour to survey my surroundings. Hardcastle Crags is the woodland that surrounds the town and very pretty it is too. My research had suggested parking here and walking a short way to view the Lumb waterfalls. So after a successful appointment, I parked up and walked. My Internet browsing was as half baked as ever so I didn't actually know which way to walk so I meandered over to Gibson Mill and asked there. Turns out that Lumb falls was in a neighbouring valley, too far to walk but they did suggest the smaller falls 200 yards away and they both commented on the nice suit and to take care.
It was an idyllic fall, a small stream cutting through rocks and folliage with a 6ft drop and then many smaller drops as it washed away to the river. The small track towards the falls was treacherous and carefully picking my way up, the view wasn't great, trees and the angle obscuring what would be a stunning picture......however, and this is were stupidity plays a major part in my life, the view from the centre of the stream would be perfect and the green moss encased rocks that led a path to the larger moss covered stone, would lend itself as a perfect staging post for my tripod. The 100 yard walk was fraught with danger, the rocks were slippery and some were loose. I made it with nothing worse than dirty fingernails and I did manage to get some nice shots. The trek back to shore was not quite so easy, sufficed to say I slipped down the lower part of the waterfall, my feet flying up from under me, my backside bouncing off a rock and into the water. I was wet and dirty, my beautiful suit was luckily not ripped but it is covered in mud, my cufflinks, given as an anniversary present have collected river muck and the sleeves of my white shirt are now brown. Luckily I didn't hurt more than my pride. I must have made a comical picture, unfortunately one that I didn't take, failing to see the funny side until I dried out.
Gibson Mill was a revelation, it doesn't look much more than a mill but it stands infront of a small lake and because of it's stillness, it gives a perfect reflection in the water. I took an IR and an HDR shot as the weather was a little grey but they both look good.
My next stop was to the top of the valley, looking down on Hebden Bridge. What a superb view but as it is Summer, the damned greenery was blocking out the best shots. It's a times like that I wish that I lived somewhere with better panoramas, just for the experience of knowing how to take the shot. I wasn't experienced enough to capture the view, taking nothing more than a token snap.
My trek home was scary. As I left the heights and drove back down to Hebden Bridge, the grinding noise started, that metal on metal sound that indicates that all is not right somewhere behind me in the car. As I slowed it became excrutiating and at low speed it was reverberating off shop windows, walls and people. I was scaring cats, dogs and killing small animals with low sound tolerance. There was only one solution, drive faster and leave the sound behind. I am of the ostrich opinion that if you can't see it, it isn't there. At 70 mph on the M1, the sound was a distant memory, fading into the miles somewhere North of Leeds, however, when I left the Motorway at Junction 16, the sound rattled the teeth in my head. I limped home, ignoring the curtains that rustled as I thundered by, ignoring the children screaming for their mothers at my apocalyptic approach and the old guard reaching for their rifles to protect Blighty from the metallic menace.
This morning was even worse. The car creaked and groaned down the road, more the sound of pain and anger than the euphoric screaming of yesterday. The mechanic was far too young and nowhere near experienced enough to fleece me. He did suggest 2 new rear tyres as my others were apparently worn. How he said this with a straight face as I stared down at my old tyres with their 2 feet of tread, I'll never know. He then gave me the bad news, calipers, brakes and discs and with a great sucking in of cheeks, gave me a bill of £300. So now I am waiting for my car to be ready and once that is done, I may well put my suit in for dry cleaning although I know exactly how this will play out, I won't bother and by the time I need it next I will curse Hebden Bridge as I look at the bacterial growths that have sprung out of the seat of my pants.

I run like a snail.......

So the World Cup is nearly over, bar the recriminations and tears. Brilliant match last night, Spain Vs Germany, it felt like the final. Interesting that the German octopus predicted this result, I must get me one of those and see you in the Bahamas when I've won the lottery.

My running is going painfully and slowly. My times aren't particularly impressive but the amount of effort and sweat that I'm putting into it, is. I run like a snail, leaving a watery trail in my wake...when I say wake, please don't think that I actually go fast enough to leave a wake, I barely move fast enough to leave a trail. I never did manage the 7 miler. I went out last Saturday for a 5 mile run. At 3 miles the thought crossed my mind that I should stop for a drink of water, my second thought was "Quitter!" So I didn't stop. At 4 miles I decided that I'd had enough and would walk the rest of the way, I also changed my mind and did finish the full distance but the cost to my body was painful and my mental state is suffering, dreading any distance. I have run 3 and 2 milers this week and have found them painful, no fun, pleasure or even much of a sense of achievement. My intention to run 7 miles is slowly but surely falling by the wayside. I don't know if it's the weather or just the time of year. My youngest needed some new running shoes and apparently the chap in the shop was also complaining about tiredness and breathing problems so maybe I'm not alone.
I saw some overweight old chap running the other weekend. It was midday and hot. I had run earlier in the day when it was cooler and I was depressed to notice that he looked fresh and easy in his stride, not like my shambolic gait as I draw in wheezy breaths like a whale, dripping down the road at 0.2mph. I do find it heartening to see people take the time to look after themselves. Running does take effort and determination, particularly when it is hard. I am proud of myself for carrying on and not taking a break but it is also difficult to see the light at the end of the tunnel when this is actually an anomaly, I seem to remember last Summer being easier and it is Winter that causes the problems.
So if you see a tramplike figure, staggering down the road in the morning, please don't assume he is drunk, if the face is grey and creased, almost painful looking and the sweat is beading off it in rivulets, it is most likely me, so please be kind and give me a lift home.