Little & large

I believe there's plenty of room in a friendship to accommodate differences, as well as celebrate similarities.

Fleet of foot

For a big man, Dave is remarkably quick and nimble: one minute he's standing right in front of you, the next, he's disappeared down the road, out of sight. Mind you, he's usually only gone as far as the nearest tea shop.

Ahoy, Me Hearties!

Peter's always waiting for me to post something so that he can reply with one of his images showing me in some incongruous or debilitating position. So as not to disappoint, here are a couple of snaps from our recent outing to Gloucester Docks.

Still Waiting

While Peter was fossicking amongst the daffs and crocuses (or is that croci?) I was in a common image-gathering pose - lying flat out on the ground.

I'd made an assault on these snowdrops earlier in the week and not been happy with the results, partly because I hadn't noticed that I'd left my camera bag visible in some of the shots. Passing through Cirencester again a few days later gave me a second chance. While still not over-the-moon (I'm very difficult to please), at least there's no longer a big black blob sitting unattractively on top of the tomb.


The interior of Tetbury parish church, built 1780, comes as something of a surprise to devotees, like myself, of the Cotswold wool churches; the columns are minuscule in diameter compared to the robustness of the Norman, Early English and Perpendicular versions I'm used to. As Peter discovered, the outer surface is of wood. This covers an iron core and gives the whole space a very light feel, albeit with a strong sense that the proportions are not of this world. (I think that's my first use of the word 'albeit' in these pages, notwithstanding past efforts - ah, first use of 'notwithstanding' as well).

Nurse! More pills, I'm starting to write in Victorian.

Cirencester churchyard

By the way, Dave isn't always supine in the shrubbery. Can you spot him here?

Waiting for God

The pair of feet you see here belong to an elderly gentleman who is a regular visitor to the churchyard in Cirencester. It’s an oasis of quiet, situated mere strides from the bustling main streets.

Dave and I were creeping carefully among the spring flowers yesterday, photographing snowdrops, daffodils and crocuses, among bronze-lit dried leaves under a clear blue sky.

We observed the old man from a respectful distance as he read his book. I had a moment’s uneasy glimpse into my own future.