Where The Wind Blows Cold

We took a trip to Stow-on-the-Wold today pursuing the relentless quest for the perfect present. It was unsuccessful but we are not downhearted - there are one or two counties in southern England that we haven't visited yet.

Stow is a strange town. We saw more than our fair share of Hooray Henry's (if there is such a thing as a fair share of these strange examples of the human race). There was a sale of cashmere clothing on in the town hall; the style of the garments offered would have not looked out of place in films like 'Gosford Park' or 'Howard's End' yet they must meet a need. We also encountered that curious breed of shop assistant that is indigenous to such towns, the twenty-something year-old blonde who enlivens your day with a stomach churning display of flabby midriff. Her well-honed customer skills consist of total oblivion as to your presence coupled with the placing of a series of phone calls to her friends who are obviously as vacuous as she is.


Image-wise the weather continues to bless us with solar radiance. I had a couple of attempts at making something out of this old brewery office - not sure what I was after or whether I like what I've got. I just felt there was something there I ought to be photographing – hopefully this strange compulsion is curable.