Tritone Apples

Now before you all start shouting at me for going back on my word, this isn't monochrome, it's something that my picture editor calls a Tritone; it's an amalgam of bottomless pit, russet and sunshine-yellow (the colours had some boring offical names in Paintshop but mine sound prettier).

Also, although there is a third apple hidden away at the top, it is not a three; it's a two with a shy friend.

The image shows some of the ripening fruit on the old apple tree at the bottom of our garden. It seems to be going well this year; some years there is almost nothing. There are three (that word again!) varieties grafted onto a single rootstock. I've no idea what the names of the apples are but they seem to be cookers - they make a damn good crumble. Since we don't spray them, they usually come with a non-vegetarian component.

These apples, and a few barely ripe grapes, are the only edible output from our garden (the lettuce have died and the herbs are squeaking in droughty anquish). We used to grow a few vegetables but they fell by the wayside as they were too much like young children or aging prima-donnas, always demanding attention. Yes, I know there's nothing as good as home-grown broad beans or new potatoes but cultivating the things fall into the 'life's too short to peel a grape' category.

Give me swathes of perennial shrubs, covering every inch of ground and fighting tooth-and-nail for space. Or a few tons of gravel.

Exe Marks The Spot

Like a dog worrying a bone, I feel a fervid desire to draw together the themes of the last week. They need to be nailed down and put to rest in the hope of fresh inspiration. So I shall cast off threes, estuaries, monochrome and mud. For how long? Who knows.

So one last gasp; two men, three boats, mud, the Exe Estuary, in glorious, sun-kissed monochrome.

I thank you.

Three in the Mud

I'm on a run of threes at the moment although this might also, like yesterday's car detail, be a four; ambiguity is king.

This image again features the shoreline of the Severn Estuary. It's composed of what I call 'boot-sucking' mud and when you have size 12 (UK sizing) feet like mine, there's a lot for the primeval ooze to work on. I prefer not to give it a chance but a baking hot summer has dried up areas which would not normally support the larger XXL man. They are so tempting to walk on because, as always, the best angle for any given shot is a yard further out than it's safe to venture.

It will always be thus; lean over the parapet a touch more, stand a bit closer to the passing train, hang on to that rusting bar, brace yourself against the crumbling masonry; so many helpful ways of getting to the right position for the perfect picture.

As it happens, I was with Peter who's considerably lighter and thus ideal for testing dodgy ground.

And if anything amiss had transpired, I'd have rescued him, using a long stick or some handy rope - after I'd taken the pictures.

Half An Ark's Worth

Childrens' toys or pointers to a Biblical fairy tale? If it's the latter then there's either been a high divorce rate or someone's been eating the stock. Whichever it is, they add a little light relief to a rather forlorn Victorian church.

Three Splashes

Fortunately for the world at large, Peter and I do not see the same images; we have differing vision. Peter sees a lot of things I miss and he doesn't miss a lot of the things I see. We just photograph them differently.

One thing that I need to work on is attention to detail; I think this is my friend's forte. At heart I'm a landscape photographer, something that became ingrained from an early age. I even bought my ridiculously expensive 80mm - 400mm lens so that I could take compressed landscapes, like the image of the Severn Bridges I posted yesterday.

As a result of this obsession I have taken some stupendously boring pictures. It's all down to a passion for using a camera and doing so even when the light's not right, or the subject sucks. Last year I culled thousands of slides dating back to the 1960s - they were nearly all landscapes and a showing of them to unsuspecting passers-by would have resulted in the Samaritans being overwhelmed.

Recently I've tried to be more disciplined even though, with a digital camera, I don't need to worry about the expensive disappointment that accompanied my forays with film. But I still shoot tedium. I did so when Peter and I were out the other day. I’ve deleted them now but they were there – flat lighting, pictures with trains in them, ducks, I really must keep slapping my wrists.

So what is the point of this ramble? What, indeed. It's just an mild meander through the backwaters of my brain in an effort to explain why I've decided to show a detail image today for a change - it's also because Peter's slipped a couple of wide shots in recently and I'm warning him off.

So I’m posting a picture containing examples of two of my relentlessly, obsessively cultivated themes - a group of three, and a splash (or four) of red.

Severn Bridge (x2)

There are two road bridges connecting England to Wales across the Severn Estuary, one opened in 1966 and the other in 1996. There is also a rail tunnel and, until 1960, there was a rail bridge; this was lost after a pair of tankers collided with it in fog. The remains of one of the ships can be seen in the middle distance.

The estuary has the second highest tidal range in the world, beaten (just) by the Bay of Fundy in Nova Scotia. Maximum rise and fall here is 15 metres or roughly 50 feet. Only a few hardy locals venture out onto the mud flats and sandbanks at low tide, fishing for eels and salmon. Foolhardy visitors get drowned as do yachtsmen with out-of-date charts - the channels shift to suit their own designs, not those of men.

Anyway, enough of the facts. It can be a haunting place, a haven for waders, ducks, swans and geese. In full flood, it has all the deep foreboding that a swirling mass of water can conjure up. Even when the river is at rest, at the turn of the tide, I can sense a frisson of lurking menace, the merest hint of treachery to come.

The Roman's gave the Severn a woman's name – Sabrina - and made her a goddess; I'm sure that's of no significance whatsoever and she’s really a kindly soul whose only wish is to carry her cargoes with decorum and restraint.

Feeling Monochrome

Some days I feel just a little bit monochrome. I don't know why that is: perhaps it's the weather; it's been infernally hot again. Draining.

I often turn my colour images to mono to see what surprises lie within the subtle gradation of tones. When I started my broadcasting career, I worked in black & white; in film, studio and outside broadcasts. Colour came as a delicious surprise and three times more effort - instead of lining up one camera tube's output, we had to fettle three into life; red, green and blue (some less fortunate colleagues in other regions had four-tube cameras; oh, how we laughed!).

Peter and I both spotted this image as we walked along the Sharpness Canal in Gloucestershire. As I took the picture I remarked that it reminded me of a Constable (the artist, not a policeman). Viewing it later on a large screen I was less convinced but, as it was shot contre-jour, it already had a strong monochrome feel. I just let my fingers plot their course around the myriad options of Photoshop.