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User / DarwinRobot
Dale Robins / 232 items

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Although a little altered and missing a rather important apostrophe, this sign nevertheless does manage to put across the heart of a quote attributed to Herbert Hoover, 31st President of the United States of America.

Apparently, Mr Hoover actually said "The gods do not deduct from man’s allotted span the hours spent in fishing." which is a little less tortuous and a tad more compact.

However, bar the omitted apostrophe, I do quite enjoy this Lyme Regis Harbour version, especially the alternative font used for the first word and the added ellipsis at the end. If I was at all interested in fishing then it would indeed induce me to take a trip aboard 'Pegasus'.

Reading the timetable more closely, I notice that 'Pegasus' also offers photography charters. Now that could be good...

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Freshly chopped kindling, mixed with seasoned plum tree prunings. Just need to add logs and a match for a proper toasty evening. Perfect.

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You can just tell, can't you. You can just tell from the jaunty angles that the moment they get together, there'll be mischief.

I suspect that E509 (Spanish Eyes III) is the ringleader and E17 (JBP) is the lieutenant (and wannabe pop star - E17! and JBP? I ask you!). Then there's little BM20 (Slippery Dick) - I have a notion that if there's mischief to be made, it's BM20 who does the dirty, as-it-were - E509 instigates it and BM20, the little rascal, acts on it, egged on by E17.

And then there's E2 (Grey Mist). The shy one. The one no-one would ever suspect. Always quietly cheering from the sidelines as the tomfoolery begins, but with a finely honed nose for the Coastguard and an uncanny knack of knowing when best to make a run for it.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist matey, it’s just a bit of fun”.

That’s the Four Stooges; they’re just having a laugh.

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The Four Stooges, seen here at Lyme Regis, are, from left to right: E17 (JBP), E509 (Spanish Eyes III), BM20 (Slippery Dick) and E2 (Grey Mist).

Usual caveats etc.

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This is rather odd: I am thoroughly thrilled by the front of E509. The shape of the bow, the position of the cabin, the tones of the paint, the 'flying W' graphic on the prow, even, and especially, the angle at which she rests. And it is this last, the angle, that sets my imagination racing. I cannot adequately describe the pictures it creates in my mind - wild Scottish Lochs, adventurous chases, war-time intrigue etc. but it is all utterly, utterly thrilling... Nurse! My tablets please! Quickly!

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Sometimes a photograph will suggest a piece of music. And sometimes, if you’re lucky, that suggestion will be something that you might never have expected, but the light and the score fit so perfectly together that it is impossible to consider an alternative.

Occasionally, you’ll even find that the scene itself will suggest the piece before you even lift the camera to your eye.

That is not to say that others won’t harbour a different opinion though. I suspect that the tune associated with any particular photograph is personal to the viewer. Others may offer some support: “Yes, I can see that…” or “Actually, the two do go together quite well…”, but in reality, it’s more than likely that their own interpretation is whispering, ever louder in their ears.

In this instance, for me at least, that music is the second movement of Violin Concerto No.1 by Philip Glass. Sadly, I am sorry to say that I am simply unable to find the words to explain why it should be so. It is also worth noting this is not what I expected, even though I am a life-long fan of the work of Mr Glass.

Should I ever get the time (which is not likely in the near future) I will attempt to write and record some music to go with this picture. I suspect, however, that I’ll just end up copying Mr Glass! Maybe I should pick another picture and have a go at that instead.

If you are not offended by the minimalist style, you could do worse than take a listen to the aforementioned second movement here:

youtu.be/butLQ_HQG2s

I won’t be offended if you don’t think it fits.

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The Bathing Pool, Summerleaze Beach, Bude, Cornwall. Taken on a winter's evening before the Great Covid Interregnum.

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It is every bit as steep as it looks and by the time you get to the top, you really do feel like you’ve climbed a stairway to heaven. Thankfully though, that cliff-edge isn’t quite as perilous as it looks, at least it wasn’t when I plodded my way up, which was just a little after I’d watched the lady you see here float her way to the top. I did wonder if she might be intending to test the quality of her umbrella by leaping, Mary Poppins-like, from the summit, but I quickly dispelled that notion because I thought that she would, surely, have chosen to ascend in a magical manner if either she, or that multicoloured gamp, had any special powers.

Of course, if there were to be some sort of landslide, maybe caused by a particularly heavy-footed climber, then those rustic wooden steps may very well become an actual stairway to heaven, or indeed hell, depending on the proclivity of the ascending/descending protagonists.

Something like that.


Northcote Mouth, Cornwall. In the rain.



Note to self: contemplate sentence length.


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