. . . in time from 1830 to 2018,
no wonder she looks so confused!
Becky’s in the blues today, in a good way that is, but she doesn’t know what time it is.
This photo was going to be my Wordless Wednesday, but I realised how it marked the passing of time.
When I was in my teens, I remember the archaeological dig in front of the cathedral, but I didn’t realise the significance of the Roman baths they exposed and then covered over. Now I wish I’d taken more notice. A few years ago, the city made a bid for lottery funding to open up the baths, but it failed, so I don’t suppose I’ll get to see them.
Becky has glowing square sunsets today!
Or perhaps one of my two favourites.
Last week I was really happy to go on to the moors with my two American friends. I really wish I’d taken my camera, but my phone as always was better than nothing.
late afternoon – after cream tea and the mist was settling.
I wonder if anyone knows where I was?
I’ll post some more in a day or two.
Wandering through Cathedral Close last night with friends, I showed the Californian One the outer door to the Bishops Palace. As it was closed, I put my nose up to the ancient wood and this is what I saw through the gap.
Of course, I had to add it as a last minute entry to Tina’s Lens-Artist challenge, doors and doorways.
I’m missing lots of wonderful blogs posts! Apologies to those of you who I haven’t visited for a while, the last month has been full on crazy, but in a good way.
Here’s a photo from a trip to Dartmoor yesterday.
The light was lovely, then, as often happens up there, the mist arrived an hour later.
Made for a diamond jubilee
and more than 120 years old, I thought it was a vodka bottle at first!
Some people are just so clever.
On the High Street and the Exeter Riddle sculpture.
Little did I know that when I touched down in the UK after a lovely flight, that it would take three times as long to get home as it did to fly in from France.We arrived bang on time, picked up my car and left the airport at 11pm. Half and hour later on the southbound motorway, my car was making strange noises. My friend asked if my tyres were okay, she’s considerably more practical than I am, most people on this planet are. So I had no idea. She said we should probably stop at the next services a few miles ahead. Two minutes later she said we need to stop NOW.
I pulled onto the hard shoulder and we saw that my car had a puncture. So it was cold, drizzling and very dark. Most of the traffic was huge lorries driving at crazy speeds and we were stood in a ditch, behind the barrier with cold, sandaled feet hoping my tiny car didn’t get hit.
It took a while for me to remember who provided my breakdown cover, but luckily there was a good signal and once details were taken a very efficient Green Flag lady said someone would be with us as soon as possible.
Pretty soon I had a text letting me know the name of the technician and the registration number of his vehicle and that he would arrive by 1.44am. That was an hour and 20 minutes to wait!
I didn’t know they’d sent another text saying the technician would be there by 2.15, probably just as well, we were already pretty miserable by then, but singing nonsense songs to cheer ourselves up.
Normally on the motorway, we see police cars buzzing around hooping to catch speeding drivers, and the breakdown company had informed Highway the we were an ‘incident’. It would have been reassuring if one had nearby and stopped to check we were okay. No such luck, I bet there would have been if I was speeding though!
Lewis from Newport arrived just after 2.15. He’d driven around 70 miles and had us back on the road in half an hour, driving home on a compact spare tyre at 50 mph. I crashed into bed at 3.40 am.
Breaking down on a motorway late at night is most women’s worst nightmare isn’t it? But never mind, I’ll focus on the nice parts of the journey home from Marseille.
Happy travels everyone!