With the boys back to school it's time for Francis to start scratching out a few ideas for new pieces of art. I usually go with him to pour coffee, offer sarnies, admire the view and grab the opportunity to sneak a few photos for my other blog (don’t expect a ranty blog, not much politics or autism either I’m afraid as it’s my escape valve and simply for pleasure. Plus it’s a celebration of the wonderful, beautiful valley I live in and deliciously silly!)
The photos below are where we ended up on our last venture. Above the village of Walk, along the North Tyne. The most amazing thing about the day wasn’t the view, although as you can see even with my inadequate photography it was rather spectacular. Instead what stayed with me most about the experience was the silence. With few passing vehicles, the occasional pheasant call was the only sound that could be heard. Such peace is hard to extract from the soul. There is something about it that lingers. If you’re ever up this way try it for yourself, escape from the tourist trail, away from the towns, the Wall etc., head out to the moors. Get out of your car, off your bike and just listen. (Try and pick a day when the RAF aren’t screaming over head and the army aren’t blowing smithereens out of the Ottercops, as it tends to spoil the effect just a bit.) The silence is so over powering that one almost feels that one’s very presence is a trespass upon it.