Whoever is responsible for this blog is clearly a back sliding lazy piece of low life who cannot muster the energy to pen a few words once a month or take a few frankly lopsided snaps. It’s a poor effort since April 2013 and no doubt, even as we speak, he’ll be slumped in a chair somewhere regretting the latest sugar, fat and alcohol binge. When sober enough to be questioned, he claimed he was having far too much fun to waste time in front of a computer and that the lost chord would not find itself. ‘You have a go’ he said as he a rattled the key in the cellar door.
As it happened, Ebay had provided me with a new camera in the form of a Panasonic G6 and it being half term we decided to explore the Newport Wetlands. The house teenager met this news with disbelief claiming it was too wet and cold and that some part of the internet would collapse if he was not there to kill things with other youths from all over the globe. After a brief exchange of views, including some helpful 360 degree reporting, we found ourselves winging our way along the M4 with a song in our hearts and a skip in our step.
I imagine it’s been a good winter for wetlands everywhere in the UK, perhaps the best since 1766. Surprisingly few people were about and most had wisely restricted themselves to coffee and cake in the visitor centre. So it was we were on our own in the Wetlands, heads bent against the wind and rain full of holiday fun. Even the birds didn’t seem too keen to show themselves as we trudged round the desolate reedy landscape. It’s a great spot though and one I’d be keen to revisit when the weather is a little less inclement. The Bristol Channel looked like a good place to site a Siberian Gulag as the mud flats and the horizon blended into the same monotonous bleak grey.
We headed back into the wind and the prospect of cake buoyed us on our way. I tried to persuade our son that like his dear old dad he should learn a musical instrument as he has a new found interest in song. I suggested that there was immense pleasure to be gained from the mastery of the plucked string, the blown horn or tinkled ivory. His simple reply was ‘How would you know?’ Such cruelty I feel must come from his mother’s side.
So below are the G6 snaps taken with a 14-45mm zoom. Guess which one wasn’t taken by me.