On Successfully Locating A Pure White Dog In Newcastle

We had been having a good day.  Good enough that I've already written two blog posts about it!  We had gone out in search of a white dog - preferably one of those little white Scottie dogs, but any white dog was acceptable under the revised terms of my seventh day of photo challenges.  So far we had visited four Snowdogs and got slightly sidetracked by a view to a bridge, a 1934 Morgan car, fabulous lighting, architecture, autumn colours and the first railway locomotive workshop in the world.

Warning.  If you don't like Snowdogs, look away now.  Come back another time.  The following post is dogs.  Dogs.  More dogs.  We saw lots of dogs.  Starting with this one.

This is Essence of the North, painted by Geoff Chappell.

This one, outside the Theatre Royal, is Arthur, painted by Jeff Rowland.

And this one, at Monument, is Rosa Canina, painted by Sue Guthrie.

I did warn you there would be a lot of dogs.

And then, finally, I completed the challenge.  I found a white dog and I photographed it.  It's true that it wasn't a living dog.  And it's true that it wasn't a Scottie dog.  But it was a dog.  And it was pure white apart from its eyes and nose.

This is Roodle, painted by Isy Langhorne.

The quest was complete.  But was that enough for me?  Oh no.  Of course not.  Seriously, if you're not a big fan of snowdogs stop reading.  We continued on our journey.  Maybe there would be more dogs.  Of course there were - and there are even more than these in the centre of Newcastle.  I wish it wasn't so tempting to go and see them all and then walk to the Quayside where there are more, and then past The Sage and into Gateshead.  And then get a bus to Washington.  And then head to the Angel of The North and come back via Saltwell Park, taking care to remember to visit Gosforth too on the way home.  And then to head out the next day to both South and North Shields, take a detour to Wallsend, reverse course to Tynemouth and Cullercoats and then come home via Longbenton.  Before going back to Sunderland the next day.  Via Seaburn.  And then, because that might not fully satisfy, go on a hunt for all the little snowdogs too in eighteen indoor locations.

We walked on:

This is The Dog Father, painted by Jenny Leonard.

And then we walked into Newcastle Central Library.  I knew there was a little snowdog there.  I didn't know there would be all these:

Blob and Winefride had an excellent time playing with the dogs.  Winefride loved the colours on this one.

This winged dog is called Rio and was painted and decorated by children from Ponteland Primary School.

Both Blob and Winefride decided that this dog, painted by children from the Education Centre for Children With Down's Syndrome, was very special indeed.  Blob and Winefride are also "Same But Different."  I think they both loved seeing that message.

Winefride would probably have stayed huddled up to the dog, called Star, all day if she had been given the opportunity.

We left the library ready to go home.  But that wasn't the end of it.  On Northumberland Street we encountered another dog.

This is Hound's Tooth, painted by Damien Jeffrey.

We wandered past the shops and in one of them we spotted another pure white dog - so a photo had to be taken.

We walked on further and encountered this creature.  This is Psychedelic Snowdog, painted by Rebecca Reed.

Blob Thing wanted to continue looking for Snowdogs but I wanted my lunch.  It was already late.  He wanted to go back to one he saw at the Civic Centre but I was adamant.  And now of course he's trying to get me to go back.  He says that he only saw eleven of the full size snowdogs that day so there are nearly another fifty of them to see and he wants to go and see them.  He says we've got to go and see them soon because they will all be gone by the end of November and, he tells me, it's already November.  I think I knew that without him telling me.

One last dog.  Before returning home I took this photo.  I thought it was only right and proper that I should grab a shot of an actual living dog.  It wasn't white.  It wasn't a little Scottie dog.  But it was a dog.

I had succeeded in the revised challenge.  I had found a white dog.  But the original challenge remained in my head.  If ever I saw that little white dog, a photo could be taken.  One day.  Perhaps.

I can promise you that the next blog post will not just be a series of photos of snowdogs.  I promise.  I do solemnly swear.  Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.  I vow to thee my readers.

Still Challenged To Take A Photograph 7: A White Dog (Architecture, Rowan And A Monkey)

We were having a wonderful time in our quest for a white dog.  We had achieved a partial success in finding a mostly white dog.  While it was true it wasn't a fully white dog and while it was true is wasn't a real dog we decided that it was close to being a successful conclusion to the challenge.

We walked on from the snow dog.  I was now in an area of Newcastle that I confess I have never walked in before.  Just a few streets.  But in our years of living here I have never walked down them.

This plaque is one the side of the Boiler Shop.  Established in the 1820s this was the first ever locomotive factory in the world.  As the plaque says.  Rocket was built in this building in 1829.  Sometimes it's possible to explore the inside of the building and sometimes food and music events are held there.  I should try to join the exploration sometime.  It's impressive isn't it?  Stephenson was only 20 when the factory opened.  I am rather more than 20 and I still haven't opened a single locomotive factory.  There's still time!

We walked on from the Boiler Shop and encountered these sights.  Over the roofs I could just see the High Bridge and Tyne Bridge and just visible beyond was the roof of The Sage.

In the other direction I could make out a partial view of the metro bridge.  I wanted to get higher but that would have either involved climbing over a big fence into a locked car park or standing on a narrow wall with a fifty foot drop on the other side.  Neither option appealed.

Walking on we found a long section of the walls of Newcastle.  I hadn't even known that this was here.  The town walls were built in the 13th and 14th centuries to keep out the Scots.  They were two miles long.  Now only a few sections remain but the scale of the wall is still impressive.  These days Scottish people are welcomed into the city of Newcastle.  It's a city of sanctuary and we even welcome Scots and have forgiven them for attacking us 650 years ago.

I left the walls behind and walked a little way down a footpath.  There I was faced with a wall of colour.  Autumn is beautiful.  Now there's a statement that contains a value judgement rather than an objective truth.  Possibly.  I was thinking about beauty during my eighth photo challenge and asking whether anything is innately beautiful.  Isn't our response to the world around us culturally conditioned?  Is it genetically conditioned too?  Would we still see beauty without our cultural background?  There were many other questions too, all of which have been asked before by some of the great thinkers.

I look at a sight like this and see beauty.  I look and know I want to see the beauty more, appreciate it more fully and to never grow complacent about it.  Each day I pass things of beauty.  I want to live those things.  Each day too I pass things of ugliness, things of pain, things of sorrow.  And maybe I want to live those things too in order that the living might transform me and draw me into the place in which I join the work of transformation in the world.

Now, this blog post is about a search for a white dog.  It may not have escaped your notice that it has not included a dog yet.  Don't worry!  The dogs will come.  Unleash the dogs of white!

Newcastle is fortunate in possessing some lovely buildings.  Here's an interesting one.  The facade isn't exciting but it's fronted by this:

Some people might not like this but I thought it looked really attractive.  The students living in the block might not like it because surely it mucks up the natural light in all the rooms behind it.  From the inside, the metal covering might be a very annoying monstrosity.  But from the outside it adds to the building and adds to the range of contrasts you find when walking around the city.

One last photograph before leaving this street and the Stephenson Quarter.  A little more of the beauty of nature.  It is so easy to walk past things like this and not see them.  I want to see them.  Always.  When we lived in Wales I felt the same.  If you walked to the top of our street and turned left you could see a cliff face.  The rocks and the plants around them were staggering and we felt very fortunate to have that view.  As you walked back down our street you could see the Menai Straits and Anglesey on the other side.  Absolutely gorgeous.  It was very easy to get complacent about these views.  To forget the beauty.  To forget wonder.  Every now and again I would notice that I wasn't noticing such sights and enjoying them and would resolve to live them again.  And then I would forget.  And then remember.  A periodic cycle.

Leaving the Stephenson Quarter I walked to the Anglican Cathedral.  I knew that I would be able to find a dog there.  Yes, a dog.  This is a dog post.

This dog is called Wor Geordie and was painted by students at Newcastle College.

Blob Thing and Winefride were very happy because they had been wondering when they would be able to sit on another dog.  I promised them there would be more dogs.  But then we encountered someone who was most definitely not a dog.

Blob asked me when we would find another dog for him to sit on.  I promised him that it wouldn't be long.  He said that he hadn't come out to see monkeys.  He wanted dogs.  By the end of the day he would be very pleased.  There were a lot of dogs.

Blob asked me last night whether we could go and see every single snow dog before they are taken away.  I have refused his request.  I must admit it is something that would tempt me but there are problems with such a quest:

First, one of the snow dogs in Sunderland is missing.  It's gone.  So the complete quest is now impossible.

Second, there's the small matter of snow dog number sixty-one.  Yes.  That dog is a problem.  Because that dog is in a park at Kielder.

I have looked it up.  I could get to Kielder.  Yes I could.  That's doable.  There's a bus from Hexham.  And I could walk from the Kielder bus stop to the snow dog.  Yes I could.  That's doable.  Just about.  From the bus stop to the dog and back would be 11 1/2 miles.  Doable.  Just about.

But then I would be faced with a bigger problem.  Getting back from Kielder.  That would be harder.  A month ago it would have been easy enough to do.  On a Sunday.  Just on a Sunday.  But now it's hard.  Because now I couldn't travel back on the same day I arrived.

So unless someone wants to offer to drive me and my soft toy friends to Kielder Water for the day I will not be able to photograph Snow Dog sixty-one.  Any offers?  Please?!

Poor Blob Thing.  He'll never be able to go and find all the dogs.  I'm not doing it because I can't contemplate it without a possibility of total success.

That's a long enough post.  I promise you that the next one will be entirely dog related.  By the time I headed home with my friends we had seen a lot of dogs.  And we had taken pictures of them all.  I will tell you right now that one of those dogs was pure white and that Blob and Winefride greatly enjoyed sitting on it because it was the only furry dog they met that day.

Challenged To Take A Photograph 7: A White Scottie Dog. Plus Tarot Stories And A Vintage Car

The challenge was on again.  I wasn't feeling good.  I wanted a day of rest.  After all, wouldn't that be the truly Biblical way to go?

"On six days a woman will work to fulfill odd photo challenges and on the seventh day she shall rest."

That's roughly it, isn't it?  But I ignored the dictates of Scripture and asked to be given a seventh challenge day.  Ignoring Scripture is nothing new for me of course and my heathenism had descended into new levels of evil by the end of the day.  I attended a writing group based around tarot cards.  During the evening we were all dealt four cards as seeds for a story.  My four cards were as follows:

Card fifteen : The Devil

Card six : The Lovers

The six of pentacles

The six of wands

That's right.  I had been dealt this:

The Devil, 6 6 6

Perhaps it could only be me for whom the rules of probability would lead to such a result.

The probability of drawing the devil first followed by three sixes is 0.000175 percent.  One chance in every 570 thousand.  I won't draw any conclusions from this happy stroke of fortune.  Sometimes probability plays games which lead to more smiles than they do to meaning.

Interestingly - for another coincidence of probability - when I drew three cards from another pack earlier that evening, the second card had also been the lovers.  It's just chance.  The way we find patterns in randomness.

We had just a few moments to begin to find some story arising from the cards.  It's not a radical idea.  You can now buy story dice.  Roll the dice, look at the symbols, make a story.  They're a good idea and Blob still wants me to write a story based on the dice he rolled at Greenbelt.  Just a few minutes and my devil character - not some literal Satan - had gained a motivation enough to set a story in motion.  And then we had a few minutes - no more than five - in which to think some more or to free write from the cards.  So I wrote:

It had all fallen apart again.  He had run into his future and found it shattered, each shard piercing his palms as he hit the ground.  He sought beauty, whatever that was, and received petals already fallen, the blossom of hope dying within even before learning to walk.  [Mixed metaphor!]

He couldn't understand it.  Why did this happen?  Why couldn't he ever win?  Why did other smile as they did when he could only frown in disgust at his own stupidity?

He had learned to look downwards, head to the ground, oblivious to light.

He had learned to close his eyes, bitter against the way life sprung up from below, the way it seemed glad just for its very existence.

And in his self-accepted blindness he could not walk in joy, could not see that he already held the brightness and exhilaration of wonder within his own being.

He knew only his failure and he grew to hate laughter, each laugh a reflection of his own shamefulness.

He tried to build a kingdom.  He had put his being into it.  And it had been ripped from him.  Because he was darkness.  He had to be.  He came to believe it and as his hatred turned ...

And there the few minutes were up.  It's not great.  But it's something.  And as the start of the building of a character perhaps there is something there I can work with and continue to write.  I'm sure he would reveal his story to me as we wrote it together.

But this post isn't meant to be about the devil and all his works.  It's not meant to be about lovers and cards and the general unpredictability of things to which we impose a sense of order.  This post is meant to be about a photographic challenge.

I asked her "What shall I photograph today?"

He answered "One of those little white scottie dogs."

I grumbled.  I am good at grumbling.  Because I wasn't feeling too well and thought that staying close to home would be a good thing.

So she said, "Your bed."

That was an acceptable challenge.  I could do that one.  I haven't.  But I could.  And of course as soon as she said that I was picturing some much more dull version of Tracy Emin's bed.  My bed is not a result of staying in it for a week and only drinking alcohol.  And it's been done before now so my bed would not win the Turner Prize and would not be sold for 2.5 million pounds.  I wouldn't want my bed in an art gallery anyway.  Because I want to sleep in it tonight and because I wouldn't want to be separated from my warthog in that manner.

I sat at home for a while and my brain decided to think about dogs.  I knew that the probability of seeing a little white scottie dog would be low if I went out.  I haven't seen one in quite a while.  Of course, the probability of being dealt the devil and 666 was also low.  But at that point I didn't know that such unlikely things were so commonplace.

I sat and thought and came up with a partial solution.

So I asked her, "Can it just be any white dog?"

And she replied, "Okay."

And I said "Then Clare will go out."

The quest was to begin.  The hunt for a white dog.  Any white dog.  I admit right now that I knew exactly what white dog I was going to photograph.  But as I type this it's more fun to pretend that I didn't have a clue.  At least at times.  I left home with a list of dogs.  A plan gained by spending a few minutes online.  Not just a white dog.  But many dogs.   I will pretend not to have been in possession of that list.

I caught the metro to central station.  The general centrality of the place made it seem like it would be an ideal place to begin my search.  And yes, as I walked out of the Metro I saw what was to be the first of many dogs.  I will warn you.  There will be many dog pictures.  Similar dog pictures.

That one is called Snowline and was painted by Jim Edwards.  It wasn't long before we had found another dog.  The quest was already proving very fruitful.  It was true that the dogs weren't properly white and they definitely weren't scottie dogs but it was a good start.  This second dog is called Rocket Dog and was painted by Amanda Rabey

We left the station.  Blob Thing and Winefride seemed very pleased with the way the day had turned out.  They had been expecting to stay at home with me and already they had got to ride on two snow dogs.  But as we walked away from the station we couldn't see any more dogs.  It was as if they were all hiding.  We didn't know what to do so we decided to ask this policeman we met.  He might know where we might find another snow dog.  He might.

The policeman told us that we had to go further down the hill almost to the river and then we would have to turn left and climb, climb, climb until my big heart and my friends' little hearts were pumping away.  I took pity on Blob and Winefride and didn't make them climb up all these stairs by themselves.  Blob told me that I shouldn't have come this way and that there was bound to be an easier route to the top of the stairs that didn't involve all this downing and upping.  He was right of course, but don't tell him that!

At the top of the stairs we found ourselves in a little area that I might have called a square if it was a square.  I spotted a wall and one section of the wall was a little lower.  It was possible to look over the edge.  I was pleasantly surprised by what I found there.

This is the Metro bridge over the River Tyne from an angle I've never seen it before.  I've only ever seen it from below or a side view when standing on another of the bridges.  I realised that I was standing directly over the very end of the tunnel the trains pass through as they travel under the centre of Newcastle.

Blob Thing got very excited.  He likes bridges and loves to have his picture taken with them.  And he was even more excited when the picture of him included a train.  He is quite thrilled to have had this experience.

We crossed the square and walked through a door into a building which I had no business entering.  It had been such  fun entering buildings the previous day that I decided to enter this one.  In any case I could see from the outside that there was a really fabulous light fitting and I wanted to go and see it.

Inside we found this.  That's twice in two days I entered a building and found a car on display inside.  Is this some kind of fashion among the building owners of Newcastle?

This is, as you may know if you're a vintage car expert, a 1934 Morgan F4.  The sign said that the management of the Crowne Plaza - for that is where I was - had left it there for my pleasure.  I thought it was very kind of them to do such a thing for me but must admit I was a little puzzled that they knew I was coming when I hadn't known I was coming until I saw the lights from outside.  But the sign said "We are delighted to present this 1934 Morgan F4 for your pleasure."   My pleasure indeed.  I still wonder how they knew?  Maybe they are very skilled with their tarot cards.

Before leaving the Crowne Plaza I took another look at the lights far above me.  It was a fabulous entrance hall and walking through the door had enriched my life.

As we left the Plaza we encountered the dog that the policeman had tried to tell us about.  It was a really lovely dog.

This dog is called Fear of Emptiness and it was painted by Louise Bradley.

Blob Thing was extremely brave and climbed up onto the ear of Fear of Emptiness.

We had found a dog.  A mainly white dog.  But that wasn't good enough for my mind.  I wanted to find a pure white dog.  And that's a challenge when you're touring the local painted snow dogs.  The snow dogs are a campaign run by Saint Oswald's Hospice.  There are various ways in which they are being used to raise money for the hospice.  And it won't be long before they leave our streets and they all get auctioned.  Well, almost all of them.  There is one outside the main shopping centre in Sunderland that isn't there any more.  I don't know if it got too damaged so was removed.  Or if it got stolen.  But it isn't there so don't go hunting for it.

As for me, my challenge was not yet over.  I still needed to find my white dog.  And maybe, although I didn't have much hope of this, find my white scottie dog.

[1933 words]

On A Moment Of Clarity And The Call To Dump Something From My Life

The following may be more than a little ambiguous.  It's also delaying me writing about a canine related photographic quest - a simply worded challenge that becomes much more than the challenge.

 

And then there's today's challenge.  That became very much more than the challenge too.  Today I was challenged to photograph a white horse.  And as I stood at the top of a cliff I had a moment of total clarity.  That's two moments in a week.  Wow.  Was it really only five days ago that I hunted for flamingos in central Sunderland?

 

The moment today received what to me is confirmation when I was beautifully sprayed with sea water coming over the top of the south pier of the River Tyne.  It was a moment of pure bliss.  There was so much of beauty today.  To stand on that pier and look down on the power in the waves and see the uncontrollable.  To look down on the waves and see the light from the sun illuminating each tiny piece of the crest of each wave and to receive the total blessing inherent in the wonder of nature.  But when that water covered me it wasn't just great fun, which it was, but it was bliss.  It was just a wave crashing against a wall.  It was just water being forced upwards in the collision, with nowhere else it could go. Just a wave.  But it was as if the whole of nature was almost baptising me in the confirmation of what I had realised with such clear, total conviction.

 

I hope that's not overstating the matter!

Image found on lots of sites. Original source unknown.

Here is the result of that moment of clarity today:

 

Clare has come to a decision. She has looked carefully into doing something and is now completely certain that it is not for her, at least not at this time and perhaps never.

She hopes that people understand and don't feel let down.

But if the question is "What brings Clare joy? then this thing wouldn't be the answer.

If the question is "What is the fire and creative passion that rises from Clare's heart and mind and spirit?" then this thing wouldn't be the answer

And if the question is "What is Clare skilled at?" then this thing wouldn't be the answer.

And if the question is "What is Clare passionate about?" then this thing wouldn't really be the answer. Yes, she cares about the issues related to this thing. But not all things which concern a person concern a person - as a wise friend of Clare pointed out to her.

And if the question is "What can Clare apply herself to without falling apart and without sacrificing the things she is good at and which bring her joy?" then this thing would not be the answer at all. Clare knows that this thing would harm her.

She wondered about doing it. Then decided she couldn't. Then wondered whether she possibly could. With a lot of work she possibly could, yes. But not without causing herself damage. And not without letting go of the things that are bringing her a life she is excited about.

It is time to say no to something that is still, on the face of it, a damn good idea.

And time to more fully embrace the things that ought to have been yeses many years ago if only Clare had possessed the wisdom and craziness and self-knowledge back then.

When Clare gave up on this idea the first time she did it with shame. With guilt. With a sense of personal failure. She cried many tears over it.

Now she is giving up the idea with a sense of freedom. A sense of truth. Of honesty. A sense of embracing her own nature.

Now she knows that giving up the idea is not giving up. Letting go is not letting down. Walking away is walking towards.

These last days have taught Clare a great deal. And today, standing at the top of a quarry cliff, the wind blowing through her, laughter filling every particle of her being, she knew. Certainty struck her. A thunderstruck realisation that of where she can learn to walk and learn to run and to learn to fly.

To walk on her own feet on the ground that spirit calls her to walk upon.

To run in her own strength, developing stamina and speed.

To fly in her own feathers.

So many times Clare has attempted to fly in feathers that were not her own. Through self rejection. Through embracing the ideas and desires of others. The things she thought she should think and be do.

But she fell. Every time. And her own feathers were never allowed to grow.

Now it is time for Clare to learn to walk and to run and to learn to fly.

Now is the time to lay down some possibilities, strengthen others, and embrace still more that lay dormant or rejected.

Clare doesn't quite know what this mean. She doesn't know where these ideas will lead. She has hope and she has excitement and she has a vast gulf of uncertainty for the future.

But tonight Clare knows at least two things with certainty.

She knows that there is something, a particular thing, is not for her no matter how good it is.

And she knows that definitively saying no to it will be a release and a happiness, rather than a shaming disappointment.

She knows.

It took the wind, the cliffs, the over arching sky, and the whole of nature to cry out to her and scream "This is what you are."

It took a lot for Clare to listen and receive the song of the air.

But now she knows.

She knows. And she is glad.

 

 

 

[975 words]

Still Challenged To Take A Photograph 6: A Duck And Many Diversions

The quest wasn't going that well.  If success is ever to be measured in terms of number of ducks photographed I had so far enjoyed the catacombs of failure.  If it is measured in terms of having a good time then I was winning.

I left the museum with orders from Blob Thing to return.  As I write this, Blob and Winefride are exhausted.  They had a very full morning being photographed with lots of snow dogs.  Yes, we were off attempting another challenge and I'll tell you now that it's one we failed.  The day isn't over yet though.  We'll be going to a writing workshop tonight based on tarot cards.  Maybe someone will bring a tarot set based around pedigree breeds of dog.  Blob tells me that's very unlikely but I prefer to live in hope.  Blob tells me that I'm going to be disappointed if I carry on like this.

So we walked on in search of a duck.  I thought I knew where a duck could be found.  A real duck.  We would go to the park.  On the way we passed buildings.  I didn't have any business doing anything except walking past them.  No business at all.  Ah, so what?!  I resolved to enter a couple of them anyway.  As a friend once said, "What's the worst that can happen?  They can only throw you out."  She likes going in buildings that she's not allowed to go in.

It was this figure that coaxed me in.  One of the trio of sculptures facing into the building.  These are "Unity" by Lilian Nabulime.  There's a fascinating article about her here.

I walked further into the building.  Because it looked interesting.  On the ground floor under the roof there are tables and chairs and a kitchen for making tea. It was lovely and quiet there.  I can't express how tempting it is to go there one day with a drink and a book or a pad of paper and sit, reading and writing happily until somebody finally asked me what I was doing there.  To which the answer of course would be "Reading and writing happily, what does it look like?"

I decided not to stay and read a book that day - not even the two I'd bought at the start of the duck hunt.  They're great books.  One is a history of the Quakers in Newcastle.  To begin with the Quakers were unpopular here and whenever they tried to meet they would be thrown out of Newcastle and forced to worship instead in Gateshead.  The other is a book of poetry and I just opened it randomly at Keats' "Ode on Melancholy."  Randomly is of course a completely erroneous use of the word.  A word found when someone opens a dictionary at random will never be aardvark or zebra because book opening is never truly random.  I will move on quickly because I can complain in strident tones about the misuse of the word "random."  Which is hypocritical because I misuse it too.  My random bus excursions aren't truly random.  There's an element of chance, but to call them random would be stretching the limits of probability beyond breaking point and then they might spring back into certainty.

I walked into a second random building.  Knowing full well that it wasn't chosen at random.  And found a car.

But a car is not a duck.  Except for sometimes.  This car though was most definitely not a duck.  I could tell.  Such intelligence!  Being able to tell the difference between this car and a duck.

So I left the non-random buildings and walked towards the park.  Exhibition Park.  It's a pleasing place to be, especially on a day with such perfect autumn weather.

The ducks would be straight ahead - if they were there at all.  But I got sidetracked from my quest.  It was a bit like how in a role playing game you might be on a quest to slay the evil dragon (who is probably just misunderstood and is really acting in a perfectly understandable manner by defending his house.)  And then you hear a call from a house,  "Help me kind mage, I have lost my puppy."  And so you take pity on this poor child and spend the next three hours down in some mine filled with dwarves who will only let you pass if you complete an intelligence test and fetch them the Golden Axe of Barley and then you try to fetch it and have a hard time of it because you have to defeat a charismatic goblin in a skipping competition.  Then you take the axe to the dwarves who let you pass.  Eventually you find the puppy and take it back to the poor child only to find that in the meantime the evil dragon has set fire to the town because you spent so long retrieving the puppy.  After all that work you gain five pieces of silver and three paltry experience points for your effort and wish you weren't the kind of person who wants to complete every single side quest in the game.

I got sidetracked.  By the above paragraph.  And in the park too.  By something that would pay me zero pieces of silver.  It was a play area.  I love play areas.  Blob says that we've got to go back there sometime because he and Winefride didn't get a chance to play on the swings.

How could anyone resist playing on this slide?

I played for a while.  Happy.  Free.

And then I heard the ducks calling to me.  Metaphorically.  There was no duck call.  I walked to the lake in the park.

I saw cygnets.

I saw adult swans.

And I saw coots.








But I didn't see ducks.  Not yet!  I walked along the banks of the lake.  And there in the distance, there they were.  Ducks.  On the path.  And ducks.  On the pond.  Cue the song "Ducks on a Pond" by The Incredible String Band.

Ducks.  Ducks.  Ducks.  Ducks.

The challenge was complete.  Six days of challenges.  Six successes.

But I was still in a park and a park does not just consist of ducks.  There's a lot of happiness in Exhibition Park.  There's a pleasing sensory garden.  A cafe with excellent ice cream.  And, sometimes, a miniature railway.  It's a really lovely place to walk through and enjoy the seasons.

Seven examples of the loveliness.  I am really pleased with a couple of these photos.

And one last photograph.  Blob Thing is complaining that I haven't posted any pictures of him.  I confess that's because I didn't take them.  But there is one.  Here is Blob posing next to a fungus.  Ever since Winefride posed by some fungi near Northumberlandia Blob seems to think that fungal posing is a sound hobby to indulge in.  Today he indulged in another of his hobbies:  Posing by a bridge.  That made him smile even more than he usually did.  And Winefride had a good time posing with lots of dogs today although she got a bit overexcited and fell off a couple of times.  She is rather dyspraxic and since that's combined with a strong urge to explore and climb and a love of bouncing (she's sensory seeking) that can be quite dangerous sometimes.  I hope she never gets too hurt.

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