Yr Wyddfa is the local (and correct) Welsh-language name for Snowdon. At 1,085m it's the highest mountain in Wales and the highest mountain in the British Isles outside of the Scottish Highlands, ranked 19th overall. Captured handheld, half-hanging out of a second floor bedroom window of my home in the village of Llanfrothen. It always looks most handsome after a fresh snowfall, especially when it floats above cloud.
Cnicht looking simultaneously elegant and moody. This is the mountain that overlooks the Gwynedd villages of Llanfrothen and Croesor, my home for the past 25+ years. It can't claim to one of the larger Welsh peaks, being only 689m, but it's the most illusionary. Although the classic pointy peak adds to a misperception of greater height, especially so when covered in snow, it's not really a monolithic peak at all, but the eastern end of a long ridge which is hidden from view from this angle.
I captured this image late afternoon as the sun was setting and cloud was rapidly forming on the southern side. I rarely do landscapes. I haven't the patience to sit and wait all day for the right quality of light, so this shot was purely opportunistic. Luckily the camera bag was close to hand. Because it was a low light shot, captured at a relatively high ISO, the colours looked washed out and not in a pleasant pastel way. Rather than boost the saturation, which often looks awful and obviously forced, I converted to monochrome. I'm with mountaineer and author Jim Perrin on this one: "The artist Nature often achieves greatest effect when not working with a full palette." As so often does the photographer.
The white house in the foreground is Cae Glas. It's a very good example of the old Snowdonia architectural style. Dendrochronology dates the main house to the winter of 1547/48 and parts of adjoining barn could be as early as 1497. The earliest written record of ownership, from 1598, refers to a David ap Retherch of Hardelech, described as a 'gent'.
I once met a guy who had a goal of photographing every traditional red Royal Mail post box in Wales. I don't get it. But I have to say, they're photogenic when they have a strongly contrasting background and have recently been washed in a rainstorm.
An elderly lady, the keeper of the keys, well into her eighties, walks back to her cottage after kindly opening an old rural church in County Clare for me so I could take photographs.
I first visited Ireland in 1977 and visited again 31 years later. It was like chalk and cheese; never have I seen a country change so quickly. Much of the west of Ireland was in a world of its own in the 1970s. For example, I can remember spending an evening in a rural pub where my girlfriend and myself where the only non-locals. The two perfectly competent bar staff couldn't have been any older than fourteen. They told me they were brothers and their parents, who owned the pub, were down the road for a night out at another bar. They even turned people away because they were underage! When I asked if there was any food they told me sorry, we don't serve food, then reappeared five minutes later with a cheese sandwich which was "on the house if you have another Guinness."
Nowadays the pub is likely to be a bistro with a perfectly competent adult chef, or a wine bar with Porsches and Mercedes in the car park whose owners work at Google or Microsoft and haven't been to mass since childhood. I suspect the kind lady in this photograph wouldn't have been entirely comfortable with the newer Ireland.
The no longer existing Sydney Monorail, photographed two years prior to its demise. Described by the ever droll and sadly no longer with us Australian writer Clive James as running ".......from the middle of downtown Sydney, to the middle of downtown Sydney, after circumnavigating the middle of downtown Sydney."
Captured somewhere in the North-West Highlands. I lay down on my stomach to get the shot. Meanwhile I could hear the low growl of a truck in the distance, slowly ascending the hill. I had misjudged the sound to distance ratio badly. After firing off a few frames I nonchalantly got to my feet just in time to see the truck suddenly appearing over the brow of the hill. Had it been seconds later I wouldn't be writing this.
Captured on a street in Valletta. A woman takes a photograph of another woman's bag. I take a photograph of the woman taking a photograph of another woman's bag and a guy in the distance watches me taking a photograph of a woman taking a photograph of another woman's bag. And I also take a photograph of a guy in the distance watching me take a photograph of a woman taking a photograph of another woman's bag. A loop of observers.