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A couple of weeks ago I visited Blenheim Palace park and gardens for a spot of photography. Located in the village of Woodstock in Oxfordshire, this magnificent building and surrounding gardens are always worth a look.

The building of the palace was originally intended to be a reward to John Churchill, 1st Duke of Marlborough, from a grateful nation for the duke's military triumphs against the French and Bavarians during the War of the Spanish Succession, culminating in the 1704 Battle of Blenheim.

Designed in the rare, and short-lived, English Baroque style, architectural appreciation of the palace is as divided today as it was in the 1720s. It is unique in its combined usage as a family home, mausoleum and national monument. The palace is also notable as the birthplace and ancestral home of Sir Winston Churchill. At the end of the 19th century, the palace was saved from ruin by funds gained from the 9th Duke of Marlborough's marriage to American railroad heiress Consuelo Vanderbilt.

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This morning I visited a poppy field outside the town of Royston in Hertfordshire. This particular poppy field has been in the news recently because local Farmer Helen Smith was expecting a field of blue linseed, but ended up with field of red when the crop spray they used didn't suppress the poppies sufficiently.

Whatever the reason for the display, it certainly is an arresting site. What with the weather looking to get pretty dismal for the rest of the week, I thought it was prudent to get down there ASAP, and luckily for me the clouds were almost as spectacular as the poppies.

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In the occasional series of tours around some the Oxfordshire Cotswolds more picturesque villages we visit Eynsham.

Eynsham is pronounced "Ensham". The spelling was changed by the Post Office in the 19th century, as it was constantly getting confused with Evesham. The origin of the name is a bit uncertain; 'ham' means meadow - and the 'En" may - or may not - be a contraction of somebody's name.

Before humans arrived though, the area was occupied by mammoths. In the gravel pits just south of Eynsham, a large number of mammoth bones have been dug up over the past 10 years.

A causeway made of pebbles and stones was discovered recently near Eynsham by the A40 gravel pits. It probably dates from about 4,000 years ago - so it's one of the very earliest human constructions in Britain that survives.

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Recently I took a trip down to Marlborough to visit the West Woods in their full bluebell glory. West Woods is a plantation of beech trees on a former ancient woodland site, managed by the Forestry Commission.

Until around 1300 West Woods was part of Savernake Forest, but now, along with Savernake and Collingbourne Woods, form Marlborough Woodland. West Woods is one-fifth of the size of Savernake Forest, and was clear-felled in 1928, leaving only a few Ancient and Veteran trees on the outskirts. It was replanted with mainly Beech, with some Birch, Pine Sycamore and Ash.

As I visited during the week, the woods were relatively empty, especially for the time of year, so I had no trouble getting some shots of the peaceful woodland bejewelled in a sea of brilliant azure.

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This morning I paid a visit to Austy Woods, a private woodland located in the heart of Warwickshire. Normally the woods are closed to the public, apart from once a year when the family open them up for two days on the early May bank holiday weekend, to coincide with the eruption of bluebells that occur here every year, and to raise money for charity.

It’s widely recognised as one of the most spectacular displays of bluebells in the county, and beyond I would imagine. Whereas most places have patches of colour, here nearly every part of the woods is carpeted in the sapphire flowers, there must be countless millions of them.

Thankfully they had agreed to let us visit the woodland after the bank holiday, which by all accounts was a bit of a melee, I can’t remember how many thousands of people they said had visited over the two days, but it was a lot. But because we arrived on the Tuesday, we had the place to ourselves, which was rather splendid.

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Following on from my day spent at Howick Hall, I decided to take a ride to Dunstanburgh Castle in the wildly optimistic hope that I might get something for sunset. Stopping at Embleton, I strode across the golf course that runs along the shore, girding myself against the blustery wind, and headed more or less directly to the shoreline that runs beneath the castle walls.

I took a few shots, getting as close to the surf as possible, but keeping a wary eye on swishing, fizzing waves as they slapped against the rocks underfoot, creeping ever closer in the early evening gloom.

I noticed a smudge of colour in the sky behind me as the sun finally went to ground, and I hoped it might translate into something of interest above the castle, but it never did. After a while as the light faded beyond use, I picked my way over the boulderous shore to the path and returned to the car.

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Woke up for sunrise, but it was obvious there wasn't going to be one, just a uniform grey, slowly lightening, which with even the best will in the world, wasn't worth getting out of bed for.

I got up again a bit later and pottered about, I was going to Howick Park, which didn't open until 10.30 so I had plenty of time. I arrived and had a wander into the gardens, which were full of snowdrops. Not many daffodils though which was a shame, as there were thousands planted, but they still had at least a couple of weeks to go.

Howick Hall, a Grade II* listed building and the ancestral seat of the Earls Grey. It was the home of the Prime Minister Charles, 2nd Earl Grey, after whom the famous tea is named. The original Earl Grey tea was specially blended by a Chinese mandarin to suit the water at Howick, and was later marketed by Twinings.

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Woke up to a very dismal morning, so after a spot of breakfast, I drove to Warkworth to have a look at the castle. The place itself hadn't opened for the season yet, but it's well worth a visit to see it standing proud over the town below.

When the castle was founded is uncertain: traditionally its construction has been ascribed to Prince Henry of Scotland in the mid-12th century, but it may have been built by King Henry II of England when he took control of England's northern counties. The then timber castle was considered "feeble", and was left undefended when the Scots invaded in 1173.

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After arriving in the late afternoon gloom the day before, leaving behind a country that seemed to be bathed in sunshine along most of its length, I awoke to another misty, leaden day and headed off to Berwick-upon-Tweed for want of somewhere to go.

Had a mooch around the town, half of which looked closed and up onto the surrounding wall which encompasses the settlement for views over the coast and River Tweed. But it the views were all pretty dismal, although there was a very real sense of history about the place which I think the murkiness gave atmosphere to.

After getting a coffee I took a drive south to Lindisfarne to have a look around the harbour. I spent a bit of time getting some shots of the colourful old boats the lined the shore, as there wasn't much else I could do. I got a bit carried away, as I had a good idea that this would probably be the one and only time I would get the camera out that day.

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Last week I took a visit to the abandoned village of Hampton Gay, all that remains of the place is a ruined manor house and church. The outline of the former village can be seen as raised plots in the fields. The name Gay originates from the de Gay family, former Lords of the Manor there in the 12th century. Hampton, or hamm tun is an old Anglo Saxon word meaning hamlet by the water meadow.

Hampton Gay is bordered by the River Cherwell, where it meanders through an alluvial flood-plain that is seldom less than 200 yards wide and in some parts well over twice that width. This has prevented the building of roads directly on to the lands, which means even today the only way to get to the village is via by a footbridge or two and over several fields. Which of course all adds to the atmospheric, abandoned nature of the place.

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Next in our very occasional series on places to see in the the Oxfordshire Cotswolds, we visit the picturesque market town of Woodstock. The name Woodstock is Old English in origin, meaning a "clearing in the woods". The Domesday Book of 1086 describes Woodstock as a royal forest. Ethelred the Unready, king of England, is said to have held an assembly at Woodstock at which he issued a legal code now known as IX Ethelred.

Henry I, youngest son of William the Conqueror, built a royal lodge in Woodstock and this was enlarged to create a grand manor house by his successor Henry II. The Black Prince was born here in 1330, and It is this area that became the Blenheim estate.

Henry II often stayed at Woodstock with his mistress 'The Fair Rosamund' and during his time spent here granted parcels of land to build hostelries for the use of his men. A weekly market, on Tuesdays was also established when he gave Woodstock a Royal charter in 1179.

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The Market town of Witney is on the River Windrush, 10 miles from Oxford. Witney is famous for the manufacture of blankets, gloves, and other woollen goods. Witney was selected by The Sunday Times newspaper (2014) as one of the best places to live in Britain. The place-name Witney is first attested in a Saxon charter of 969 as Wyttannige; it appears as Witenie in the Domesday Book of 1086. The name means Witta's island.

Witney has been famous for its woollen blankets since the Middle Ages, and was known across the world for blanket making, especially in North America where the Witney Point Blankets were traded with the American Indians in exchange for furs. The water for the production of these blankets was drawn from the River Windrush, which was believed to be the secret of Witney's high quality blankets.

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A couple of weeks ago I took a stroll into Blenheim Park on a beautiful evening to see what autumn colours I could find in the High Park, which is home to a multitude of ancient trees, many over 600 years old.

I entered via a section of the grounds situated about 1km from the palace itself, and which, with it's entrance to be found near the village of Combe, in an area traditionally known as East End, is generally a lot quieter than the area around the palace.

I wandered past the ancient oaks and yews, towards one of several lakes that were created in the first half of the 18th century, from the path of the River Glyme, which wanders through the palace grounds, hoping to get some nice reflections in the calm waters.

Thankfully I was not disappointed, clouds began to gather overhead just in time for the setting sun to fire them into a colourful blaze.

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It was my last day in Wales and the weather was, yet again looking very forlorn. I fancied visiting something else other than waterfalls, but thanks to the despondent conditions a coastal jaunt was out of the question, so I decided to head up to Port Talbot and visit Margam Country Park.

Margam Park is an 850 acre country estate situated two miles east of Port Talbot on the narrow coastal plain, set on the southern slopes of Mynydd Margam, a largely forested mountain rising to a height of 349m, and one of the major ancient settlements of Glamorgan. It was once owned by the Mansel Talbot family and is now owned and administered by the local council.

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Woke up to a morning slightly improved on the previous one, as in it wasn't bucketing it down, but it was as grey as an unwashed pair of pants, so a sunrise was, again, not on the cards. After a leisurely breakfast I took a drive back to the Brecon Beacons, and paid a visit to Aberdulais Falls.

The falls are in the care of the National Trust, along with the copper mine that drew it's water from the power of the falls some 400 years ago. It's an interesting place, but I won't go into much detail here because when I got there it was closed, so it seems rather pointless. What I didn't check before I embarked was the opening times, and seeing as I was two hours early, I didn't hang around for it to open. Instead I carried on to Henrhyd Falls, or Sgwd Henrhyd to give it it's local name.

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My first morning in South Wales and I was presented with a deluge of water, unfortunately I wasn't at the waterfalls just yet, I had woken up and was watching the bedroom window being thoroughly doused with rain. Needless to say, a sunrise shoot was out of the question, the sky was a pewter cloak over a sallow landscape. So I went back to bed and hoped conditions would improve.

Once I had re-emerged, the torrent had reduced to a drizzle, so I grabbed my gear and headed up to the Brecon Beacons to visit those waterfalls.

I stopped at the Pont Melin-fach car park, a little spot found at the end of a very steep, narrow lane that wanders downwards under a canopy of trees, until it opens out next to the river Nedd Fechan. I put on my wellies and took the path that follows the run of the river.

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I had planned to go to Robin Hood's Bay for sunrise, but after I turned my alarm off I promptly fell back to sleep, and by the time I woke up again, it was too late to get there. I got up anyway and headed into Whitby, and as it tuned out I didn't miss much as it was the worst sunrise of the week. Thankfully my inherent laziness had saved me some wasted effort, it's a steep path down to the beach at Robin Hood's Bay, so it would have been doubly arduous on the return journey with nothing to show for it.

Instead I drove up to the abbey while the light was still low, I was going to get a shot of it lit up, unfortunately by the time I got there the lights had been turned off, it was obviously not my morning.

I was at a bit of a loss of what to do next, then I noticed a few breaks in the clouds and the start of some very subtle colour in the sky, so I motored it over to the other side of town and hoofed it onto the pier. I walked to the end of West Pier and got a few shots looking along it's length and to the town beyond.

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Up for sunrise again and it was another foggy morning, but I thought I would head 10 minutes up the coast to Sandsend and see what it was like there, and if that was shrouded in thick fog as well, at least it wouldn't take long to get back.

As it turned out, the fog thinned as I got out of Whitby and my luck was in, and although there was a lot of grey cloud in the sky, I thought I would stick around and see what's what. I parked up on a side road and took the steps down to the beach, there wasn't a great deal of it to be seen as the tide was in quite far, and continuing on it's journey inwards with some speed.

Sandsend is home to a plentiful supply of beach groynes, most of them were covered up by the fitful waves, but there was one long line of them still available to me, so I set up and hoped for some early morning colour. I didn't have to wait long, as the sun began to approach the horizon a pink diffusion of light started to appear, and thanks to the low cloud, it covered the entire scene in a rosy blush.

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Woke up to thick fog and the sound of the lighthouse in Whitby Bay blaring out it's fog warning every 30 seconds, and realised it was only 3.30 in the morning. So two hours of not being able to get back to sleep later, when it was time to get up for sunrise, I was more than ready to go even though the fog was as thick as ever.

After carefully navigating through the soupy conditions I got to Staithes, and thanks to the patchiness of the fog, I found that it was pretty clear there. I carried on to Cowbar, a little hamlet that sits on a headland on the other side of the Roxby Beck, a small river that runs through Staithes, and has a great view down onto the village and harbour.

I parked outside Cowbar and after walking part way into the hamlet I took the path onto the National Trust owned headland. As I started along the path I immediately regretted not wearing my wellington boots, as the waist high grasses were covered in morning dew and it wasn't long before my lower regions were thoroughly soaked.

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Up for sunrise on my first morning in Whitby, and at 6 o'clock it was a pretty civilised time for a change. I took a stroll down to the 18th century, Grade ll listed East and West piers that flank the entrance to Whitby's harbour, and waited to see if there were any shots to be had.

There was a lot of cloud in the sky but it was hanging low and dark, so didn't catch any of the morning light. I got a shot of the West pier lighthouse with the sun rising behind it, but other than that I didn't get anything worthwhile.

I hung around for a while, waiting for the morning light to crawl up the coastline behind me, and drape some warm light on the buildings that line the cliff edge overlooking the harbour. Got a few images but by then the biting wind had worn me down a bit, so I was ready to head back to the apartment and get some breakfast.

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