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Up early on the first morning of my short visit to Northumberland, and it was chucking it down with rain. I went out anyway as you never know what the weather will bring, and drove from the cottage I was staying in, through the small, twisty lanes to Bamburgh.

By the time I pulled up at the seafront, the morning light was just arriving, but it wasn’t heralding the promise of better conditions. I sat there for a little while looking at the choppy surf and listening the raindrops thrum on the roof of the car, in the hope that the weather might improve.

After around 20 minutes, the constant tattoo of falling water began to subside to a barely audible fizzle, it was time to get on with the day. Standing on the beach I couldn’t believe how mild the temperature was. Considering a month earlier I had been on a beach in Dorset, struggling to stay warm.

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We began where we had left off the day before, by visiting another château, this one was slightly different from the rest though. Château de Commarque is a ruined castle deep in the Perigord forest. We arrived well before it opened, so once we had taken the 20 minute walk through dense woodland to get to it, we had the place to yourselves.

Founded in the 12th century as a wooden tower, predominantly as a means to discourage the Beynac family from their unending quest for land and power, the castle didn’t quite have the effect it was intended for. Once the Beynac’s had acquired it, they built the stone fortifications that came to be expanded on until the 18th century, and the remains of which can be seen to this day.

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Yesterday morning I decided to head over to Minster Lovell Hall for sunrise, I thought there might be some autumn colour in the magnificent trees that stand behind the ruins, and I wanted to see if I could complement them with a bit of early morning colour.

I'd never had much luck photographing the ruins themselves before, either because the light wasn't suitable or I couldn't find a composition I liked, or more usually, both. So I wasn't holding out a great deal of hope, but I still wanted to give it another go. They should, in theory, should be a good place to get some decent shots, they are interesting to look at and are set in a picturesque spot next to the River Windrush, so I when I think of them it's always with a sense of frustration at my inability to do them justice.

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It was a chilly start to the day, the nights in fact had been particularly cold, I was having to use 3 blankets just to be warm enough to get some sleep. But thanks to the balmy days and cool nights, the early mornings offered plenty of mist.

We headed over to same woodland we’d been the day before to get some shots of trees swaddled in the creamy haze, while the sun warmed their shining boughs. The white trunks stood in lines like a picket fence, supporting a canopy of glittering leaves alight with the morning glow. It made for a beautiful sight, but it wasn’t long before the sun had driven the majority of the fog away, so we packed up and drove to St Cyprien for the obligatory coffee, and picked up a baguette for lunch

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I have been lucky enough to be selected as a winner in the Landscape Category at this year's MIFA (Moscow International Fotography Awards) for this image of Lady Falls in the Vale of Neath, Wales.

The awards, which were set up 'To salute the achievements of the world's finest photographers, to discover new and emerging talent, and to promote the appreciation of photography.' attracts thousands of entries from around the world, so it's quite a nice result.

We headed out first thing, to the nearest town of Le Bugue, to get ourselves some breakfast; a pain au chocolat and a coffee were definitely on the cards. After that it was a quick trip to the Supermarché to stock up on essentials, plus of course some tea towels so we could remove the much maligned calcer, plus of course, a couple of bottles of the local vino.

On the way back to the campsite we stopped at a plantation of beautiful trees, I’m not sure what sort they were, but as they marched into the distance, under the warm glow of the morning sun, each unswerving column creating its own secret tunnel, they certainly called for a photo or two.

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Decided to hop over the pond, well, the puddle, to France, to spend a few carefree days in the beautiful surrounds of the Dordogne. I was in the company of my occasional travelling companion, Sarah, who was scouting suitable spots for an upcoming photography workshop in the area, and invited me to tag along.

The journey over was possibly one of the easiest in the history of travel. Exiting the leafy kingdom of Oxfordshire and motoring along the M40 and M25 without a single hold up had left us suitably jubilant, and not a little surprised. Then, being able to stretch out on the plane, as it was only half full, was nothing short of astonishing. And to top it all off, ours was the only plane at Bergerac airport, which is not much more than a large corrugated shed, so passport control, namely a smiling official in a small plywood booth, was an absolute breeze.

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The forecast for early morning had not been great, unlike the day before, which had promised some dawn sunshine, and which had spectacularly failed to deliver. So I wasn’t holding out a great deal of hope for a decent start to the day.

With that in mind I hadn’t planned to go far, just down to Peveril Point again, in case something did happen. And happen it did, it turned out to be a real beauty of a morning, with the sun appearing from behind a bank of cloud, and casting its warm radiance over the ocean before me, and Swanage seafront to my rear.

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Whilst at Studland Beach got it into my head to do a variation of that classic footprints in the sand shot, so often seen in holiday brochures and suchlike, but instead of bare feet leaving a tempting trail, it was my size 12 boots stomping through golden shoreline.

The tide was on its way out, meaning I had a nice stretch of smooth sand to play with, so I created some inexpertly made footprints heading into the water, which was a lot harder than I thought it would be. With the final effect being rather less vacation paradise, and rather more goodbye cruel world.

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Woke up to fog, so like any right thinking person, I figured it was time to give Corfe Castle a go, in the hope that the fog wouldn’t be too thick, and a lovely bit of morning sun would light up the delicate mist as it twirled and wafted around the impressive hill top ruins, ruffling the battlements and wafting about the crenelations.

So as I heaved myself up East Hill, to get a view down and across to the castle remnants, I hoped against hope that it wouldn’t be as discouraging as the previous visit. It was as discouraging as the previous visit. For the second time in as many hard won ascensions, I couldn’t even see the castle, let alone admire its ruffled battlements.

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Up nice and early in the hope that I might get a sunrise, but once there was enough illumination to see my surroundings, it was clear that this was not going to happen. The landscape was shrouded in a thick soup of grey fog, under a chunky stew of sombre cloud, topped off with a beefy brew of gloomy light.

All this poor weather was making me hungry, but instead of filling my bemoaning belly, I decided to head up onto the moors to see if there were any atmospheric shots in the offing, while the fog was still so dense.

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I emerged from my dripping tent, thanks to a boatload of early morning condensation, to a very dim vista, so I couldn’t yet tell what the sky had in store. I jumped in the car, well more sort of slumped, at that time in the morning, and headed towards the Exe Valley again, in the hope I might get a decent start to the day.

I set up in the pre-dawn gloom and prepared myself for the sunrise to come, which was all well and good, except there wasn’t one. Just a dim grey sky turning slowly into a slightly less dim grey sky.

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Up this morning for a spot of sunrise shenanigans, and I was hoping to get a few images of the River Exe as it curled its way through the surrounding valley, but that proved slightly difficult, as not only was the river completely obscured by a thick shroud of early morning mist, but most of the valley was too.

Still, I had motored it over to Simonsbath for the view, and I wasn’t about to just give up and go quietly back to my tented lodgings, besides a bit of mist can sometimes be a good thing. Plus, I had managed to borrow a tripod, and I was damn well going to use it, otherwise there wouldn’t have been any point in going out at all in such low light.

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After an early start and time spent negotiating the rabid packs of traffic on the always delightful M5, I was in Exmoor, the former Royal Forest and hunting ground, which became a National Park in 1954.

On the way to my campsite, I saw the sign for Tarr Steps, a clapper bridge that traverses the River Barle, a river and accompanying valley that would consume a lot of my time while in Exmoor over the following days. It was a lovely sunny afternoon, so I stopped to wander down to the ancient construction, and take a few pictures.

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Last weekend I took a trip over to Widford, a tiny village, that's not really village anymore, on some maps it isn't even listed, or if it is, then it's as 'the site of'. But despite its lack of substance, there are still a couple of structures that denote an actual place, rather than the remains of one. And the Church of St.Oswald's is such a marker.

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One of my images, has made it to the finalist section of this years Photographers Forum Spring Photography contest.



The contest, co-sponsored by Sigma, received over 10,000 entries from more than 60 countries this year.

Taken a few months ago, this image is of the old pier in Swanage, Dorset. It was a particularly foggy morning, and I used a long exposure to flatten out the rippling sea and emphasis the reflections of the wooden struts.

I should find out in a couple of weeks if it's been selected for the next stage, so fingers crossed.

We had quite an eventful couple of days last weekend with the weather. Surprisingly enough I wasn't out with my camera much at the time, but I did spot a particularly rambunctious weather system develop over where I live, and it would have been a crime not to get any pictures.

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Early morning a week or so ago, I paid a visit to two of my favourite spots in the Cotswolds, namely Stanton and Stanway. The main cause for my visit was to complete a commission, but it's always a pleasure to spend some time in these idyllic Cotswold villages.

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Out of necessity I’d slept with my earplugs in, and had completely missed my morning call, it was 5.30, a whole hour and a half too late.

My brain was too muddled to be truly irritated, so I got my stuff together as quickly as I could and groggily scooted over to Owler Tor. Any sunrise colour had long vanished, but the light was till rich and warm. I pulled up outside the gates to Surprise View car park, they are locked Saturday evening, so I parked outside, next to the road, before bounding across to the tor.

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I turned back the way I had come, and eventually found the road to Winnats Pass, which was as remarkable as I’d hoped it would be. Once I’d crowned the summit, I continued on until I saw, away to my left, a solitary tree, sat in majestic splendour atop a hill. No one can resist the lure of a solitary tree, let alone one sat atop a hill in majestic splendour, so I pulled over as soon I could find a suitable spot, to have a better look.

Once out the car, I happened to notice a small sign pointing to a walking track that veered upwards through a tangle of shrubbery, so in the hope it would give me a better vantage point of said solitary tree, sat in majestic splendour atop said hill, I began to walk.

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