A mute reminder of the poppy fields and graves

Poppies!  That is what we want, and that is what we went looking for today.  And we found them, in groups of one and two by the side of the road.  Clearly I had not stated the requirements very well.  I wanted fields of poppies, great swathes of red across the landscape. Not a single bloom choking its way clear of discarded plastic bottles. Needless to say I did not pull over to take the shot.  But I had to get the frustration out of my system, even if there was no photo.

When I stopped sulking about the poppies, or lack thereof, I realised I had not blogged about last weekend’s trip to Newstead Abbey.  Lord Byron’s home.  When I say that I mean the home of Lord Byron, not that Lord Byron is home. Well obviously not now, because he has passed on, fallen off his perch, and ceased to be.  As well as the Abbey itself, the gardens are well worth a visit.  However the gardener seemed to have the same dealer as the junkie ranger from Bempton Cliffs. He was well and truly wired.


The gap at the back of his skull probably did not help him concentrate either.


There is also a really nice cascade, which my dear wife had to investigate, in case it was a leak in the roof. Finally, photographically speaking, they have their own version of the Dark Hedges.  Next time I hope to bring you poppies, though I might well have shot myself in the foot using the poppies lyric from Pink Floyd as a post title already. Dammit.




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