A curtain of blue

Aliya and I walked across the meadows that stretch out from the edges of Cambridge, dodging thistles, nettles and cows. After we discovered crossed paths a few months ago, and overlaps from years back, we realised strange similarities that culminated in both of our arrivals in Cambridge. It was great walking along the trail of the river before I took these pictures of her in the last bits of early evening sun, when the sky was hovering between resolute white with small moments of blue coming through. 

All the days of my life

At the beginning of September I went to Paris for a few days, to see everyone before the summer was up and we were all in Cambridge, Chicago, and all over the place again. It was brilliantly sunny after a month of non-stop grey skies in London, and I walked all round the steep streets of Montmatre that I'd never got the chance to look at properly before, as well as gathering by the canal as always. These pictures are a mixture from the entire summer, from afternoons in Portobello (the pink broccoli), Maciek's fridge door, and a few late nights in Cambridge too (the cygnets and Siobhan's ukelele) - and Victoria Park too, where I spotted Larry David on someone's pocket and had to stop them to take a photo.

Even a morning without clouds

I went up to Lanchashire for the weekend at the start of September, just as it was starting to get dark earlier, with the rain dripping down the windows and no desire to leave the house. We stayed inside with homemade bread, ginger beer and wine, scaring ourselves with talk of horror films and the future. The next morning, we walked through the drizzle and I took these pictures that I'd been thinking of ever since I found this new mackintosh in Paris the month before.

They have turned them away on the mountains

At the end of the Easter term we drove from Cambridge to Yorkshire - passing Godmanchester, Retford and Thirsk along the way - for a weekend of picnics in the wind and bottles of ale drunk beside the sea. We climbed over stiles and waded through expanses of heather, lost our way on the map, and retreated in the cold to pubs to read the papers and have endless debates that always seemed to escalate into argument, with all of us refusing to back down. On Sunday we drove to Whitby, happening to coincide with the biannual goth festival there, which was both horrifying and very funny. On the final evening we ate spaghetti and drank whisky in front of Withnail and I, which after the weekend of comically bad picnic weather and lost routes felt appropriate.

Like snow in summer

I just found these pictures from a couple of summers ago, when I went away to France with Alfie and his family. We swam in the river, cycled across fields, and drove to flea markets early in the morning. I also remember that we went to a pizza restaurant that had a pool outside to swim in while they made up your order - this was so great. I went a couple of years running, so memories start to run into each other, but I loved the house full of crockery gathered over the years, the steep cycle into the tiny neighbouring village, and the bread we'd dip into hot chocolate in the mornings. 

    

We walk not by sight

Jess and I walked along the river in the late afternoon sun with bare legs and books, climbing over tree roots and puddles all the way to Grantchester. Just before the dusk came I took this of Jess in my favourite hat, but then we started to feel the cold and retreated inside to drink ale.

I put on righteousness, and it clothed me

A group of us disappeared for the weekend to Ralph's incredible estate in the middle of the Leicester countryside. On the Sunday afternoon, after Molly and I had sat drinking gin and tonics in the ballroom in front of the fire, we braved the cold outside to walk around the grounds - stables, dairy and all - where I took these pictures with all the clothes I'd brought.