A Week in Instagram

I woke up this morning with a one pound coin and a fifty pence piece stuck to my back. I've no idea how they got there, but I'm not complaining.

The last week has been spent trying to expose my older son to a daily dose of sunlight, so that his vitamin D levels improve. He already walks as if he has rickets, but I think that's just him. If I ask him to walk normally, he gets very cross.

Our first trip took us to Ashdown Forest - the place that inspired the Winnie-the-Pooh stories. By sheer chance, we parked only a few minutes' walk from the memorial to A.A.Milne and E.H.Shephard, carefully placed in a setting that recalls this famous line:

"Wherever they go, and whatever happens to them on the way, in that enchanted place on the top of the forest, a little boy and his Bear will always be playing."

The forest appeared to be deserted and for a brief moment, it felt as if we had entered a lost idyll, but the discovery of a rather large bra hanging from a tree quickly changed the mood:

Did the bra's owner have to leave in a hurry, or was she suffering from some form of post-coital amnesia?

Sadly, I think I've got to the age where I'm more interested in unusual trees than abandoned underwear. I particularly liked this tree, which had a bark that reminded me of The Thing in the Fantastic Four:

The following day I explored Birling Gap at low tide, negotiating my way across hundreds of rocks covered in sharp periwinkles. After ten minutes, I realised that I was alone and wondered why most people were content to huddle together on a small stretch of beach, rather than seek out a deserted cove.

I walked along a wave cut platform, looking at the small rock pools that had formed in this transient, tidal environment, watching tiny wisps of fish nervously dart out of sight. As a boy, I could happily spend hours exploring the microcosm of a rock pool. As an adult, I find myself more preoccupied with thinking about what I should be feeling, and wondering why I'm not.

I find that a remote, empty beach quickly induces a sense of timelessness, as if I am the last human left at the end of the world. Is that a bit potty?

Sometimes the isolation can be therapeutic, providing a chance to see things in perspective without any distractions, but this time all I could think about was an annoying tune that had popped into my head:

"Didn't we have a lovely time, the day we went to Bangor..." Maddening.

On the way back, I took a rather average photo on my phone, which Instagram later transformed into something that vaguely resembles a magic lantern slide.

As I said in an earlier post, I have become a huge fan of Instagram. If you have an account, you'll find me listed as phil._.b (the dots and underscore are vital). Every photo in this post is from Instagram, apart from the bra.

I haven't quite worked out the Instagram etiquette yet, but I generally work on the rule that I'll show you mine if you show me yours.

In contrast to the stark isolation of the beach, I enjoyed a visit to a local village fete, in a place called Glynde:

Almost everything you could want was there: a Punch and Judy show, stalls selling bric a brac that would remain unsold, a tent with a tea urn and a selection of fruit cakes made by the ladies of the parish. Only the local vicar was missing, with the obligatory appeal to restore his organ.

Glynde is an idyllic village, seemingly frozen in time. Many of the cottages are, I'm told, owned by a local aristocrat and rented out. This may strike many as an absurd anachronism, but the reality is a village of beautifully maintained properties rented at affordable prices.

I think I'd rather have noblesse oblige than 'shareholder value'.

My favourite building is the blacksmith's, which is still a working forge:

Later that day, my wife and I went for dinner with some friends in Hove. As I walked across the station footbridge and looked below, my Instagram alarm button started ringing again:

I liked the symmetry of the trains and felt pleased with the shot, but am I now going to start seeing Instagram opportunities everywhere?

I blame my phone, which continues to exceed expectations. For example, when I saw a Ladybird resting on some berries yesterday, I assumed that a close-up would only be possible with a proper camera. Fortunately, the phone coped admirably:

In the pre-smartphone era, I wouldn't have had a camera with me on a short walk around the outskirts of Lewes. But now that I have a decent phone and an Instagram account, I'm learning to look with fresh eyes at the familiar:

This is an abandoned quarry. I love the contrast between the rocks and the primordial-looking ferns. It's a strange place and whenever I hear the swoop of wings in the distance, I almost expect to see a pterodactyl.

This is a rather odd picture because it looks as if it has been heavily manipulated, digitally, but in fact I've barely altered it. The field in the background is Landport Bottom - a place populated by dog walkers and nervous sheep. It's hard to believe that history was made here, 751 years ago.

From Landport Bottom, a wooded path leads to the top of an old chalk quarry. I never tire of the view of the Weald and the Ouse river, meandering into the distance:

In the evening, teenagers come up here, light camp fires and drink copious amounts of beer. So far, none of them have tumbled over the cliff in the dark, but I expect that there have been some near misses.

After doing so much walking, I will hopefully sleep soundly tonight. If I'm really lucky, I may wake up with another £1.50 stuck to my back.