Pickup at 7 and we’re off for the latest 40th birthday extravaganza. Yet another of our number has reached this dubious age, and we have been offered to share in celebrating in the manner of his choosing.

For this one, we are going to attempt to climb the 3 peaks of Yorkshire. Not all at once – that would be stupid, but over two days, with various other forms of entertainment to slot into the time.

Our trip to the Dales is uneventful until we reach Settle, where we are diverted off through the village towards Kirby Malham. The road we wanted to take forks off the main road just after Settle, so we head off on our diversion hoping to join up with it shortly. It’s dark and we both have gotten a little vague in our geography of the Dales, and after some time blatting along the country lanes we begin to wonder where the hell we are going. We know that while there are roads going up the Dales, there aren’t that many that cut across, and we have travelled 7 miles without any sign of the ‘diversion’ heading towards our destination of Horton in Ribblesdale.

Then after a while we start to see signs for Malhalm. At least now we have an idea of where we are. We head up the left of the Cove and at the top we see at sign for Settle. Back we go on this road, only at the top of the moor to be confronted by a highland cow wandering along the side of the road. We comment that running into that with its massive horns would not have been good, and we become a little more cautious. Then without warning we come upon a whole herd of black and white cows all over the road. They are strung out along the road for several hundred yards and we dodge through them in the dark.

The road starts to go back down. I never realised that Settle is surrounded by steep hills, but we left it going up a steep minor road and are now going back down into it on another. We’ve travelled 15 miles from Settle on the diversion only to come back to it, to meet the road 1/2 a mile past it we should have been on.

Now we are heading for the pub in Horton, we arrive at the campsite and turn down into it. It appears to be completely full and there is no space to park. My plans of putting up my small tent are scuppered and I am going to be sharing the communal large tent(s) that have been provided.

We head back to the pub and leave the car in the car park where there are a couple of spaces. Inside the pub is very crowded, and our friends are finishing off their pub tea on a table in the centre of the room where they look very hemmed in. We go to the bar, and though there are three bar staff, and not that many people waiting to get served. The staff are incredibly slow, and seem to be more interested in shuffling glasses around rather than serving the customers. This attitude is to continue throughout the night – each round taking 1/2 an hour to procure – my own I am charged the bill on the handset, but then because it hasn’t printed a receipt I am charged again in cash. There is no confirmation of the bill being cancelled and I am offered no reassurances that I wont be charged. The German girl seems to have no idea of how bar staff do their job, and having paid in cash, she then goes off and serves another customer without giving me my beer. So I have to wait yet longer in quiet dispair being finally demanding my beer before she goes off to serve yet someone else. The night draws to a close around 1am, and we head to our tents to catch some zz’s before our big walk.

At 6am the campsite awakes. The partying the night before had gone onto after 3, with a large contingent of Leeds fans walking the 3 peaks for charity. Also a crowd in a teepee have been chanting war songs late into the night while dancing around the fire. I awake to hear an argument from a tent close by, where someone has spilt coffee into someone elses boots. The discussion balloons into a general character assassination from both parties,and I wonder how the rest of their weekend in close proximity is going to go.

We get up and sausages are provided (Pateley Bridges finest), cups of tea and coffee, and we are fueled up ready for the day. 5 us camped the night before, then another 4 turn up on the day. I look around the group, and am slightly alarmed to see several of them appear to be being fed by intravenous tubes, perhaps we wont get far, but they also appear to be the ones wearing the most professional walking kit. It is explained to me that walking has move on technologically since I last walked the Three Peaks in the year dot, and it is no longer fashionable to turn up with a yellow cagoule and Army and Navy boots, but you have to have all the latest gear including the drinking tubes they are carrying. Not all of us are kitted out equally, and comments are made about one guy who is wearing jeans and ‘looks like he has just popped out for a paper’.

As we are doing the walk over two days, we are basically not doing the walk properly, so we decide to catch the train from Horton to Ribblehead to start there. We aren’t charged, and we walk off, down under the viaduct, choosing to walk to the left of Whernside where we plan to go up the side, rather than straight up the face. We wander down the valley looking for a way onto the start of the path up the hill, and after much map scrutinising (we have 3) we give up on the maps and cut across some fields to get to where we need to be.

We are close to the side of the mountain, and it is pretty steep. This is the part I have been worrying about – climbing straight up the side of a mountain. I walk quite regularly on the flat or around Ilkley Moor, but do very little hill walking. Last time I had gone up the side of a mountain was Ben Nevis with my sister, a keen mountaineer, and by the time I had got to the top of the incline, I couldn’t lift my leg, and found the completion of the Ben Nevis circuit very difficult.

The climb sorts the party into a rather different order from the level of walking kit. Two of the least well equipped are in the first group with two of the best, I am struggling towards the rear of the group, my heart is pounding and hurting a little, and I am gasping for air, but at the top I recover quite quickly and can walk along the ridge at a nice pace. The first major hurdle is overcome and I seem to have survived.

Close to the top of the mountain the group have waited and we all come back together for mars bars and to try Jim’s ‘cheaper than major brands’ stimulant drink. It is quite unpleasant but not as bad as a certain well known brand. The weather is beautiful, fantastic sunshine and a brilliant view looking back towards Pennyghent straight ahead and Ingleborough on the right. We are all very happy.

On the way up the climb we have passed many walkers. Many of the Leeds fans are going by, and several of them say to me it doesn’t get any easier going down. I think they’re are probably talking to me because I am gasping for air, and they don’t look too fit themselves – must be all those football ground pork pies.

Our route is in reverse to the standard route, and we go down the way they have climbed. Our climb was very steep but going down it is a long less steep path back to the viaduct. As we look back up it, we are quite glad we did it that way – the pain was short and sharp, rather than a long drag. We sit with a view to a waterfall fringed by red flowering trees. It’s rather nice, and we eat chunks of cheese in bread buns.

As we go down, we look back and one of our party has disappeared. Then he lurches back into view appearing to stagger. As he get closer, we see he is coated in mud up on side to his waist. ‘What happened?’ we ask. ‘I slipped off the path trying to let a dog and walker go by and sank straight into a bog’.

Getting back down, we can see a catering van by the road and we discuss what type of ice lolly we are going to have. Getting there – it is more a burger van, no lollies but it does sell 99′s, so we each get one. We sit on the grass as the superbikes scream by, and plan our next peak.

Penyghent is 7/8 miles distant but it is already well into the afternoon. It is getting dark at around 7pm, and with a 2 hour walk to get to the foot, it is doubtful if we can get up and down it in the daylight. We consider our options. We can walk for it and try and make it. Walk down the road towards Horton and go to the pub, or catch a train back to Horton and then walk up from Horton. Jim heads off to find the train times but the next train is not for an hour, so we decide to walk down the road. Getting up there are some stiff limbs – we have been sat 20 mins and it takes a while to get back into the walk.

The road is unpleasant. Now the superbikes are blasting past feet away and every corner and brow is dangerous. We come to a track to the left after a while and head off down it. It is much more pleasant. We walk through the fields and now there is a reddy tinge to the sun as it gets lower, it is a nice light. We walk towards some cows. But some of them aren’t cows. Two at least are bulls and they are pretty big. Some of us take a path to the right of them away from them, but Alan dressed in red sports wear walks to the left. One of the largest beasts starts snorting and wheels around. It is a little scary, but no one is touched.

After a while the track becomes a road – 6 miles to Horton – a very long six miles and I am glad to get to the end. We have walked 14 miles today including Whernside. We have all made it, and we dive into the Crown where cider seems to be the favoured drink, pulled by the voluptuous and sensual Italian looking barmaid. The pub is full of Leeds fans. No scarfs or shirts but plenty of bald heads. They are there for the night, and we have a table which we will hang onto most of till we leave. The food is far better than the night before and we get served in good time. This is a much better pub.

Everyone is tired now, so a 1am-er isn’t going to happen, people peel off from around 10, some making it through to around 12. Around 10.30 we decide to check out the pub from the first night. The German girl is there again, and once again service is a struggle ‘I am losing the will to live’ says one guy when he comes back empty handed. We play pool, and after a while the German girl comes in with a young farmer who we overhear has a wife and children, but they seem to be quite cosy in a bantering way. She seems to be dealing with this situation about as incompetently as she is a barmaid, and he doesn’t seem like a particularly nice piece of work.

Next morning we are down to 5 and we get up to see that the whole valley is covered in mist. After more sausages and cups of tea the mist starts to lift and we can see the base of Penyghent. Three decide to walk, and two of us are undecided. Tim has blisters and I have blood blisters. Still after a while we all go. We go across the fields to the foot of the climb. It is a steep scramble up the rocky side of the mountain, a wind is blowing today and it is a very different day from yesterday. I am gasping going up and take short rests after a climbing for a while, but we all make it – ‘if those children can do it we can’ – ‘yeah but they haven’t had 40 years of abuse’.

The top is crowded and we head down the side. As we drop off the top a pair of cyclists go past us going straight up the mountain. They are very slim lean looking men – ‘hard men’ I would say. As we drop further, more and more of them go by – it is the cycle race that caused our detour on Friday in Settle, and at least 400 of them are competing. They climb up past us, and then after a while the first ones come screaming back down the mountain decending very quickly. Jumping out of the way, we watch waiting for the first collision between riders meeting one another. Miraculously none happen. We hobble back to the village, our blisters and walking on the side of the verge to stay out of the path of the cyclists making it quite slow progress. The end of the walk is through the gathered crowds for the race, I am little disappointed no one thinks to cheer me to the end though

A new travelog on the Cote d’Azur coastal paths around St Raphel and St Tropez has been added to the site. Also about the resorts of Nice and Cannes.

photos from the y not festival in Derbyshire a couple of weeks ago.

The festival is small but perfect with a main stage and a acoustic tent. Acts alternate between them, so you can get to see them all. There was real ale and ciders instead of the usual garbage festival booze … and lots of mud!

A few photos added to the King of Burger section from Manchester … mainly taken around the Oxford Road backstreets and the North Quarter.

Visited the Don McCullen exhibition again. This time not at the weekend – it was still busier than usual but this time there was plenty of space to look round properly.

Don had visited Bradford on a number of occasions in the 70′s finding it a fertile photography location – people friendly and open to him, inviting him into their houses to photograph the squalor and ‘long tails’. ‘You couldn’t fail’ in Bradford…

I think this made the exhibition of particular interest to local people, and there are quality shots of local scenes/people from this period. There was none of his war photography, and some surprises – such as winter landscapes – which is a period he particularly likes to photograph … waiting keenly for the winter months when he can photograph the English rural scenes in the ‘cold harsh’ months.

There was a series of 4 short interviews on video. McCullen (in his late 70s?) talks about his early career, poverty, and Bradford interestingly, and the discussion of his roots in Finsbury Park, London, explains how he got into war/political photography – through national service in the RAF where he was posted in the photography department and pretty much taught himself, and says that had he not gone into to photography he would have probably become a criminal in the tough London area where there was little else for young men at the time.

He described his methods of driving into London from ‘the country’ putting on an overcoat and doc marten boots and walking into deprived areas of London … walking all day … sometimes getting pictures, sometimes not – but he would just come upon pictures as he turned the corner.

He says he makes himself obvious to his subjects and visually engages them so they are aware of him, before taking a photograph. Getting their implicit consent even if no words are spoken. There are clearly pictures where he hasn’t done this, and he talks in the interview about a man on crutches in Lumb Lane Bradford where the man attempts to hit him with a crutch … so it seems this is not his approach in every instance.

A quality exhibition … which it’s good to have locally – and good to see it being patronised well.

Dan’s idea … Y-Not indeed … early train over to Manni and on to Stockport for a pickup over to Buxton and then Derbyshire … festival ok to find, up a long track with a very muddy field on the right with some marooned cars. Some festival stewards suggested a council car park further on, and there was one space left just for us. Down the road and into the fest … no queues at all … magic! Then to the gate … the mud started … pretty much the whole area covered in a swamp. Wearing best trainers suddenly seemed pretty stuppid – most people were in wellies … doh, all those years at Leeds hadn’t prepared me for this. Staggered across to the beach bar cocktail tent and a sex on the beach … suddenly the mud didn’t seem so bad – I resigned myself to chucking my trainers in the bin – and off we went. A slippery slide over to the beer tent … ‘what no carling?’ ‘what no strongbow?’ what kind of festival was this … barrel after barrel of real ales … didn’t they know people came to festivals to drink the crappiest beer for the most overinflated prices from paper cups? Still I didn’t trust this real ale business so what about the ciders? Dave had bought a pint and now was looking a little unhappy with it … ‘ok, I’ll have that, you get some real ale if you must’. Ooof 7% with a very bitter aftertaste … took some drinking ‘haven’t you finished that pint yet?’ – ‘no I got a bit to go yet’.

Still we should try and see some of the bands I suppose…The Souvenirs…King Pleasure and the Biscuit Boys…HUW…Joe Summers..Minus IQ, they went by, Souvenirs & Minus IQ not too bad, King Pleasure best watched from a very long distance on coffee tables in the mud with bacon sandwich…HUW – cider kicking in viciously now – don’t remember ever being that disappointed about missing a dance music set, getting there on the last track, something a little strange about that cider … Joe Summers – a song about how the new rave movement had left him totally non-plussed … the bands were playing alternatively in the tent and the main stage so you could catch a bit of everyone – or just loiter in the beer tent or at the beach bar sipping vivid cocktails from plastic glasses …

The Dandilions hadn’t sounded too good on the spoiler CD I’d put together, but they were working SO hard. The crowd weren’t taking part too much, but the band got everyone on their feet, large portions of the crowd to dance … and finally a huge conga around the tent, brilliant, all on a Sunday afternoon towards the end of the festival. Detroit Social Club had sounded a little different from the indie fare – but it was the Sunshine Underground who really hit the festival spot! Ok they were a bit Manc or a bit Coral … but by then they sounded like the greatest band on earth!!! Sam Beeton was terrible in contrast and I went outside and sat in the muddy field watching the sunset, one field of party goers in a rural English landscape – black and white cows dotted around the rolling hills surrounding the field.

The Young Knives finished it off…laced with irony and self mockery – they were indie but quite different from the norm, 3 suited men playing to a field of partied out festival goers but with still just enough left in the tank … staggering back through the mud in the dark I was glad not to go down … back to the council car park and a quick escape back to Chorlton with only a few scratches.

Added new photographs from the Bradford Carnival or “Lord Mayor’s Parade” in July 2009. Once again this was brilliant with some fantastic costumes and street dancing …

Also added a page to show some the web design/development I’ve done over the past few years. Hopefully will keep this up to date.

Have started planning a stock photography site, first attempts with oscommerce and then zencart total failures. These carts not appropriate to selling stock. It’s gonna have to be bespoke, hooked into paypal/Google payments I think. Of the big three: Corbis, Alamy & Getty, the Corbis site looks the nicest, but I reckon with some Ajax it wouldn’t be too hard to get close to it.

Trish Morrissey ‘Front’ – an exhibition where Morrissey replaces a female member of a beach party – the fact/fiction idea again, but somehow while the pictures were ok, it wasn’t really that interesting enough for a full exhibition. Lost in Transit was a diverse exhibition of 13 new photographers, very varied styles and presentations, some very good; most memorable Murray Ballard’s cryonics set for me.

The North quarter of Manchester … another part of Manchester totally changed since my last wander round – probably not that long ago. Quite funkyfied – once only worth going there for Afflecks Palace – now lots of places to check out, including some good record shops.

Urbis had an exhibition of video games which I had to have a look at … 3 pounds in, that would have paid for 30 games of space invaders in myyyy day! But also apart from a fleeting mention of the ZX81 and BBc Micro, the video games were somewhat after my time. I was struck my how small the keyboard for the ZX Spectrum appeared, but then our hands may have been smaller in those days. Not sure what the need to have playable setups of the latest consoles was – wouldn’t it have been better to have games that you can’t see normally? Still I suppose everyone has there own nostalgia region for the machines they owned or played – maybe next time they should fill the whole of Urbis…

On the 2nd floor was an exhibition of modern art largely from New York, but I was more taken with the photography exhibition on the third floor, constructed images of Manchester the lightbox images were especially beautiful. Andrew Paul Brooks constructed the images digitally to make part real and part fictional visions of Manchester locations.

Manchester Art Gallery was sadly between exhibitions, and not a lot going on in there I hadn’t seen – there was a Peter Fraser photograph which reminded me of one of my tutors telling me I must get to see one of his books, but this was now rare, and I never saw. The image didn’t seem like it would be one of his best, still a nice reminder. Also Cornerhouse was between exhibitions – I left quickly in case I started buying lots of expensive magazines from the shop.

Photography from the Cote D’Azur: the Sentier du Littoral coastal path, Nice’s Promenade des Anglais and photographs from the old and new parts of the resorts: Cannes, Nice and St Raphael.