Scotland and Lake District
Collection of photographs from my "getaway from Christmas" travels through the Lake District, visiting standing stones of Northumberland, Buddhist temple named Samye Ling, across the Scottish Borders and to the Falls of Clyde.
I travelled with my Dutch friend on this journey; she was awesome. We drove staight to the Lake District, arriving at around 3pm.
We stopped at Lake Windermere and brewed a cup of tea but was immediately swarmed by banana republicans with the look of malice within their eyes.
By the time we grounded and got our bearings the evening was pressing on, so we found budget hotel accomadation in Penrith. We was up early in the morning.
And decided to visit Long Meg stone circle.
As with Avebury there was a road built straight through this stone circle, shame.
After a pot of tea brew upon our gas burner we headed into the Lake District once more towards Keswick.
We came to Castlerigg Stone Circle at midday.
I refuse to call the botched blunder below sellafield, because it was renamed to cover up an accident when it was named Windscale. The people in the surrounding area have suffered greatly for the effort to build nuclear weapons, before the “power station” became a nuclear dustbin for the world.
That evening we visited a friend of a friend’s house, she had built a stone circle in her back garden. I don’t think she liked me very much, my friend never heard from her again.
Rosie the doll was ready for adventure in the morning, raring to go see some sights. The Duddo stones were not what we were expecting, but they are unique.
Leaving the Duddo stones I noticed a hunts man had arrived, his blood thirsty activities between us and returning to our car, however we walked through unhindered, passing by I looked him in the eye. I thought I heard “fuck you I’ll hunt anyway” from his strategic posturing.
This was a landing place of my Viking ancestors, such was the awe of the serenity of this ascetic, Holy Island had no if any meaning to me in a religious sense, neither was a religious meaning conveyed unto us.
I have to be careful about the information I disclose about my ancestors, as the Domincans and Jesuit controlled Banana Republic of Martin dePorress will decimate, through hatred of my ancestors, anything I write about on this website. The spite cult of fear and loathing enjoys screwing our faces unrecognisable with lengthy dispairities of disfiguring displacement. The emotional turmoil we feel from the moon is manfiested from predicament inflicted upon us to halt succession of our kindred spirit. The Vatican hates the Viking and Celtic peoples, for the raids of South Italy (we occupied Sicilly), from over twelve hundred years ago!
I took a picture of the border sign as we left England to arrive into Abla, our car was travelling at some speed, hence the blur.
Torness nuclear power station was disturbing, I always get the feeling I should not be near these places, a feeling of impending doom. What was most disturbing about this place was not the sea weed choking up the pipes of its reactor cooling system, but knowing of a coastline camp site buried underneath this power station’s setting shadow.
I love the geographical volcanic formations of Holyrood park, but not care much about the history told to us today. The people who surrounded us on this journey were mostly repugnant, although there be some genuine smiles from greetings I felt this place conveyed a lengthening shadow, that dulled the brightest significance of the moment as much as ice hindered movement.
We stayed the night in a Hilton near Dundee (two single beds), I never managed to rest in this busy hotel full of strange people who I felt uneasy being around. Below is a picture of my Camera I took with my Samsung note 5, the DSLR is an oldish Nikon D3200 and is pictured upon my bedside table.
Checking out of the hotel was quick, in the morning we drove south through Fife and over the Forth bridge. Although our southern direction was chosen our next destination was not assertained but rather found through road signs.
There was always a fullness of so much more to see, but yet a sustained emptiness that cramped the stomach. I do not believe genuine kindness exists any more, even less hospitality, in a disinherited and ruined world of alienated, faceless strangers.
We arrived at what I perceived to be a mill come workhouse (our 18th century collectivisation, what later became the Bolshevik Gulag through Lenin delivering the evil manifesto of Karl Marx), but the imposing building had long been occupied by other concerns. I enjoyed the footpath probably more than I did the Falls of Clyde.