For 8 days in August my son, Rogan, and I went on a road-trip. Not a road-trip in the full American sense of the word – quite simply Britain isn’t big enough for those 3,000-mile coast-to-coast journeys that populate US literature and movies. However, our journey down to Devon, across to Wiltshire, up to Chesterfield and back to Scotland did cover 1,122 miles, so in British terms was reasonably respectable.
Primarily it was a chance to catch up with family, including several relatives Rogan had never met before where we couldn’t work out if they were 2nd cousins, 3rd cousins, or 1st cousins once removed. I’ve tried googling how these relationships are categorised, but there appears to be conflicting information about it.
We also managed not just a visit, but a photo shoot with blogging royalty. More of that in my next post, although some might already know, or guess, who and will no doubt be able to read her version of our encounter in the next few days.
Meanwhile, the title of this post refers to the large granite outcrops known as tors, which sit at the highest points across Dartmoor. They are always fun to climb up and clamber over, although the wind is usually pretty strong on top as there is no shelter from it in any direction.
As we stood at the top of Haytor (the name being a derivative of high tor), wondering if a sudden strong gust would throw us over the edge, Rogan started leaning into the wind, moving his body and arms through the air as it rushed around us. He was creating some great shapes so I took some photos, then handed the camera to him while I had a go.
Much fun and hilarity ensued.
As always you can click on the images for larger versions.
Rogan gets down with the groove
I suddenly realise I'm being photographed from side on and quickly suck in my belly
And I've just realised while we were away, this blog became 7 years old! If you want read what I've written about previous blogiversaries, you an find them here: 6th, 5th, 3rd and 2nd