“Sod the wine, I want to suck on the writing. This man White is an instinctive writer, bloody rare to find one who actually pulls it off, as in still gets a meaning across with concision. Sharp arbitrage of speed and risk, closest thing I can think of to Cicero’s ‘motus continuum animi.’

Probably takes a drink or two to connect like that: he literally paints his senses on the page.”

DBC Pierre (Vernon God Little, Ludmila’s Broken English, Lights Out In Wonderland ... Winner: Booker prize; Whitbread prize; Bollinger Wodehouse Everyman prize; James Joyce Award from the Literary & Historical Society of University College Dublin)





09 September 2018


As spring is in but dry I find myself wanting to keep a photographic record. 

More than usual, I mean. 

That's Yangarra's Ironheart Vineyard in the foreground above, looking out across another neighbours' vineyard on the fen. That remnant coppice on the left is a roo ghetto.

It's suddenly the beginning of blossom time out the back of Casa Blanca.

Took a walk up the near creek this afternoon, to the High Sands Grenache. That's still a frigid hill at this time of year. This is the dovecote near the mulch heap.

I interrupted a few slumbering roos whilst fumbling for this shot of my back door out on the shoulder. This creek hasn't run yet this year, but the smaller ponds have some water and  there's plenty of feed ... all for the roos now budburst is imminent and the sheep have gone for the year ... all photos Philip White

This is the season for very chill nights when there's no wind or cloud, many bright sunny days, and this year, not nearly enough rain. 

It can still suddenly storm up though, like it did on this afternoon last October:

No comments: