Wednesday, 14 December 2016

The Book of December: Life Lately

On Sunday, I woke just before dawn. I was early enough to hear the cockerel crowing and the sloping valley in front of the farm was drowned beneath a blanket of winter mist. I crept out of the house and started my car, the rumble of the engine sounding so unnatural and perverse on this silent morning. That Sunday was enchanting. I drove to Dartmoor for the first time to meet a good friend (known fondly as Abble Pie by me) who got engaged a few months back and to take some photographs for her and her fiance, D. The drive up there was beyond beautiful and therapeutic and I'm going to use the word 'serendipitous' here for the first time. Everything about that morning was accidentally perfect and any winter blues that I may have been feeling were dissolved by the comeliness of the landscape on a midwinter's morn. It seemed Cornwall itself was sleeping beneath the mists and as I drove up hills, I rose out of it to be greeted by clear blue skies and to witness the world as one sees it from an airplane; beneath an ocean of cloud, with the odd wind turbine and families of trees peeping through the fog. I wish I could have photographed those moments. I was overcome by the sheer perfection and serenity in the moment, to see the sun like a golden orb gleaming behind the haze of the sea fog, to see the hills rise like islands above the clouds and to be listening to the Sunday morning folk sessions on radio two. I wept like a babe to the sounds of Kate Rusby and the sight of a world I barely felt worthy of witnessing, a special world reserved for one winter's morning a year at the crack of dawn.


Monday, 5 December 2016

Faded Heather: Tales from Goonhilly Downs

These downs are a curious place, an old place place. Older than the villages that surround it, untouched and left to be wild. Older than any of the structures and marks left by lives now finished, scattered across the heathland. Perhaps there are reasons why nobody wished to tame this wild place, maybe out of respect, fear or practicality because they go on for seemingly ever. 

There are most mysterious tales that surround the downs, local legends that are still as thriving as the unique species of plants that grow on the heath. There aren't just rare orchids and leeches to be found in these parts, but also derelict cottages belonging to highwaymen hundreds of years ago, abandoned gardens of unmarked graves and stories of ghost sightings along the great stretch of road that passes through. 

Saturday, 26 November 2016

Seabirds & Shutters: Thoughts on ambition, careers & the story of Salty Sea Photography

What came first? The Salty Sea blog or Salty Sea Photography? 

I doubt any of you (even my family) remember my blog being under any other name. But if you scroll back through the years, to the nostalgic era of blogs that were so wonderfully handmade, patchwork & different from today's clean white, editorial-esque & pristine templated variety, back to the days when nearly everyone kept a barely-read blog which we poured our heart and souls into as if we were writing to the entire universe, you wouldn't have found the Salty Sea blog as you see it now. There was no bloglovin', the vlogger generation hadn't risen yet and everyone's space was like a delightful, GCSE art scrapbook of colour, personality, playful outfits & crafty endeavours. However you could still find me writing random-meandering-journal entires to the internet... on a blog named Daydreams & other fairytales. Those were nostalgic times indeed. I often find myself missing many blogs that have stopped existing, blogs that belonged to those days and have extinguished like a candle reaching the end of it's life, finding no place in this new, modern blogging world which I must say, I've never felt like I belong in. 


Saturday, 12 November 2016

When the Swallows Left Us Behind

Winter was sudden in Cornwall. There was no slow build up, no gradual accumulation of frost and gentle dropping of the leaves onto the winding country roads.
No, there was a gust of wind and overnight, the idling autumn became winter as if somebody had reached the end of the chapter of a book. It was sudden and wilful. I was not prepared for it and all the dread and foreboding that I usually reserve for the winternoons had no time to manifest. 
All that there was was joy, relief and the now. Now was winter. Now was serene and calm and isolated. Now was the most beautiful moment that ever was. 

Tuesday, 11 October 2016

Life on the Apple Farm

Of one thing you can always be sure, and that is that good weather must follow bad weather, even after weeks of dreary mists & windy tempests. 

After writing my last post, the clouds dissolved and both metaphorically and literally and the delicate, autumn sun rays broke through. Writing my last post felt like letting go of a particularly melancholic balloon that attracted lots of sad things and complained bitterly about it's misfortune. It was as though by confessing something I was almost ashamed to whinge about, I cleared my head and made way for a fresh beginning. This last week has been exhausting but so lovely. It began with a memorable trip to London to photograph an engagement. George & I made a little trip out of it and had such fun exploring the city which is always so divine in the autumn. The next day was an incredibly delightful day. It was the day we received the keys to the little cottage that we are to call home for a period of time and the start of a brand new chapter. It is official, I am no longer a student. I am no longer in the cushy care of loving family who will cook yummy things and do my laundry. I am an adult in possession of independence (at the grand age of 25 eh?) and I've no idea what's going to happen to me or where I'm going to go.
But one thing is for certain: I am living in my beloved Cornwall on a delightful apple farm by the creek and each day I wake to the crow of the cockerel and by night we sleep to the song of the owl. It is wonderful and soothing and so therapeutic, my soul has been needing this for the longest time. And it's finally happened. We are here and together and it's wonderful.


Wednesday, 28 September 2016

Fortunes & Misfortunes: The Hardest Months of my Life

My Nan pulled me up on something a few weeks ago. She said that my blog had gone from being a 'happy blog' to something more 'dreary'. She said I had stopped writing about the positive things in life and that I was focusing more on negatives. She said she didn't want to read about the sad things, only the happy - but I don't think life always works that way. We can create a facade with a blog, put a show on for the world and pretend everything is perfect, but that isn't an accurate representation of things. That's just a fairy story. 

Wednesday, 24 August 2016

Confessions of an Internet-Avoider: Why I Struggle with Being Online

I feel like the time has come to fess up to something I've really struggled with for years, something I'm quite embarrassed to admit and something that is probably going to raise your eyebrows with scepticism. But it's something I feel I need to talk about, almost an apology or explanation for being the worst blogger in the online community. 

Friday, 5 August 2016

Garden & Forage: The Very Best Graduation Meal at The Pig near Bath

Nestled in a valley a few miles on the outskirts of old town Bath, amongst a kitchen farm of apple trees, vegetable patches and lavender, sits a handsome manor house with a most curious name. Inside its doors, rustic country style meets elegant classic architecture with an unpretentious medley of eclectic decor. Imagine having evening dinner in your granddad's greenhouse but having that food served by lovely smiling strangers; dinner at 'The Pig' is something like that. 

Monday, 1 August 2016

When What Feels Like the End of the Journey is Actually the Very Beginning: What I Really Learned at University

I first began this blog when I started University. That was a whole four years ago. My only readers  then were my Nan and my Dad, the two people with whom I wanted to share my  experience and keep in touch with, for I am truly awful at keeping touch - easily distracted, forgetful and more than a little bit afraid of phones.


Thursday, 21 July 2016

Mythical West Cornwall: Lands End & The Merry Maidens

You know those days that will last in your memory forever? Even without photographs? The sort of day where nature knows exactly what you need and provides two whimsy-enthusiasts with enough enchanting feats of fairytale-nature-wowness to fuel their idle dreams for a whole summer? Sunday was one of those days, a kind of day that I dream about when the skies are dreary and a kind of day that reminds me, in spite of the horribleness that is casting a shadow over the world, that there is beauty and serenity and a very real sort of magic. 
Sunday began at the far end of the island, the very end. 
        Where there is only wild, choppy waves and winds and a wuthered lighthouse perched steadfastly and stubbornly on its rock, the way it always has done decade upon decade. That lighthouse has seen all of the weathers, and that's more than I can say for me.


Thursday, 7 July 2016

The Golden Rules of Instagram & Why We Don't Get Along

Today I'm going to take a different route on my blog, steer away from my usual "I love the sea" spiel, float adrift from my endless Ocean/Cornwall fan-girling photographs and focus on something utterly material, utterly 1st world and utterly blogger: Instagram.


Thursday, 19 May 2016

OOTD: Raised On The Radio

It's not altogether often you'll come across a style related post on the Salty Sea Blog. But this place is my scrapbook after all & a place for fun, experimentation and an abundance of goofing about. I guess I never take myself 'seriously' enough to make a fashion post, nor do I consider myself an authority on fashion. I've always thought fashion posts to be serious business, and me far too silly.'but that's not true at all (the part about fashion posts being serious I mean, I'm plenty silly). 
Living in that limbo of empty time between having finished my classes, just waiting for my grades and moving back home, I've got more free time than I know what to do with. I'll be honest, I don't necessarily know what to do with it either. I'm not one for being stuck indoors and with the beautiful weather, I've wandered the canals, botanical gardens and rivers in the last two weeks more than I have done all year. Muggy grey weather has found us again (Because this is Britain after all) and with it comes the rain. So today, I decided I wanted to experiment, have some fun and put together a black and white/retro style shoot inspired by the 50's era in Britain. 


Friday, 13 May 2016

The Nasty Truths of Student Renting: Non-Pintrestworthy Bedrooms & Frankenstein Homes

Sometimes you might get lucky with a student let. You may find a private landlord, a nice, dry and airy home with hot water and a garden, and it may even be the thing of instagram dreams. Your rent may even be affordable. You, are one fortunate individual. Sadly, our house is not that house. House? Did I say house? sorry, what I meant was - Jumble of misshapen, damp rooms that are secretly a  draughty greenhouse cultivating mould and dry rot disguised as a ground floor flat. 
Today, I'm going to tell you the sorry tale of our student letting experiences. 

Friday, 6 May 2016

Wildflowers on the Helford River

“It's lovely to live on a raft. We had the sky, up there, all speckled with stars, and we used to lay on our backs and look up at them, and discuss about whether they was made, or only just happened- Jim he allowed they was made, but I allowed they happened; I judged it would have took too long to make so many.” 
― Mark TwainThe Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

I live somewhat impulsively, 
I wouldn't be able to exist any other way.


Saturday, 23 April 2016

Foxes & Ferns: Our Botanical Engagement shoot

As soon as we started wedding planning, everybody bombarded us with the question: "Who's going to photograph your wedding?!" 
George and I are fully launching our wedding photography business this summer as an all out, full-time profession and not just a fun, enterprising, university distraction where I get a legit reason to procrastinate from my degree and take photographs of beautiful people. Lots of our friends and family joked that we'd be photographing our own wedding, using a shutter and a tripod and we sort of laughed nervously. Neither of us could imagine anything more tricky and unappealing! 

Tuesday, 19 April 2016

Coffee + Blossom

Yesterday, I took the last train that I ever would, back to Bath. 
Well, I'm sort of over exaggerating. I probably will take the train to Bath again one day, but this would be the final time I would do it as a student and resident of this delightful city. 
It didn't feel as big as it should have done. 
It felt regular. 
Just an everyday journey. 
I'm struggling to define my life by firsts and lasts these days.
Everything comes and goes in a natural flow and my consciousness barely registers their passing. 
I'm far more focused on being.


Monday, 11 April 2016

Cloud Watching & Weather Lore

'Red sky at night, shepherds delight. Red sky in morning, shepherds warning'

To say that I am fascinated by the weather is an understatement. I adore the weather. All kinds of weather. Storms, fog, mists, rain, sun, showers, high pressure fronts, winds, stillness, auroras, electricals, gales ... I could go on and on. As a child, my favourite story was Wizard of Oz because I was obsessed with tornados and my love of weather has influenced my life so much, that I'm writing a novel about a runaway boy named Aubrey Cirrus who flies a hot air balloon around the sky. It's a kids novel - it's allowed to be daft, okay? :P It's called 'Archipelago of Skye' but if you know me, you already know this!

Thursday, 17 March 2016

Up the Garden Path: Why I'm Moving back Home after University

Some people would say it's a step backwards to return home after University. Others would say that returning to a place like Cornwall, with the economy the way it is, is an even bigger mistake. 

Friday, 4 March 2016

An Alternative Guide to Bath, England

If you haven't heard of Bath, then you're probably not from England or very confused about this post title and have come here searching for quirky advice on how to wash yourself. If you are looking for such advice, I am sorry that you I cannot help you here. This post is utterly devoid of Bath tubs or Icelandic blue hot springs. Accept my humblest apologies. Perhaps you'd like to browse this tour of one of England's most bourgeoise and beautiful, old cities anyway? There is in fact a hot spring dwelling deep beneath the town, and we do have some nifty Roman Bath remains. 

Sunday, 14 February 2016

Post Notes from Wells

Last week, it seemed as though the grey and gloom would never let up and so to lift our spirits, my dear friend Jess and I took an exceedingly long bus journey from Bath bus station to the teeny-tiny city of Wells in Somerset. The bus snaked through winding villages and twisting lanes while the rain dribbled down the window panes. We bumped over pot holes and were flung about as the bus turned sharp corners. After spending a long winter confined to the one city, I had forgotten what it felt like to travel to other places and take public transport. 

Wednesday, 10 February 2016

Cafes for Writing in Bath

If you're a student or ever have been at University, self employed or working from home, you'll be well acquainted with the twin demons of procrastination and distraction. You've possibly left the warm, protective cocoon of secondary school with its simple homework and spoon feeding teaching methods and now it's you who's responsible for your work flow. Nobody is checking up on you, nobody is telling you how much you need to be working and it's all too easy to resign yourself to a day working from the sofa swaddled in blankets, which we all know will eventually result in a binge of (in my case) 'Being Human', a spring clean of the entire flat,  a tempting book or a hearty session on the Sims 2. 

Saturday, 23 January 2016

Skis and Flurries

The world high up, the world that sits above the clouds, where the land carries on, is like something I'm not entirely convinced I could have even painted in a dream. Up there, craggy hillocks and snow-littered conifers jut out of the wispy nimbus like desert islands in a world where the sea is made of cloud (I suppose well and truly, that the sea is made of the same stuff as cloud if you want to get pernickety, just in a different state :P) 

Tuesday, 19 January 2016


We were foolish in hindsight; the pathways were slippery and the mud was glistening with dew from the morning rain but undeterred, we ploughed on over the rocks and up the winding, narrow path ways that burrowed into the sides of the ravine. I thought of the people who had dug out and made those paths years and years ago and dilly-dallied on day dreams of what the ravine may have looked like then; rogue and unadulterated by the foot steps of generations of hikers. I was silly enough to look down, overpowered by my masochistic curiosity and I realised at that moment how one misplaced foot might send any of us tumbling down into the Cascades. But the French (Clementine and Alban) ploughed on and I realised how mountain rambling felt so far from our own rambling.  Here I felt challenged, out of my comfort zone, wary. But coastal cliffs? Alpine ravines? Is there really a difference? I swallowed my apprehension and ignored the unpleasant, damp mossiness on my hands from gripping the hooks and bars placed into the rocks to help you climb and followed my friends to the true prize buried at the other end of the pathways; the falls. 

Tuesday, 12 January 2016

Middle of the Mountains

As the airplane descended, rocky, wintery hills emerged and our game of "who can spot the mountains first" became pointless. We fell silent, in awe of the countryside beneath us that was utterly different from our rolling, patchwork farms of southern England. Lights twinkled and the quaint and quirky city in the middle of the mountains that was Grenoble, welcomed us with its little red roofs and sprawling tram cables and I could almost smell the French bread waiting for me in the boulingeries. But forget the french bread, somebody was waiting for me, and that somebody was one of my oldest, favourite friends Clementine who I hadn't seen in over a year. There was a lot of  hugging and squealing in Grenbole's teeny tiny airport, and we received many strange looks from the large groups of students who had travelled to these parts for the skiing. 

Wednesday, 6 January 2016

Wooden Boats

Welcome to my neighbourhood everybody, it's about time I showed you all around! The truth is, if you've been reading my blog long enough... you will have already had a few snippets of where I live as the Kennet and Avon canal system is a regular haunt of mine and a place I will truly miss when I graduate at the end of this year. 
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