I never met Bobby Robson, I can't claim to have met him briefly as he made his way to the dugout during a football match or some training session, there is no "there was this one time....." story telling of a brief meeting with the man, in fact the closest and indeed very, very tenuous connection to the man is that I used to be in a relationship with a girl who lived in Langley Park - early home of Bobby Robson.
A relationship that, when it ended, I thought was pretty much the end of the world and one that looking back I handled very badly and which affected future relationships for a long time after.
Still, what you gonna do that's part of growing up!
I can't even claim to be a fanatical football supporter. Not any more. I used to like it when I was younger and Newcastle United was the team I followed. I used to make the journey with a couple of mates from
Witton Gilbert, a neighbouring village to Langley Park and close to where I lived, to go and see the
'toon army in action.
I
remember standing, usually in the rain, in what was affectionately called 'the corner' long before the all seating stadium came about and along with my fellow fans used to chant with increasing volume and excitement "the corner, the corner, the corner..." as a way to highlight to the rest of the stadium that we were, in fact, the loudest of all fans there that day - seems a completely pointless exercise now thinking back but that's what you do at football matches.
I remember peering around all the heads of the people in front of me trying to keep an eye on the game and the feel of the excitement rise as we were attacking, the buzz passing through the
crowd as everyone waited in
expectation for the goal to be scored and the brief second of almost total silence before the eruption into a frenzied dance of shouting and celebration.
Or the groans and curses as the ball went wide!
As a young lad standing in the midst of all these full on 'proper'
geordie blokes it was a bit intimidating - the smell of alcohol around you from their
pre-match drink in the Strawberry, listening to the kind of language that you only hear at football matches, the 'words of wisdom' on football tactics and managerial advice expressed in the shortest, most succinct ways and in ways that would never be used by the current media football pundits!
The swaying of the tightly packed crowd as it moved like a sea of wheat swaying in a breeze.
The chants of derision aimed at the board for their most recent and seemingly stupid decisions.
The way we pretended, we thought convincingly and I'm sure now in hindsight that we didn't pull it off, to be older and more worldly wise than our years showed to try and be proper blokes.
I don't live in that area any more, I have never had any contact with the mates that I used to have from that area, even though we were really close mates - Darren, Jimmy, Martin, Lee (RIP) - I don't see the girl I used to go out with anymore - although I do still think about them all from time to time. After joining the Army I moved away and my interest in football dwindled and finally reached the stage where I didn't even pay any attention to the results on a Saturday.
My life has moved on.
When I heard the news about
Bobby Robson's death, it felt strange - listening to the fans
telling about their experiences with football - it made me think about other times - some better, some worse, but it shows that he was a bloke who has influenced much in the football world and by making people, me, think of other times has influenced much more.
Howay the lads!
I never met Bobby Robson, I can't claim to have met him briefly as he made his way to the dugout during a football match or some training session, there is no "there was this one time....." story telling of a brief meeting with the man, in fact the closest and indeed very, very tenuous connection to the man is that I used to be in a relationship with a girl who lived in Langley Park - early home of Bobby Robson.
In the middle of the Cathedral there is a fountain that allows the water to flow over the rim of the fountain and creates a mirror effect which is good for playing around with reflection shots.
Photographing in these places can be a little intimidating at first, especially in the current climate when anyone with a camera is a terrorist or some such bullshit but if you go about your business like you should be there and act professionally then you tend to get left alone - at least in my experience, but I will be sure to post here should I get some hassle off someone next time!
The event is attended by a wide range of people - Druids, old hippies and younger ones, travellers, young party goers, older people, families with small children and err photographers! This event is the one and only time during the year when people can get, literally, right next to the stones, some of which are more than fifty tonnes in weight. With the centre of the stones the focus point for the 'official' druid ceremonies people radiate out from the centre and wander around or sit with friends on blankets and plastic sheeting holding impromptu jamming sessions with all manor of instruments including guitars, drums, tambourines, violins, flutes and harmonicas.
There was a heavy police presence but this years event passed peacefully with only 37 arrests, although there were obvious signs that drugs still play a part for some at these events, but for most, alcohol provided all that was needed to get them in the swing of things.
A recent trip to Eastern Africa and the Samburu region of Kenya provided opportunity to photograph the people from the area.
