St Peter and St Paul, Langham, Rutland

You leave Oakham on the road into Leicestershire, and shortly come to the large, apparently undistinguished village of Langham. The name is one of the most common placenames in England, meaning simply 'long village'. But I remember this Langham for a reason I am sure many other people do. Twenty-odd years ago we used to go this way to visit friends in Derby, and if you wound down the car window at Langham you might just catch a delicious whiff of malted barley being heated, for the village was home to one of the great independent family breweries of England, Ruddles.

The day came when Ruddles was taken over Morlands of Abingdon, who closed the Langham brewery, but who were in their turn taken over by the rapacious Greene King, who closed the Abingdon brewery as well as the Langham one, and switched production of both Ruddles and Morland's Old Speckled Hen to Bury St Edmunds. But of course neither beer was ever the same.

Ruddles was a victim of its own success. In 1996, Ruddles County bitter was voted the best beer in the world no less, and was advertised on national commercial television. It even achieved 'protected geographical status', one of only three English beers to do so. But by then the brewery had only a year of its life left. I remember seeing the brewery buildings closed and derelict soon after, but they are all gone today, to be replaced by typically characterless housing. The name remains in Ruddles Avenue.

Not far off is the church of St Peter and St Paul, which Pevsner records as being large and imposing, which is certainly true, although it is a bit quirky as well, because the huge south transept is no longer balanced by the one on the north side, giving the church the shape of a letter T.

The tall spire is visible for miles, and the church is set in a wide, open churchyard. As Pevsner also observes, the interior is large, airy and spacious, but perhaps a little dull, and this is not unfair. The leaven in the lump is one of the largest expanses of Ninian Comper glass in the country, the vast windows in the east of the chancel (the orders of angels, 1907) and the transept (a selection of favourite Saints, 1912) both being his. Otherwise there is not much to set the pulses racing, but it is all pleasant enough and obviously well-loved, looked after and used.

Outside in the churchyard I noticed the grave of Sir Kenneth Ruddle, a member of the brewing family dynasty. All gone today.

St Peter and St Paul, Langham, Rutland

You leave Oakham on the road into Leicestershire, and shortly come to the large, apparently undistinguished village of Langham. The name is one of the most common placenames in England, meaning simply 'long village'. But I remember this Langham for a reason I am sure many other people do. Twenty-odd years ago we used to go this way to visit friends in Derby, and if you wound down the car window at Langham you might just catch a delicious whiff of malted barley being heated, for the village was home to one of the great independent family breweries of England, Ruddles.

The day came when Ruddles was taken over Morlands of Abingdon, who closed the Langham brewery, but who were in their turn taken over by the rapacious Greene King, who closed the Abingdon brewery as well as the Langham one, and switched production of both Ruddles and Morland's Old Speckled Hen to Bury St Edmunds. But of course neither beer was ever the same.

Ruddles was a victim of its own success. In 1996, Ruddles County bitter was voted the best beer in the world no less, and was advertised on national commercial television. It even achieved 'protected geographical status', one of only three English beers to do so. But by then the brewery had only a year of its life left. I remember seeing the brewery buildings closed and derelict soon after, but they are all gone today, to be replaced by typically characterless housing. The name remains in Ruddles Avenue.

Not far off is the church of St Peter and St Paul, which Pevsner records as being large and imposing, which is certainly true, although it is a bit quirky as well, because the huge south transept is no longer balanced by the one on the north side, giving the church the shape of a letter T.

The tall spire is visible for miles, and the church is set in a wide, open churchyard. As Pevsner also observes, the interior is large, airy and spacious, but perhaps a little dull, and this is not unfair. The leaven in the lump is one of the largest expanses of Ninian Comper glass in the country, the vast windows in the east of the chancel (the orders of angels, 1907) and the transept (a selection of favourite Saints, 1912) both being his. Otherwise there is not much to set the pulses racing, but it is all pleasant enough and obviously well-loved, looked after and used.

Outside in the churchyard I noticed the grave of Sir Kenneth Ruddle, a member of the brewing family dynasty. All gone today.

St Peter and St Paul, Langham, Rutland

You leave Oakham on the road into Leicestershire, and shortly come to the large, apparently undistinguished village of Langham. The name is one of the most common placenames in England, meaning simply 'long village'. But I remember this Langham for a reason I am sure many other people do. Twenty-odd years ago we used to go this way to visit friends in Derby, and if you wound down the car window at Langham you might just catch a delicious whiff of malted barley being heated, for the village was home to one of the great independent family breweries of England, Ruddles.

The day came when Ruddles was taken over Morlands of Abingdon, who closed the Langham brewery, but who were in their turn taken over by the rapacious Greene King, who closed the Abingdon brewery as well as the Langham one, and switched production of both Ruddles and Morland's Old Speckled Hen to Bury St Edmunds. But of course neither beer was ever the same.

Ruddles was a victim of its own success. In 1996, Ruddles County bitter was voted the best beer in the world no less, and was advertised on national commercial television. It even achieved 'protected geographical status', one of only three English beers to do so. But by then the brewery had only a year of its life left. I remember seeing the brewery buildings closed and derelict soon after, but they are all gone today, to be replaced by typically characterless housing. The name remains in Ruddles Avenue.

Not far off is the church of St Peter and St Paul, which Pevsner records as being large and imposing, which is certainly true, although it is a bit quirky as well, because the huge south transept is no longer balanced by the one on the north side, giving the church the shape of a letter T.

The tall spire is visible for miles, and the church is set in a wide, open churchyard. As Pevsner also observes, the interior is large, airy and spacious, but perhaps a little dull, and this is not unfair. The leaven in the lump is one of the largest expanses of Ninian Comper glass in the country, the vast windows in the east of the chancel (the orders of angels, 1907) and the transept (a selection of favourite Saints, 1912) both being his. Otherwise there is not much to set the pulses racing, but it is all pleasant enough and obviously well-loved, looked after and used.

Outside in the churchyard I noticed the grave of Sir Kenneth Ruddle, a member of the brewing family dynasty. All gone today.

St Margaret, Fleggburgh, Norfolk

As you head eastwards, Norfolk falls away behind you. The landscape simplifies, as though the wind from the grey North Sea has scoured it of anything inessential. In late winter, with the fields ploughed and the caravan parks empty, it can seem a tabula rasa, an empty slate, cleansed and waiting.

The village is called Fleggburgh, but the parish is Burgh St Margaret. It lies a few miles inland from the sprawling resorts of Yarmouth, Caister and Hemsby, but its fate is very much tied to theirs. The area's biggest employer is the leisure industry, and the east Norfolk towns and villages seem empty outside of high summer. And, just as the seaside towns rose to prominence in the late 19th century, so there was a knock-on effect in the hinterland. Outside of Norwich, this is the only part of Norfolk where the population was actually rising in the 1870s and 1880s, and this pretty church underwent a major renewal, an almost complete rebuilding, at the hands of Diocesan architect Herbert Green.

Along with his predecessor Richard Phipson, Green bestrides the landscape of church Victorianisation in East Anglia. The bodies of their work are considerable, and it wasn't just their own plans; anyone else's work would also have to cross their desks for them to cast a cold eye upon it. Their enthusiasms were as different from each others as it is possible to be, I suppose. Phipson was a technician, with an eye for detail. In restorations, his innovations blend fairly seamlessly into the medieval, which sounds good, but often leaves a rather dour, characterless atmosphere. Sometimes he went mad, producing extraordinary spires on a couple of churches in the Stowmarket area, and he could be very impressive on a grand scale, such as the complete rebuilding of St Mary le Tower in Ipswich.

Herbert Green, on the other hand, was a Victorian first and an medievalist second. Sometimes it is hard to see the medieval origins at all behind his rebuildings, scourings and facades. Here at Burgh, he built a 'Perpendicular' nave and a 'Decorated' chancel and tower, which is of course exactly the relationship you find at so many rural medieval churches in East Anglia. It's just that here it isn't real - to all intents and purposes, this is a faux medieval Norfolk parish church.

The harsh blue knapped flints would look even worse if it wasn't for the thatching that softens them. One curiosity - note how high the gables at the east end of the nave and chancel rise above the thatch. That on the nave is even higher than the bell windows of the tower. This must be because they are substantially the medieval originals. But nothing else is, I think. The red-brick arching to the windows helps a bit, but really this is a severe exterior, and knapped flint on such a scale would soon fall out of fashion, to be replaced by the cosiness of the Arts and Crafts movement. We can already see this happening here, for there is a cottage dormer window above the porch to be thankful for. It is here for a reason, because it lights the little gallery tucked into the roof space.

Inside, everything is Herbert Green's, pretty much. There is no tower arch, just a doorway, through which you can access the gallery. The furnishings are all of a piece, and the font is in the style of the 15th century. Green was very fond of Norman fonts, so it is interesting that here he chose a font to match the (imitation) Perpendicular nave rather than the (real) Norman south doorway. The stone reredos is perhaps more in Green's heavy style.

There are a couple of items of interest. A figure brass of 1608 remembers Richard Burton, the minister of this parish; it is remounted in a marble setting on the chancel wall. Opposite it is a moving memorial to George Thompson Fisher, who died in WWI. He was son of the Rector here who had overseen Green's rebuilding, and who was, incidentally, the very last Bishop of Ipswich.

The jewel in the crown of all this is the east window of 1968 by Paul Jefferies, in the uninhibited dynamic style of the time. It features the figures of St Margaret, St Luke and the Blessed Virgin. St Luke's bull looks a cheery sort, and St Margaret dispatches her dragon with aplomb. Mary, who is shown as the Queen of Heaven, is a little less vigorous than the other two figures. Her lack of an accompanying animal throws the composition slightly out of balance, and you wonder why she wasn't placed in the central light.

St Peter and St Paul, Langham, Rutland

You leave Oakham on the road into Leicestershire, and shortly come to the large, apparently undistinguished village of Langham. The name is one of the most common placenames in England, meaning simply 'long village'. But I remember this Langham for a reason I am sure many other people do. Twenty-odd years ago we used to go this way to visit friends in Derby, and if you wound down the car window at Langham you might just catch a delicious whiff of malted barley being heated, for the village was home to one of the great independent family breweries of England, Ruddles.

The day came when Ruddles was taken over Morlands of Abingdon, who closed the Langham brewery, but who were in their turn taken over by the rapacious Greene King, who closed the Abingdon brewery as well as the Langham one, and switched production of both Ruddles and Morland's Old Speckled Hen to Bury St Edmunds. But of course neither beer was ever the same.

Ruddles was a victim of its own success. In 1996, Ruddles County bitter was voted the best beer in the world no less, and was advertised on national commercial television. It even achieved 'protected geographical status', one of only three English beers to do so. But by then the brewery had only a year of its life left. I remember seeing the brewery buildings closed and derelict soon after, but they are all gone today, to be replaced by typically characterless housing. The name remains in Ruddles Avenue.

Not far off is the church of St Peter and St Paul, which Pevsner records as being large and imposing, which is certainly true, although it is a bit quirky as well, because the huge south transept is no longer balanced by the one on the north side, giving the church the shape of a letter T.

The tall spire is visible for miles, and the church is set in a wide, open churchyard. As Pevsner also observes, the interior is large, airy and spacious, but perhaps a little dull, and this is not unfair. The leaven in the lump is one of the largest expanses of Ninian Comper glass in the country, the vast windows in the east of the chancel (the orders of angels, 1907) and the transept (a selection of favourite Saints, 1912) both being his. Otherwise there is not much to set the pulses racing, but it is all pleasant enough and obviously well-loved, looked after and used.

Outside in the churchyard I noticed the grave of Sir Kenneth Ruddle, a member of the brewing family dynasty. All gone today.

The Boring Store, 1331 N Milwaukee Ave. I have some shots from inside the store... but I decided to not ruin the surprise.

All you need to know is that if you are in Chicago, you would do yourself a great disservice to NOT visit this store. You won't be disappointed. Oh, and check out the 826 org. It's a good thing, a very good thing.

"No longer supplying anything of utility.

The region's first exclusive supplier of holes (not to mention equipment used for making holes in things such as drills, augers, awls, punches, bradawls, very sharp sticks, and, of course, the ever-popular gimlet) we were surprised a year or two after opening our doors that most customers who happened to stop in conceived of us only as purveyors of characterless, dreary, banal, mundane, tiresome and tedious merchandise. Well, after some prolonged consideration, and after two pears of absolutely no business whatsoever, to say nothing of not wanting to be accused of misrepresenting our inventory, we were more than happy to point out to said customers that such things as holes, drills, augers, awls, punches, bradawls, very sharp sticks, and, of course, the ever-popular gimlet, could actually be considered, at least among the general lay populace, somewhat lackluster, if not genuinely and irretrievably dull. Needles to say, these customers usually left in disgust, and rarely returned."

Taken in my first year at Selly Oak Boys School in Birmingham 1972. If you have seen the film Kes, thats what it was like. Regular canings from Mr Leeke or Mr Waldron an ex lancaster bomber pilot who would speak to you and still move his chin adjusting an invisible flying helmet strap, an hilarious memory of lovely old english tweed suited characters, wearing RAF tie's, sadly never to be seen again, and since replaced by the characterless, boring, toe touching, and very corrupt 'queer' pc brigade . Nobody complained about their human rights and it was easier than doing homework!!! Ten kids all shoving their hands under the cold taps in the toilets, I still laugh about it today Lol! Unlike the big soft pussies running around today. We all loved mr Leeke, tough but fair! Mr Amos deserves a mention, (Green tweeds and cavalry twill, lower school) he was small but developed an amazing ability to leap in the air and bring the cane down harder lol!! The incredible flying tweeds!

St Mary, Bucklesham, Suffolk

Set down a quiet lane not far from its village centre, this is an attractive little church despite a relatively undistinguished pedigree. Small churches which were largely rebuilt during the second half of the 19th Century can sometimes be a little characterless, but not so here.

The rebuilding took place throughout 1878, and when the church reopened after being closed for nearly a year, there were, according to the Ipswich Journal, gasps of astonishment at the impressive and radical alterations. The nave had been extended and a new south aisle and chancel added. Not much had survived the restorers, but early 14th Century doorways were retained, the one on the north side with its external holy water stoup. Some work was retained from an earlier restoration in the 1840s, including the east and west windows which were reset in the new walls.

Inside, the church retains its 17th Century pulpit and 15th Century font. In medieval times this must have been quite an impressive church, judging by the foundations of the great west tower which were uncovered in the 1920s. But centuries of neglect meant that by the 18th century it had fallen, and like many rural Suffolk churches, St Mary was virtually derelict by the time of its restoration.

A sign of changing attitudes to old buildings is the London newspaper which reported at the time of the rebuilding that the old church had been conspicuous by its ugliness. It added that fortunately, its situation was not a prominent one, so that only those living in Bucklesham remember it as an eyesore. As much as we might have preferred the old church to the new nowadays, I think this trim little building would still please the Victorian villagers today.

Sword art online 2 - Swag from Hyper Japan show ( this year at the corporate, confused and characterless O2 rather than earls court)

St Peter and St Paul, Langham, Rutland

You leave Oakham on the road into Leicestershire, and shortly come to the large, apparently undistinguished village of Langham. The name is one of the most common placenames in England, meaning simply 'long village'. But I remember this Langham for a reason I am sure many other people do. Twenty-odd years ago we used to go this way to visit friends in Derby, and if you wound down the car window at Langham you might just catch a delicious whiff of malted barley being heated, for the village was home to one of the great independent family breweries of England, Ruddles.

The day came when Ruddles was taken over Morlands of Abingdon, who closed the Langham brewery, but who were in their turn taken over by the rapacious Greene King, who closed the Abingdon brewery as well as the Langham one, and switched production of both Ruddles and Morland's Old Speckled Hen to Bury St Edmunds. But of course neither beer was ever the same.

Ruddles was a victim of its own success. In 1996, Ruddles County bitter was voted the best beer in the world no less, and was advertised on national commercial television. It even achieved 'protected geographical status', one of only three English beers to do so. But by then the brewery had only a year of its life left. I remember seeing the brewery buildings closed and derelict soon after, but they are all gone today, to be replaced by typically characterless housing. The name remains in Ruddles Avenue.

Not far off is the church of St Peter and St Paul, which Pevsner records as being large and imposing, which is certainly true, although it is a bit quirky as well, because the huge south transept is no longer balanced by the one on the north side, giving the church the shape of a letter T.

The tall spire is visible for miles, and the church is set in a wide, open churchyard. As Pevsner also observes, the interior is large, airy and spacious, but perhaps a little dull, and this is not unfair. The leaven in the lump is one of the largest expanses of Ninian Comper glass in the country, the vast windows in the east of the chancel (the orders of angels, 1907) and the transept (a selection of favourite Saints, 1912) both being his. Otherwise there is not much to set the pulses racing, but it is all pleasant enough and obviously well-loved, looked after and used.

Outside in the churchyard I noticed the grave of Sir Kenneth Ruddle, a member of the brewing family dynasty. All gone today.

Eight whiskeys, some Bourbon, some not. Two small glasses. And one long Friday night at home. Even taking our time, trying very small (1/4 - 1/3 oz pours), tasting neat and with one very small ice cube, and lots of water and crackers in between, what started out as a scientific tasting probably lost some of its calibration somewhere along the line.

The winner...well, let's just say it wasn't me, shall we? I'm still recover...I mean, considering. The losers...strangely enough, our least favorite overall was probably the Jefferson's Reserve, although I've bought and liked that in the past. This tasting, against the others, it just seemed completely thin and characterless, with almost no finish on the tongue. The Bernheim's was nowhere near as complex as a true bourbon, but for all that was quite pleasant on its own merits. And for all its lack of pretense by comparison to some of its brethren, with a little ice the Knob stood up for itself well, without it has a bit of a harsh alchohol bite that some might not shine to.

Although I tend not to like Jack (seems overly commercialized and bland to me these days as a Scotch drinker as well, or maybe I'm just saturated by the advertising?) the Gentleman was not bad. Good sweet finish and complexity with a nice slow alcohol burn...don't ruin this one with ice. The difference in wood flavor to the other bourbons (Gentle Jack is "mellowed" before and after barrel aging in maple charcoal) was also quite obvious side-by-side.

The outstanding favorite was probably the Elijah Wood 18yr, with the Garrison Brothers Texas (yes, Texas) Spring 2011 bottling bourbon a close second, and the Woodford Reserve just a hint behind it in third. The Garrison stood up better to a little ice, and had a definite extra something to the flavor...almost like leather and smoke, rather in keeping with the TX theme. I could even close my eyes and imagine the smokiness being somewhat single-malt Scotch-like, although the overall flavor didn't have any of the iodine and seaweed you expect out of a good Orkney. But the Elijah just had more rounded complexity, more fruit and caramel and vanilla in the finish, depending on your own breathing it varied a lot (and lost character with more than a tiny drop of water to open it up, so don't waste this one over "rocks"). Of course, it seems hardly fair comparing a 2-3 yr old vintage (even with TX's "accelerated" aging) to an 18 yr old. The Woodford is a bit smokier than the Elijah, a bit more caramel and fruit than the Garrison...sort of in between the two, but the other two stood out as avatars of a particular taste profile.

Regardless, we're sincerely looking forward to giving at least the top 3-5 a bit more slow, patient consideration. The others....just splash a shot or two over a crapload of ice and don't think about it.

Address: 4731 N.C. Hwy. 55, Durham

Hours: 11 - 9 M-Sat, 11-3 Sun

You get two menus when you sit down: one is a fairly full-range Thai menu, and the other is a sushi menu. Since they just opened a week or two ago (mid-Jan 2007, that is), and the sushi chef looked to be a lot younger than me, I opted for the Thai.

The fresh rolls had a lot more lettuce in them than I'm used to; they wound up kinda lumpy as a result. The rice seemed kind of blah; maybe not Uncle Bens-blah, but fairly characterless.

The green curry was excellent, however, particularly the chunks of Japanese eggplant, which were sweet and eggplanty without a hint of chewyness or bitterness. Based on the eggplant alone, I'll be adding Simply Thai to my lunch rotation for the next few weeks. The curry with pork was $7; I could've done without the $4 fresh rolls entirely.

While I was sitting there, I heard the waitress tell another table that the sushi chef, who was new (well, the whole restaurant is new), had forgotten an ingredient in their spider roll, and was going to do the roll again for them. Given that the prices are as high or higher than Akashi (and a lot higher after 1:00 when Akashi goes half-price-rolls), I think I'll continue to stick to the Thai side of the menu in future.

View on map, get directions, or find other RTP lunch spots.

What is the RTPLunch project?

Stratford International. Characterless, cold, windy concrete box

This was taken on an old fold-out bellows camera that used 120 or 620 film. I got it from a jumble sale.

The brickworks, which was between Priory Lane and Gough's Lane, is long gone, built over with some characterless modern dwelling units. I used to go there sometimes and watch the bricks being made. The company began making bricks in 1860.

Stratford International. Characterless, cold, windy concrete box

Now, you'll have been wondering how the home brewing's been going. Well, on the whole, pretty good. In fact, as you see, I've gone in for a second fermenter. The reason for this is that, even at my modest rate of about two bottles a day, it's almost impossible to supply your own consumption with a single fermenter. The standard fermenter holds 23 litres. In theory this produces forty-six 500ml bottles, but there is always a bit of wastage due to sediment and spillage during bottling. The most I've ever come away with is forty bottles. So a single brew will last me something like twenty days; but it would be difficult to complete the brewing process ...brew, primary fermentation, bottling, secondary fermentation and conditioning... in that time. Also, one must set aside an hour or two for brewing, and a morning for bottling, and these events must be slotted into one's work schedule.

But the lesson of the home brewing experience has been that home-brewed beers can be every bit as good as commercially produced beers from the shops. This, I admit, was a surprise. Frankly I took to home brewing for reasons of economy. Two bottles a day, at around £2 per bottle ...blimey, that's £120 a month! It all mounts up. I expected the saving to come at a price and was willing, just, to tolerate a slightly inferior tipple ...just as long as it was no more than slightly. The first brew I did ...it would be unfair to name the product... was perfectly drinkable and OK, but a little characterless. Pleasingly "hoppy" but with little body or flavour. My curiosity got the better of me and I started drinking it much too early. When I'd drank my way half through the batch there was a sudden and remarkable improvement. The second lot I did ...it was called, I think, Edme Traditional British Bitter... was superb. Dark, full of flavour and as good as anything I'd had from the breweries. It was not dissimilar to the Flickrite's favourite, Theakston's Old Peculier. I should call it Fray's Impecunious. Both these beers were low in alcohol ...3.7 and 3.8% ABV. Actually I didn't mind this; I was introduced to the concept of the "session" beer, and there is nothing more enjoyable to me than to sit in the spare bedroom at my computer of an evening, as curry smells ascend from the kitchen, with a jar at my elbow. It's the best part of my day. Consumption may have crept ahead of the usual two per day on these occasions, but you can enjoy the beer without getting drowsy and ending up with a head full of cotton-wool ...and the cost is negligable. With Brew no. 3 (Young's Harvest Scottish Heavy) I thought I'd try to up the ABV a bit. I made only 19 litres and added an extra 250g of sugar. This produced a figure of 6.1%. At first I wasn't too keen. There was a harsh alcohol taste which gave you a kind of sore throat sensation as it went down and there was a rubbing alcohol aroma in the nostrils. But two days ago, that is, ten days after bottling, it quite suddenly became a marvellously smooth, flavoursome beer. This is the second great lesson. Don't be in a hurry to drink up. It's quite a strain on the willpower, but you need to wait for a fortnight's conditioning in the bottle.

So Brew no. 4, Munton's Nut Brown Ale is, as you see, still fermenting, with a nice scummy tidemark around the inside of the fermenter. Taking an unconscionably long time about it though. Still bubbling weakly after eight days and not yet at the requisite specific gravity figure for bottling. I'll give it another two days and then I'm bottling no matter what. This morning I started Brew no. 5, the Cooper's Stout, in the new fermenter. Cheers!

St Peter and St Paul, Langham, Rutland

You leave Oakham on the road into Leicestershire, and shortly come to the large, apparently undistinguished village of Langham. The name is one of the most common placenames in England, meaning simply 'long village'. But I remember this Langham for a reason I am sure many other people do. Twenty-odd years ago we used to go this way to visit friends in Derby, and if you wound down the car window at Langham you might just catch a delicious whiff of malted barley being heated, for the village was home to one of the great independent family breweries of England, Ruddles.

The day came when Ruddles was taken over Morlands of Abingdon, who closed the Langham brewery, but who were in their turn taken over by the rapacious Greene King, who closed the Abingdon brewery as well as the Langham one, and switched production of both Ruddles and Morland's Old Speckled Hen to Bury St Edmunds. But of course neither beer was ever the same.

Ruddles was a victim of its own success. In 1996, Ruddles County bitter was voted the best beer in the world no less, and was advertised on national commercial television. It even achieved 'protected geographical status', one of only three English beers to do so. But by then the brewery had only a year of its life left. I remember seeing the brewery buildings closed and derelict soon after, but they are all gone today, to be replaced by typically characterless housing. The name remains in Ruddles Avenue.

Not far off is the church of St Peter and St Paul, which Pevsner records as being large and imposing, which is certainly true, although it is a bit quirky as well, because the huge south transept is no longer balanced by the one on the north side, giving the church the shape of a letter T.

The tall spire is visible for miles, and the church is set in a wide, open churchyard. As Pevsner also observes, the interior is large, airy and spacious, but perhaps a little dull, and this is not unfair. The leaven in the lump is one of the largest expanses of Ninian Comper glass in the country, the vast windows in the east of the chancel (the orders of angels, 1907) and the transept (a selection of favourite Saints, 1912) both being his. Otherwise there is not much to set the pulses racing, but it is all pleasant enough and obviously well-loved, looked after and used.

Outside in the churchyard I noticed the grave of Sir Kenneth Ruddle, a member of the brewing family dynasty. All gone today.

St Nicholas, Dersingham, Norfolk

The first time I went to Dersingham church, they were just locking up for the day. Never mind, I'll come back, I thought. Twelve years passed. Now, I was cycling around the villages to the north and east of the Sandringham estate, mopping up a handful of Norfolk churches that I'd missed when I first cut a swathe through the county. This was one of them.

So at last I stepped into its big interior, and I am afraid I found it a bit characterless. I'm sorry about that. Some big churches have a wow factor, but it just didn't happen to me here. Perhaps I would have preferred a bit of dust, a bit of peeling plaster, I don't know. I thought that St Nicholas is what a church would be like if my mother had been responsible for cleaning it - spotless, and everything lined up. Anyway, I notice that I took nearly 40 photos, so there was obviously plenty to see.

Then I headed out of Dersingham. climbing and climbing, and suddenly left the strange gloom of Kings Lynn, the Wash, the forest and the marsh country behind me, climbing up through narrow lanes through beautiful rolling fields, some being harvested. The sun was shining brightly, and it was with utter joy that I whooped along until descending steeply into Sherborne.

St Nicholas, Dersingham, Norfolk

The first time I went to Dersingham church, they were just locking up for the day. Never mind, I'll come back, I thought. Twelve years passed. Now, I was cycling around the villages to the north and east of the Sandringham estate, mopping up a handful of Norfolk churches that I'd missed when I first cut a swathe through the county. This was one of them.

So at last I stepped into its big interior, and I am afraid I found it a bit characterless. I'm sorry about that. Some big churches have a wow factor, but it just didn't happen to me here. Perhaps I would have preferred a bit of dust, a bit of peeling plaster, I don't know. I thought that St Nicholas is what a church would be like if my mother had been responsible for cleaning it - spotless, and everything lined up. Anyway, I notice that I took nearly 40 photos, so there was obviously plenty to see.

Then I headed out of Dersingham. climbing and climbing, and suddenly left the strange gloom of Kings Lynn, the Wash, the forest and the marsh country behind me, climbing up through narrow lanes through beautiful rolling fields, some being harvested. The sun was shining brightly, and it was with utter joy that I whooped along until descending steeply into Sherborne.

What struck me when I took this shot was that little girls in Iran are often dressed in vibrant colours, but once they become adults, they losses all colours and clad in characterless black chadors, at least in public.

16. Visit London Series

“I hear those who talk of eyesores… but:

Day of tearing down, day of recycling, wait a while!

Let the wind whistle through those defenceless arms

and the moon bend a modicum of its glamorous light upon

you, my familiar, my stranded hulk…”

Edwin Morgan.

I do love to see the old existing with the new instead of the old being discarded to make way for characterless architecture, designed to go one better, one bolder, than the last skyscraper on the London skyline.

Walking towards the O2 this evening I saw this beautiful old gasometer looking like it caged half a dozen little buildings. Part of the London skyline was neatly framed through the skeleton of the gasometer. An eyesore to most I'm sure but to me a wonderful example of London's past, existing in harmony with its present. I guess the gasometer has Grade 11 listed status and it had to be left in situ. I wonder if the skyscrapers will survive as well.

Check out the rest of my London Series: www.flickr.com/photos/chris_marina/sets/72157650742633018

A touch of old between monstrous and faceless skyscrapers in Toronto's Financial district. This is actually right outside my hotel, and despite it being bright daylight, though rather shady due to the massive skyscrapers on all four sides, I wonder why this picture turned out so soft and blurred. Here a Toronto city bus takes a turn along the tram (streetcar) tracks in front of a lovely period red brick building, a very pleasant cahnge indeed from the characterless skyscrapers all around. The building was not market and so I could not gather wha tit is. (Toronto, Canada, Nov.2015)

St Margaret, Fleggburgh, Norfolk

As you head eastwards, Norfolk falls away behind you. The landscape simplifies, as though the wind from the grey North Sea has scoured it of anything inessential. In late winter, with the fields ploughed and the caravan parks empty, it can seem a tabula rasa, an empty slate, cleansed and waiting.

The village is called Fleggburgh, but the parish is Burgh St Margaret. It lies a few miles inland from the sprawling resorts of Yarmouth, Caister and Hemsby, but its fate is very much tied to theirs. The area's biggest employer is the leisure industry, and the east Norfolk towns and villages seem empty outside of high summer. And, just as the seaside towns rose to prominence in the late 19th century, so there was a knock-on effect in the hinterland. Outside of Norwich, this is the only part of Norfolk where the population was actually rising in the 1870s and 1880s, and this pretty church underwent a major renewal, an almost complete rebuilding, at the hands of Diocesan architect Herbert Green.

Along with his predecessor Richard Phipson, Green bestrides the landscape of church Victorianisation in East Anglia. The bodies of their work are considerable, and it wasn't just their own plans; anyone else's work would also have to cross their desks for them to cast a cold eye upon it. Their enthusiasms were as different from each others as it is possible to be, I suppose. Phipson was a technician, with an eye for detail. In restorations, his innovations blend fairly seamlessly into the medieval, which sounds good, but often leaves a rather dour, characterless atmosphere. Sometimes he went mad, producing extraordinary spires on a couple of churches in the Stowmarket area, and he could be very impressive on a grand scale, such as the complete rebuilding of St Mary le Tower in Ipswich.

Herbert Green, on the other hand, was a Victorian first and an medievalist second. Sometimes it is hard to see the medieval origins at all behind his rebuildings, scourings and facades. Here at Burgh, he built a 'Perpendicular' nave and a 'Decorated' chancel and tower, which is of course exactly the relationship you find at so many rural medieval churches in East Anglia. It's just that here it isn't real - to all intents and purposes, this is a faux medieval Norfolk parish church.

The harsh blue knapped flints would look even worse if it wasn't for the thatching that softens them. One curiosity - note how high the gables at the east end of the nave and chancel rise above the thatch. That on the nave is even higher than the bell windows of the tower. This must be because they are substantially the medieval originals. But nothing else is, I think. The red-brick arching to the windows helps a bit, but really this is a severe exterior, and knapped flint on such a scale would soon fall out of fashion, to be replaced by the cosiness of the Arts and Crafts movement. We can already see this happening here, for there is a cottage dormer window above the porch to be thankful for. It is here for a reason, because it lights the little gallery tucked into the roof space.

Inside, everything is Herbert Green's, pretty much. There is no tower arch, just a doorway, through which you can access the gallery. The furnishings are all of a piece, and the font is in the style of the 15th century. Green was very fond of Norman fonts, so it is interesting that here he chose a font to match the (imitation) Perpendicular nave rather than the (real) Norman south doorway. The stone reredos is perhaps more in Green's heavy style.

There are a couple of items of interest. A figure brass of 1608 remembers Richard Burton, the minister of this parish; it is remounted in a marble setting on the chancel wall. Opposite it is a moving memorial to George Thompson Fisher, who died in WWI. He was son of the Rector here who had overseen Green's rebuilding, and who was, incidentally, the very last Bishop of Ipswich.

The jewel in the crown of all this is the east window of 1968 by Paul Jefferies, in the uninhibited dynamic style of the time. It features the figures of St Margaret, St Luke and the Blessed Virgin. St Luke's bull looks a cheery sort, and St Margaret dispatches her dragon with aplomb. Mary, who is shown as the Queen of Heaven, is a little less vigorous than the other two figures. Her lack of an accompanying animal throws the composition slightly out of balance, and you wonder why she wasn't placed in the central light.

Address: 4731 N.C. Hwy. 55, Durham

Hours: 11 - 9 M-Sat, 11-3 Sun

You get two menus when you sit down: one is a fairly full-range Thai menu, and the other is a sushi menu. Since they just opened a week or two ago (mid-Jan 2007, that is), and the sushi chef looked to be a lot younger than me, I opted for the Thai.

The fresh rolls had a lot more lettuce in them than I'm used to; they wound up kinda lumpy as a result. The rice seemed kind of blah; maybe not Uncle Bens-blah, but fairly characterless.

The green curry was excellent, however, particularly the chunks of Japanese eggplant, which were sweet and eggplanty without a hint of chewyness or bitterness. Based on the eggplant alone, I'll be adding Simply Thai to my lunch rotation for the next few weeks. The curry with pork was $7; I could've done without the $4 fresh rolls entirely.

While I was sitting there, I heard the waitress tell another table that the sushi chef, who was new (well, the whole restaurant is new), had forgotten an ingredient in their spider roll, and was going to do the roll again for them. Given that the prices are as high or higher than Akashi (and a lot higher after 1:00 when Akashi goes half-price-rolls), I think I'll continue to stick to the Thai side of the menu in future.

View on map, get directions, or find other RTP lunch spots.

What is the RTPLunch project?

St Margaret, Fleggburgh, Norfolk

As you head eastwards, Norfolk falls away behind you. The landscape simplifies, as though the wind from the grey North Sea has scoured it of anything inessential. In late winter, with the fields ploughed and the caravan parks empty, it can seem a tabula rasa, an empty slate, cleansed and waiting.

The village is called Fleggburgh, but the parish is Burgh St Margaret. It lies a few miles inland from the sprawling resorts of Yarmouth, Caister and Hemsby, but its fate is very much tied to theirs. The area's biggest employer is the leisure industry, and the east Norfolk towns and villages seem empty outside of high summer. And, just as the seaside towns rose to prominence in the late 19th century, so there was a knock-on effect in the hinterland. Outside of Norwich, this is the only part of Norfolk where the population was actually rising in the 1870s and 1880s, and this pretty church underwent a major renewal, an almost complete rebuilding, at the hands of Diocesan architect Herbert Green.

Along with his predecessor Richard Phipson, Green bestrides the landscape of church Victorianisation in East Anglia. The bodies of their work are considerable, and it wasn't just their own plans; anyone else's work would also have to cross their desks for them to cast a cold eye upon it. Their enthusiasms were as different from each others as it is possible to be, I suppose. Phipson was a technician, with an eye for detail. In restorations, his innovations blend fairly seamlessly into the medieval, which sounds good, but often leaves a rather dour, characterless atmosphere. Sometimes he went mad, producing extraordinary spires on a couple of churches in the Stowmarket area, and he could be very impressive on a grand scale, such as the complete rebuilding of St Mary le Tower in Ipswich.

Herbert Green, on the other hand, was a Victorian first and an medievalist second. Sometimes it is hard to see the medieval origins at all behind his rebuildings, scourings and facades. Here at Burgh, he built a 'Perpendicular' nave and a 'Decorated' chancel and tower, which is of course exactly the relationship you find at so many rural medieval churches in East Anglia. It's just that here it isn't real - to all intents and purposes, this is a faux medieval Norfolk parish church.

The harsh blue knapped flints would look even worse if it wasn't for the thatching that softens them. One curiosity - note how high the gables at the east end of the nave and chancel rise above the thatch. That on the nave is even higher than the bell windows of the tower. This must be because they are substantially the medieval originals. But nothing else is, I think. The red-brick arching to the windows helps a bit, but really this is a severe exterior, and knapped flint on such a scale would soon fall out of fashion, to be replaced by the cosiness of the Arts and Crafts movement. We can already see this happening here, for there is a cottage dormer window above the porch to be thankful for. It is here for a reason, because it lights the little gallery tucked into the roof space.

Inside, everything is Herbert Green's, pretty much. There is no tower arch, just a doorway, through which you can access the gallery. The furnishings are all of a piece, and the font is in the style of the 15th century. Green was very fond of Norman fonts, so it is interesting that here he chose a font to match the (imitation) Perpendicular nave rather than the (real) Norman south doorway. The stone reredos is perhaps more in Green's heavy style.

There are a couple of items of interest. A figure brass of 1608 remembers Richard Burton, the minister of this parish; it is remounted in a marble setting on the chancel wall. Opposite it is a moving memorial to George Thompson Fisher, who died in WWI. He was son of the Rector here who had overseen Green's rebuilding, and who was, incidentally, the very last Bishop of Ipswich.

The jewel in the crown of all this is the east window of 1968 by Paul Jefferies, in the uninhibited dynamic style of the time. It features the figures of St Margaret, St Luke and the Blessed Virgin. St Luke's bull looks a cheery sort, and St Margaret dispatches her dragon with aplomb. Mary, who is shown as the Queen of Heaven, is a little less vigorous than the other two figures. Her lack of an accompanying animal throws the composition slightly out of balance, and you wonder why she wasn't placed in the central light.

Fantastically retro, alas recently demolished (and reopened in a characterless shop over the road)

St Peter and St Paul, Langham, Rutland

You leave Oakham on the road into Leicestershire, and shortly come to the large, apparently undistinguished village of Langham. The name is one of the most common placenames in England, meaning simply 'long village'. But I remember this Langham for a reason I am sure many other people do. Twenty-odd years ago we used to go this way to visit friends in Derby, and if you wound down the car window at Langham you might just catch a delicious whiff of malted barley being heated, for the village was home to one of the great independent family breweries of England, Ruddles.

The day came when Ruddles was taken over Morlands of Abingdon, who closed the Langham brewery, but who were in their turn taken over by the rapacious Greene King, who closed the Abingdon brewery as well as the Langham one, and switched production of both Ruddles and Morland's Old Speckled Hen to Bury St Edmunds. But of course neither beer was ever the same.

Ruddles was a victim of its own success. In 1996, Ruddles County bitter was voted the best beer in the world no less, and was advertised on national commercial television. It even achieved 'protected geographical status', one of only three English beers to do so. But by then the brewery had only a year of its life left. I remember seeing the brewery buildings closed and derelict soon after, but they are all gone today, to be replaced by typically characterless housing. The name remains in Ruddles Avenue.

Not far off is the church of St Peter and St Paul, which Pevsner records as being large and imposing, which is certainly true, although it is a bit quirky as well, because the huge south transept is no longer balanced by the one on the north side, giving the church the shape of a letter T.

The tall spire is visible for miles, and the church is set in a wide, open churchyard. As Pevsner also observes, the interior is large, airy and spacious, but perhaps a little dull, and this is not unfair. The leaven in the lump is one of the largest expanses of Ninian Comper glass in the country, the vast windows in the east of the chancel (the orders of angels, 1907) and the transept (a selection of favourite Saints, 1912) both being his. Otherwise there is not much to set the pulses racing, but it is all pleasant enough and obviously well-loved, looked after and used.

Outside in the churchyard I noticed the grave of Sir Kenneth Ruddle, a member of the brewing family dynasty. All gone today.

St Margaret, Fleggburgh, Norfolk

As you head eastwards, Norfolk falls away behind you. The landscape simplifies, as though the wind from the grey North Sea has scoured it of anything inessential. In late winter, with the fields ploughed and the caravan parks empty, it can seem a tabula rasa, an empty slate, cleansed and waiting.

The village is called Fleggburgh, but the parish is Burgh St Margaret. It lies a few miles inland from the sprawling resorts of Yarmouth, Caister and Hemsby, but its fate is very much tied to theirs. The area's biggest employer is the leisure industry, and the east Norfolk towns and villages seem empty outside of high summer. And, just as the seaside towns rose to prominence in the late 19th century, so there was a knock-on effect in the hinterland. Outside of Norwich, this is the only part of Norfolk where the population was actually rising in the 1870s and 1880s, and this pretty church underwent a major renewal, an almost complete rebuilding, at the hands of Diocesan architect Herbert Green.

Along with his predecessor Richard Phipson, Green bestrides the landscape of church Victorianisation in East Anglia. The bodies of their work are considerable, and it wasn't just their own plans; anyone else's work would also have to cross their desks for them to cast a cold eye upon it. Their enthusiasms were as different from each others as it is possible to be, I suppose. Phipson was a technician, with an eye for detail. In restorations, his innovations blend fairly seamlessly into the medieval, which sounds good, but often leaves a rather dour, characterless atmosphere. Sometimes he went mad, producing extraordinary spires on a couple of churches in the Stowmarket area, and he could be very impressive on a grand scale, such as the complete rebuilding of St Mary le Tower in Ipswich.

Herbert Green, on the other hand, was a Victorian first and an medievalist second. Sometimes it is hard to see the medieval origins at all behind his rebuildings, scourings and facades. Here at Burgh, he built a 'Perpendicular' nave and a 'Decorated' chancel and tower, which is of course exactly the relationship you find at so many rural medieval churches in East Anglia. It's just that here it isn't real - to all intents and purposes, this is a faux medieval Norfolk parish church.

The harsh blue knapped flints would look even worse if it wasn't for the thatching that softens them. One curiosity - note how high the gables at the east end of the nave and chancel rise above the thatch. That on the nave is even higher than the bell windows of the tower. This must be because they are substantially the medieval originals. But nothing else is, I think. The red-brick arching to the windows helps a bit, but really this is a severe exterior, and knapped flint on such a scale would soon fall out of fashion, to be replaced by the cosiness of the Arts and Crafts movement. We can already see this happening here, for there is a cottage dormer window above the porch to be thankful for. It is here for a reason, because it lights the little gallery tucked into the roof space.

Inside, everything is Herbert Green's, pretty much. There is no tower arch, just a doorway, through which you can access the gallery. The furnishings are all of a piece, and the font is in the style of the 15th century. Green was very fond of Norman fonts, so it is interesting that here he chose a font to match the (imitation) Perpendicular nave rather than the (real) Norman south doorway. The stone reredos is perhaps more in Green's heavy style.

There are a couple of items of interest. A figure brass of 1608 remembers Richard Burton, the minister of this parish; it is remounted in a marble setting on the chancel wall. Opposite it is a moving memorial to George Thompson Fisher, who died in WWI. He was son of the Rector here who had overseen Green's rebuilding, and who was, incidentally, the very last Bishop of Ipswich.

The jewel in the crown of all this is the east window of 1968 by Paul Jefferies, in the uninhibited dynamic style of the time. It features the figures of St Margaret, St Luke and the Blessed Virgin. St Luke's bull looks a cheery sort, and St Margaret dispatches her dragon with aplomb. Mary, who is shown as the Queen of Heaven, is a little less vigorous than the other two figures. Her lack of an accompanying animal throws the composition slightly out of balance, and you wonder why she wasn't placed in the central light.

St Peter and St Paul, Langham, Rutland

You leave Oakham on the road into Leicestershire, and shortly come to the large, apparently undistinguished village of Langham. The name is one of the most common placenames in England, meaning simply 'long village'. But I remember this Langham for a reason I am sure many other people do. Twenty-odd years ago we used to go this way to visit friends in Derby, and if you wound down the car window at Langham you might just catch a delicious whiff of malted barley being heated, for the village was home to one of the great independent family breweries of England, Ruddles.

The day came when Ruddles was taken over Morlands of Abingdon, who closed the Langham brewery, but who were in their turn taken over by the rapacious Greene King, who closed the Abingdon brewery as well as the Langham one, and switched production of both Ruddles and Morland's Old Speckled Hen to Bury St Edmunds. But of course neither beer was ever the same.

Ruddles was a victim of its own success. In 1996, Ruddles County bitter was voted the best beer in the world no less, and was advertised on national commercial television. It even achieved 'protected geographical status', one of only three English beers to do so. But by then the brewery had only a year of its life left. I remember seeing the brewery buildings closed and derelict soon after, but they are all gone today, to be replaced by typically characterless housing. The name remains in Ruddles Avenue.

Not far off is the church of St Peter and St Paul, which Pevsner records as being large and imposing, which is certainly true, although it is a bit quirky as well, because the huge south transept is no longer balanced by the one on the north side, giving the church the shape of a letter T.

The tall spire is visible for miles, and the church is set in a wide, open churchyard. As Pevsner also observes, the interior is large, airy and spacious, but perhaps a little dull, and this is not unfair. The leaven in the lump is one of the largest expanses of Ninian Comper glass in the country, the vast windows in the east of the chancel (the orders of angels, 1907) and the transept (a selection of favourite Saints, 1912) both being his. Otherwise there is not much to set the pulses racing, but it is all pleasant enough and obviously well-loved, looked after and used.

Outside in the churchyard I noticed the grave of Sir Kenneth Ruddle, a member of the brewing family dynasty. All gone today.

St Peter and St Paul, Langham, Rutland

You leave Oakham on the road into Leicestershire, and shortly come to the large, apparently undistinguished village of Langham. The name is one of the most common placenames in England, meaning simply 'long village'. But I remember this Langham for a reason I am sure many other people do. Twenty-odd years ago we used to go this way to visit friends in Derby, and if you wound down the car window at Langham you might just catch a delicious whiff of malted barley being heated, for the village was home to one of the great independent family breweries of England, Ruddles.

The day came when Ruddles was taken over Morlands of Abingdon, who closed the Langham brewery, but who were in their turn taken over by the rapacious Greene King, who closed the Abingdon brewery as well as the Langham one, and switched production of both Ruddles and Morland's Old Speckled Hen to Bury St Edmunds. But of course neither beer was ever the same.

Ruddles was a victim of its own success. In 1996, Ruddles County bitter was voted the best beer in the world no less, and was advertised on national commercial television. It even achieved 'protected geographical status', one of only three English beers to do so. But by then the brewery had only a year of its life left. I remember seeing the brewery buildings closed and derelict soon after, but they are all gone today, to be replaced by typically characterless housing. The name remains in Ruddles Avenue.

Not far off is the church of St Peter and St Paul, which Pevsner records as being large and imposing, which is certainly true, although it is a bit quirky as well, because the huge south transept is no longer balanced by the one on the north side, giving the church the shape of a letter T.

The tall spire is visible for miles, and the church is set in a wide, open churchyard. As Pevsner also observes, the interior is large, airy and spacious, but perhaps a little dull, and this is not unfair. The leaven in the lump is one of the largest expanses of Ninian Comper glass in the country, the vast windows in the east of the chancel (the orders of angels, 1907) and the transept (a selection of favourite Saints, 1912) both being his. Otherwise there is not much to set the pulses racing, but it is all pleasant enough and obviously well-loved, looked after and used.

Outside in the churchyard I noticed the grave of Sir Kenneth Ruddle, a member of the brewing family dynasty. All gone today.

St Peter and St Paul, Langham, Rutland

You leave Oakham on the road into Leicestershire, and shortly come to the large, apparently undistinguished village of Langham. The name is one of the most common placenames in England, meaning simply 'long village'. But I remember this Langham for a reason I am sure many other people do. Twenty-odd years ago we used to go this way to visit friends in Derby, and if you wound down the car window at Langham you might just catch a delicious whiff of malted barley being heated, for the village was home to one of the great independent family breweries of England, Ruddles.

The day came when Ruddles was taken over Morlands of Abingdon, who closed the Langham brewery, but who were in their turn taken over by the rapacious Greene King, who closed the Abingdon brewery as well as the Langham one, and switched production of both Ruddles and Morland's Old Speckled Hen to Bury St Edmunds. But of course neither beer was ever the same.

Ruddles was a victim of its own success. In 1996, Ruddles County bitter was voted the best beer in the world no less, and was advertised on national commercial television. It even achieved 'protected geographical status', one of only three English beers to do so. But by then the brewery had only a year of its life left. I remember seeing the brewery buildings closed and derelict soon after, but they are all gone today, to be replaced by typically characterless housing. The name remains in Ruddles Avenue.

Not far off is the church of St Peter and St Paul, which Pevsner records as being large and imposing, which is certainly true, although it is a bit quirky as well, because the huge south transept is no longer balanced by the one on the north side, giving the church the shape of a letter T.

The tall spire is visible for miles, and the church is set in a wide, open churchyard. As Pevsner also observes, the interior is large, airy and spacious, but perhaps a little dull, and this is not unfair. The leaven in the lump is one of the largest expanses of Ninian Comper glass in the country, the vast windows in the east of the chancel (the orders of angels, 1907) and the transept (a selection of favourite Saints, 1912) both being his. Otherwise there is not much to set the pulses racing, but it is all pleasant enough and obviously well-loved, looked after and used.

Outside in the churchyard I noticed the grave of Sir Kenneth Ruddle, a member of the brewing family dynasty. All gone today.

Unfortunately, Oklahoma is full of ugly characterless portable trailer-house post offices like this.

Wainwright is a small community located in southwestern Muskogee County between Muskogee and Okmulgee.

St Peter and St Paul, Langham, Rutland

You leave Oakham on the road into Leicestershire, and shortly come to the large, apparently undistinguished village of Langham. The name is one of the most common placenames in England, meaning simply 'long village'. But I remember this Langham for a reason I am sure many other people do. Twenty-odd years ago we used to go this way to visit friends in Derby, and if you wound down the car window at Langham you might just catch a delicious whiff of malted barley being heated, for the village was home to one of the great independent family breweries of England, Ruddles.

The day came when Ruddles was taken over Morlands of Abingdon, who closed the Langham brewery, but who were in their turn taken over by the rapacious Greene King, who closed the Abingdon brewery as well as the Langham one, and switched production of both Ruddles and Morland's Old Speckled Hen to Bury St Edmunds. But of course neither beer was ever the same.

Ruddles was a victim of its own success. In 1996, Ruddles County bitter was voted the best beer in the world no less, and was advertised on national commercial television. It even achieved 'protected geographical status', one of only three English beers to do so. But by then the brewery had only a year of its life left. I remember seeing the brewery buildings closed and derelict soon after, but they are all gone today, to be replaced by typically characterless housing. The name remains in Ruddles Avenue.

Not far off is the church of St Peter and St Paul, which Pevsner records as being large and imposing, which is certainly true, although it is a bit quirky as well, because the huge south transept is no longer balanced by the one on the north side, giving the church the shape of a letter T.

The tall spire is visible for miles, and the church is set in a wide, open churchyard. As Pevsner also observes, the interior is large, airy and spacious, but perhaps a little dull, and this is not unfair. The leaven in the lump is one of the largest expanses of Ninian Comper glass in the country, the vast windows in the east of the chancel (the orders of angels, 1907) and the transept (a selection of favourite Saints, 1912) both being his. Otherwise there is not much to set the pulses racing, but it is all pleasant enough and obviously well-loved, looked after and used.

Outside in the churchyard I noticed the grave of Sir Kenneth Ruddle, a member of the brewing family dynasty. All gone today.

Lightly flavored by ageing in oak whiskey barrels, it's an interesting taste but not one I'll be coming back to anytime soon. The beer itself was otherwise bland and characterless. A poor foam head as you can see too. And yeah, I need to buy some shorter glasses. It ain't all about the supersize Hefe's...

St Margaret, Fleggburgh, Norfolk

As you head eastwards, Norfolk falls away behind you. The landscape simplifies, as though the wind from the grey North Sea has scoured it of anything inessential. In late winter, with the fields ploughed and the caravan parks empty, it can seem a tabula rasa, an empty slate, cleansed and waiting.

The village is called Fleggburgh, but the parish is Burgh St Margaret. It lies a few miles inland from the sprawling resorts of Yarmouth, Caister and Hemsby, but its fate is very much tied to theirs. The area's biggest employer is the leisure industry, and the east Norfolk towns and villages seem empty outside of high summer. And, just as the seaside towns rose to prominence in the late 19th century, so there was a knock-on effect in the hinterland. Outside of Norwich, this is the only part of Norfolk where the population was actually rising in the 1870s and 1880s, and this pretty church underwent a major renewal, an almost complete rebuilding, at the hands of Diocesan architect Herbert Green.

Along with his predecessor Richard Phipson, Green bestrides the landscape of church Victorianisation in East Anglia. The bodies of their work are considerable, and it wasn't just their own plans; anyone else's work would also have to cross their desks for them to cast a cold eye upon it. Their enthusiasms were as different from each others as it is possible to be, I suppose. Phipson was a technician, with an eye for detail. In restorations, his innovations blend fairly seamlessly into the medieval, which sounds good, but often leaves a rather dour, characterless atmosphere. Sometimes he went mad, producing extraordinary spires on a couple of churches in the Stowmarket area, and he could be very impressive on a grand scale, such as the complete rebuilding of St Mary le Tower in Ipswich.

Herbert Green, on the other hand, was a Victorian first and an medievalist second. Sometimes it is hard to see the medieval origins at all behind his rebuildings, scourings and facades. Here at Burgh, he built a 'Perpendicular' nave and a 'Decorated' chancel and tower, which is of course exactly the relationship you find at so many rural medieval churches in East Anglia. It's just that here it isn't real - to all intents and purposes, this is a faux medieval Norfolk parish church.

The harsh blue knapped flints would look even worse if it wasn't for the thatching that softens them. One curiosity - note how high the gables at the east end of the nave and chancel rise above the thatch. That on the nave is even higher than the bell windows of the tower. This must be because they are substantially the medieval originals. But nothing else is, I think. The red-brick arching to the windows helps a bit, but really this is a severe exterior, and knapped flint on such a scale would soon fall out of fashion, to be replaced by the cosiness of the Arts and Crafts movement. We can already see this happening here, for there is a cottage dormer window above the porch to be thankful for. It is here for a reason, because it lights the little gallery tucked into the roof space.

Inside, everything is Herbert Green's, pretty much. There is no tower arch, just a doorway, through which you can access the gallery. The furnishings are all of a piece, and the font is in the style of the 15th century. Green was very fond of Norman fonts, so it is interesting that here he chose a font to match the (imitation) Perpendicular nave rather than the (real) Norman south doorway. The stone reredos is perhaps more in Green's heavy style.

There are a couple of items of interest. A figure brass of 1608 remembers Richard Burton, the minister of this parish; it is remounted in a marble setting on the chancel wall. Opposite it is a moving memorial to George Thompson Fisher, who died in WWI. He was son of the Rector here who had overseen Green's rebuilding, and who was, incidentally, the very last Bishop of Ipswich.

The jewel in the crown of all this is the east window of 1968 by Paul Jefferies, in the uninhibited dynamic style of the time. It features the figures of St Margaret, St Luke and the Blessed Virgin. St Luke's bull looks a cheery sort, and St Margaret dispatches her dragon with aplomb. Mary, who is shown as the Queen of Heaven, is a little less vigorous than the other two figures. Her lack of an accompanying animal throws the composition slightly out of balance, and you wonder why she wasn't placed in the central light.

The original Midland Railway booking office lies dormant at Kings Norton having closed for business in the early 1970s having been superceded by a characterless structure nearby during the reawakening of the line as the Cross City route in 1978.

121 passes The Sloop on it's way into town after a trip to Westbrook on the 29. There are now just 7 Metroriders still in service in Warrington, and it is only a matter of time until these are replaced by yet more low floor characterless lumps of plastic.

For viewers in The South- the primrose & blue flags hanging from the pub are there to celebrate the local rugby club Warrington Wolves winning the Challenge Cup at Wembley for the second year on the run!

Unfortunately, Oklahoma is full of ugly characterless portable trailer-house post offices like this.

Schulter is a small community located in southern Okmulgee County along U.S. 75 between Okmulgee and Henryetta.

St Peter and St Paul, Langham, Rutland

You leave Oakham on the road into Leicestershire, and shortly come to the large, apparently undistinguished village of Langham. The name is one of the most common placenames in England, meaning simply 'long village'. But I remember this Langham for a reason I am sure many other people do. Twenty-odd years ago we used to go this way to visit friends in Derby, and if you wound down the car window at Langham you might just catch a delicious whiff of malted barley being heated, for the village was home to one of the great independent family breweries of England, Ruddles.

The day came when Ruddles was taken over Morlands of Abingdon, who closed the Langham brewery, but who were in their turn taken over by the rapacious Greene King, who closed the Abingdon brewery as well as the Langham one, and switched production of both Ruddles and Morland's Old Speckled Hen to Bury St Edmunds. But of course neither beer was ever the same.

Ruddles was a victim of its own success. In 1996, Ruddles County bitter was voted the best beer in the world no less, and was advertised on national commercial television. It even achieved 'protected geographical status', one of only three English beers to do so. But by then the brewery had only a year of its life left. I remember seeing the brewery buildings closed and derelict soon after, but they are all gone today, to be replaced by typically characterless housing. The name remains in Ruddles Avenue.

Not far off is the church of St Peter and St Paul, which Pevsner records as being large and imposing, which is certainly true, although it is a bit quirky as well, because the huge south transept is no longer balanced by the one on the north side, giving the church the shape of a letter T.

The tall spire is visible for miles, and the church is set in a wide, open churchyard. As Pevsner also observes, the interior is large, airy and spacious, but perhaps a little dull, and this is not unfair. The leaven in the lump is one of the largest expanses of Ninian Comper glass in the country, the vast windows in the east of the chancel (the orders of angels, 1907) and the transept (a selection of favourite Saints, 1912) both being his. Otherwise there is not much to set the pulses racing, but it is all pleasant enough and obviously well-loved, looked after and used.

Outside in the churchyard I noticed the grave of Sir Kenneth Ruddle, a member of the brewing family dynasty. All gone today.

St Peter and St Paul, Langham, Rutland

You leave Oakham on the road into Leicestershire, and shortly come to the large, apparently undistinguished village of Langham. The name is one of the most common placenames in England, meaning simply 'long village'. But I remember this Langham for a reason I am sure many other people do. Twenty-odd years ago we used to go this way to visit friends in Derby, and if you wound down the car window at Langham you might just catch a delicious whiff of malted barley being heated, for the village was home to one of the great independent family breweries of England, Ruddles.

The day came when Ruddles was taken over Morlands of Abingdon, who closed the Langham brewery, but who were in their turn taken over by the rapacious Greene King, who closed the Abingdon brewery as well as the Langham one, and switched production of both Ruddles and Morland's Old Speckled Hen to Bury St Edmunds. But of course neither beer was ever the same.

Ruddles was a victim of its own success. In 1996, Ruddles County bitter was voted the best beer in the world no less, and was advertised on national commercial television. It even achieved 'protected geographical status', one of only three English beers to do so. But by then the brewery had only a year of its life left. I remember seeing the brewery buildings closed and derelict soon after, but they are all gone today, to be replaced by typically characterless housing. The name remains in Ruddles Avenue.

Not far off is the church of St Peter and St Paul, which Pevsner records as being large and imposing, which is certainly true, although it is a bit quirky as well, because the huge south transept is no longer balanced by the one on the north side, giving the church the shape of a letter T.

The tall spire is visible for miles, and the church is set in a wide, open churchyard. As Pevsner also observes, the interior is large, airy and spacious, but perhaps a little dull, and this is not unfair. The leaven in the lump is one of the largest expanses of Ninian Comper glass in the country, the vast windows in the east of the chancel (the orders of angels, 1907) and the transept (a selection of favourite Saints, 1912) both being his. Otherwise there is not much to set the pulses racing, but it is all pleasant enough and obviously well-loved, looked after and used.

Outside in the churchyard I noticed the grave of Sir Kenneth Ruddle, a member of the brewing family dynasty. All gone today.

Arriva North West 2740 [CX58EVL] Dennis Dart-4/Alexander Enviro 300 B45F, on the 263, at the north end of the lay-by.

Until a few years before, the background would have been occupied by the Engineers Arms instead of this characterless office block.

Minolta Riva 115EX Minolta Aspherical Zoom 38-115mm macro. AgfaPhoto VistaPlus-200

My ref: B000758~CNV00018a

One misty moisty morning in New Barnet, North London. This was the site of a hundred year old fire station, soon to be characterless dwellings.

St Margaret, Fleggburgh, Norfolk

As you head eastwards, Norfolk falls away behind you. The landscape simplifies, as though the wind from the grey North Sea has scoured it of anything inessential. In late winter, with the fields ploughed and the caravan parks empty, it can seem a tabula rasa, an empty slate, cleansed and waiting.

The village is called Fleggburgh, but the parish is Burgh St Margaret. It lies a few miles inland from the sprawling resorts of Yarmouth, Caister and Hemsby, but its fate is very much tied to theirs. The area's biggest employer is the leisure industry, and the east Norfolk towns and villages seem empty outside of high summer. And, just as the seaside towns rose to prominence in the late 19th century, so there was a knock-on effect in the hinterland. Outside of Norwich, this is the only part of Norfolk where the population was actually rising in the 1870s and 1880s, and this pretty church underwent a major renewal, an almost complete rebuilding, at the hands of Diocesan architect Herbert Green.

Along with his predecessor Richard Phipson, Green bestrides the landscape of church Victorianisation in East Anglia. The bodies of their work are considerable, and it wasn't just their own plans; anyone else's work would also have to cross their desks for them to cast a cold eye upon it. Their enthusiasms were as different from each others as it is possible to be, I suppose. Phipson was a technician, with an eye for detail. In restorations, his innovations blend fairly seamlessly into the medieval, which sounds good, but often leaves a rather dour, characterless atmosphere. Sometimes he went mad, producing extraordinary spires on a couple of churches in the Stowmarket area, and he could be very impressive on a grand scale, such as the complete rebuilding of St Mary le Tower in Ipswich.

Herbert Green, on the other hand, was a Victorian first and an medievalist second. Sometimes it is hard to see the medieval origins at all behind his rebuildings, scourings and facades. Here at Burgh, he built a 'Perpendicular' nave and a 'Decorated' chancel and tower, which is of course exactly the relationship you find at so many rural medieval churches in East Anglia. It's just that here it isn't real - to all intents and purposes, this is a faux medieval Norfolk parish church.

The harsh blue knapped flints would look even worse if it wasn't for the thatching that softens them. One curiosity - note how high the gables at the east end of the nave and chancel rise above the thatch. That on the nave is even higher than the bell windows of the tower. This must be because they are substantially the medieval originals. But nothing else is, I think. The red-brick arching to the windows helps a bit, but really this is a severe exterior, and knapped flint on such a scale would soon fall out of fashion, to be replaced by the cosiness of the Arts and Crafts movement. We can already see this happening here, for there is a cottage dormer window above the porch to be thankful for. It is here for a reason, because it lights the little gallery tucked into the roof space.

Inside, everything is Herbert Green's, pretty much. There is no tower arch, just a doorway, through which you can access the gallery. The furnishings are all of a piece, and the font is in the style of the 15th century. Green was very fond of Norman fonts, so it is interesting that here he chose a font to match the (imitation) Perpendicular nave rather than the (real) Norman south doorway. The stone reredos is perhaps more in Green's heavy style.

There are a couple of items of interest. A figure brass of 1608 remembers Richard Burton, the minister of this parish; it is remounted in a marble setting on the chancel wall. Opposite it is a moving memorial to George Thompson Fisher, who died in WWI. He was son of the Rector here who had overseen Green's rebuilding, and who was, incidentally, the very last Bishop of Ipswich.

The jewel in the crown of all this is the east window of 1968 by Paul Jefferies, in the uninhibited dynamic style of the time. It features the figures of St Margaret, St Luke and the Blessed Virgin. St Luke's bull looks a cheery sort, and St Margaret dispatches her dragon with aplomb. Mary, who is shown as the Queen of Heaven, is a little less vigorous than the other two figures. Her lack of an accompanying animal throws the composition slightly out of balance, and you wonder why she wasn't placed in the central light.

Jubilee car 762 was rebuilt from Balloon 714 in 1982 in Blackpool Transports own workshops. The components for the body were supplied from MetSec (Metal Sections) and bore a similar resemblence to MetSec bodies that were operating in the far east at the time.

It carries an allover advertisement for the regeneration of Blackpools promenade which will ultimately see the demise of this tram in favour of characterless European 'snake' trams. The location is North Pier.

In the first scrapyard (made mainly up cars from 2001-4) lurked this 924 which to my eyes didn't look like it needed scrapping, which seems such a waste. But the amount of not-that-old cars in these breakers was shocking - modern cars I may deride as being characterless white goods but they really are seen as disposable.

St Nicholas, Dersingham, Norfolk

The first time I went to Dersingham church, they were just locking up for the day. Never mind, I'll come back, I thought. Twelve years passed. Now, I was cycling around the villages to the north and east of the Sandringham estate, mopping up a handful of Norfolk churches that I'd missed when I first cut a swathe through the county. This was one of them.

So at last I stepped into its big interior, and I am afraid I found it a bit characterless. I'm sorry about that. Some big churches have a wow factor, but it just didn't happen to me here. Perhaps I would have preferred a bit of dust, a bit of peeling plaster, I don't know. I thought that St Nicholas is what a church would be like if my mother had been responsible for cleaning it - spotless, and everything lined up. Anyway, I notice that I took nearly 40 photos, so there was obviously plenty to see.

Then I headed out of Dersingham. climbing and climbing, and suddenly left the strange gloom of Kings Lynn, the Wash, the forest and the marsh country behind me, climbing up through narrow lanes through beautiful rolling fields, some being harvested. The sun was shining brightly, and it was with utter joy that I whooped along until descending steeply into Sherborne.

St Nicholas, Dersingham, Norfolk

The first time I went to Dersingham church, they were just locking up for the day. Never mind, I'll come back, I thought. Twelve years passed. Now, I was cycling around the villages to the north and east of the Sandringham estate, mopping up a handful of Norfolk churches that I'd missed when I first cut a swathe through the county. This was one of them.

So at last I stepped into its big interior, and I am afraid I found it a bit characterless. I'm sorry about that. Some big churches have a wow factor, but it just didn't happen to me here. Perhaps I would have preferred a bit of dust, a bit of peeling plaster, I don't know. I thought that St Nicholas is what a church would be like if my mother had been responsible for cleaning it - spotless, and everything lined up. Anyway, I notice that I took nearly 40 photos, so there was obviously plenty to see.

Then I headed out of Dersingham. climbing and climbing, and suddenly left the strange gloom of Kings Lynn, the Wash, the forest and the marsh country behind me, climbing up through narrow lanes through beautiful rolling fields, some being harvested. The sun was shining brightly, and it was with utter joy that I whooped along until descending steeply into Sherborne.

This large and characterless structure was constructed in 1969 to replace the county's previous 1902 Romanesque Revival Courthouse that still stands in downtown Starke. This one stands to the north of downtown Starke on highway 301.

While this building looks like an old fashioned Boston and Maine depot, it was actually built soon after the Downeaster started running. Dover originally had a large station that was demolished in the early 1960's and replaced by a small characterless building. That stood through the end of passenger service in 1967, and was demolished in the late 1990s. This third station is a fine addition to the city.