View allAll Photos Tagged Remote
Not sure what I'd call this; not really a farmhouse, shepherd's hut maybe. Whatever we call it, it's remote; on the B6277 a few miles south of Alston, although it's just about in County Durham rather than Cumbria.
In the right conditions lots of possibility here; surprised nothing else on flickr.
A CSX remote job switches at the east end of Yeoman Yard in Tampa. The lead unit is an ex-Seaboard SD40-2, which is right at home on the former Seaboard Air Line.
St Botolph, Tottenhill, Norfolk
A remote church, and rather bleakly situated, or so it seemed to me on this morning of drifting rain. The church is locked, and there's no keyholder notice. I'd found a number on the parish website, and a pleasant old couple had arranged to meet us at the church. They were a little surprised, because they hadn't realised that their number had been made public, but they were no less welcoming for that.
The church is an odd mixture. There's a typical small 14th Century tower, and the east end is the typical middle-brow work of Ewan Christian, but sandwiched in between is a tall Norman church with a spectacular south doorway and a similarly grand chancel arch. The latter has been restored, but the former is powerful in all its primitive glory.
This is a sad place, not just because it is remote and a bit bleak. This church was once a star in the Anglo-catholic firmament, home to a small community from Little Bardfield in Essex, which is still a High Church hotspot to this day. The incumbent who had been here for more than thirty years had retired two years previously, and of course there was no longer what the lady keyholder called 'a resident priest'. There were survivals of an earlier age - a statue of Our Lady of Walsingham in an alcove, a cross in the style of Lawrence King above the pulpit. The chancel was lovely, full of neat colour, but the nave was more ramshackle and seemed disused. I was put in mind of Philip Larkin's line about being
out on the end of an event
waving goodbye to something that survived it.
It's worth noting in passing that the great majority of East Anglian churches are open to passing strangers every day, and the great majority of those that aren't have a notice telling you where to get the key. Churches like Tottenhill are few and far between, but whenever I stand in one I get an uneasy feeling that I will, in fact, live long enough to see the last days of the Church of England. The nice lady spoke softly of their declining congregation, how nobody comes to church anymore, and how since their parish priest had retired people didn't seem so interested. Thanks to the benefice system they could rely on people from other churches coming on a rota basis to fill at least some of the seats, but even so, one of the other churches in the benefice, South Runcton, had recently closed. She wasn't despairing, or anything, or even terribly sad - "that's just the way it is now", she observed.
I thought about something I'd written about another church, about 'churches only for the slightly smug activities of the Sunday club, while the graveyard is left to the pagan cult of the dead, the bereaved worshipping their recent ancestors with propitiatory flowers, unable to combine this with a prayer said inside a sacred building, increasingly unaware even that this might be an appropriate thing to do.
As the years go by, the congregation gets smaller, and older, and less welcoming to strangers, hanging on to the rituals that comfort them but which otherwise serve no community devotional purpose, and are no means for sharing the faith and love and life of the parish. The building is used less and less often, eventually being abandoned altogether by people who, no doubt, bemoan the decline and fall of their congregation and shake their heads gravely at the immorality of the young of today, their lack of respect and belief.
And yet, they have not even once taken the risk of letting themselves be found by us, the strangers wondering at the God-shaped hole within ourselves, surprising a hunger to be more serious, and gravitating with it to this ground.'
Female psychic or fortune teller holding a crystal skull trying to communicate with the dead. Learn more about Remote Viewing here: www.psychicbase.com/remote-viewing/
A remote control makes it much easier to shoot self-portraits. The infrared remote did not turn out that well, because it was impossible to focus automatically (okay, a thing, which happens with some other lenses, I have, too). Not to mention, that I cannot find this damned little infrared remote control anymore.
View of the Southern Way anchored in a deep water channel on the west side of the Chandeleur Islands. Researchers use the smaller skiffs to access the shallow waters close to shore.
The Remote Operating Centre, designed to redefine the way in which vessels are controlled. Instead of copying existing wheelhouse design the ROC used input from experienced captains to place the different system components in the optimum place to give the master confidence and control. The aim is to create a future proof standard for the control of vessels remotely.
The Remote Operating Centre, designed to redefine the way in which vessels are controlled. Instead of copying existing wheelhouse design the ROC used input from experienced captains to place the different system components in the optimum place to give the master confidence and control. The aim is to create a future proof standard for the control of vessels remotely.
This set of the Lego racers series fascinated me because the base of the vehicle is remote controlled. After plying a while with the original I got bored and wanted to build something more realistic and interesting on top of the driving unit. Hence the base itself is quite thick the best thing I could come up with, was this rally car. The rally Dakar is an extreme event in the world of motor sport. I liked the old VW Tuareg which crossed the dunes rather successfully. Nevertheless, I wanted to include many or I dare say most of the parts from the original set. As I wanted to make a realistic car it really nice to see it been even driven by a more or less talented minifigure accompanied by his co-pilot who is navigating. :-) The two of them are taking up the challenge of the Lego Rally Dakar. The wheels are pretty small, therefore i changed the back ones for a bigger yellow pair. Unfortunately, the steering is often a bit too lash for a rally car. So its strengths are still on the tarmac. Focus when building was of course on stability while incoporating an aggressive, sportive line of Design. I am quite happy with the outcome of the front bumper, which is definitely one of the big characteristics of this unique car. If you have not already, let's have a look on the back of the car, where I packed very handy tools.
most of them are replaced by the huge Sony AV-RM2000 in the middle. The silver 90-degree-thingy is the remote for a commercial Linux PVR computer.
Helicon Remote used to take a stack of 8 images then focus stacked in Helicon Focus. Demo mode in both cases.
Businesses that do dealings online now offer the customer service aspect of shopping an online operation. You can live chat with a representative if you have questions or if site navigation is confusing and you can't find out what you are looking for or just have questions about product specifications.
SOURCE: www.squirrelcart.com/
www.simplifiedbuilding.com/blog/installing-a-railing-in-a...
Kee Klamp address the problems of installing a railing in a remote location
For 366 and FGR - Show Some Remote Control.
This is the best you're getting out of me today, *again* I'm coming down with a cold. My work day today felt like about 17 years. Bleurgh. Time to lie down with a hot Ribena.
St Margaret, Thrandeston, Suffolk
Thrandeston is a lovely village, with that illusion of remoteness which East Anglia does so well. I love coming back here. We are less than a hundred miles from central London, but we might as well be in the Middle Ages. As with several villages in this part of Suffolk, what looks at first sight as if it should be the village green is in fact unenclosed common pasture land, with the result that it is a nature reserve of some significance. The few houses of the village are scattered around this large triangle, and most of them are beautiful.
This was, I suppose, my half-dozenth visit. Away from the main roads, you can cycle for miles in this part of Suffolk without meeting a car, or even another human being. On one occasion as I cycled into Thrandeston, my eye was caught by a large adult male muntjac deer, watching me from beneath a tree in the hedgerow. Captivated, I stopped to watch. It looked like a tiny cow. It didn’t run, but stared at me insolently for a moment, before turning and trotting off towards the embankment, the white scut of its tail bobbing all the while.
Today, a big rabbit bolted across the common as I cycled past. This was all at ten o’clock on a Saturday morning, and such a contrast with the bustle I had left behind in Ipswich town centre. People who live in Thrandeston are very fortunate. The serenity of the village is reflected by the church and graveyard, which stand a little way from the green.
In fact, I had been here a couple of weeks previously, on the Sunday morning, hoping to revisit and rephotograph the church. But the Sunday morning service had just started and I must admit that I had been a bit disappointed (yes, I know that's what the churches are here for). But standing outside reminded me how lovely this church was, and so it was hard to resist coming back so soon.
The 15th century tower has a dedicatory inscription. It remembers that the Sulyards and the Cornwallises had it built. At the other end of the church, the chancel weeps more dramatically than that of any other Suffolk church, which is to say it is at a slight angle to the nave. This will be even more apparent inside, of course. It is a reminder that naves and chancels were built at different times by different people, often on the site of earlier ones. It should be more of a surprise to us that so few weep, rather than that any do at all. The porch and clerestory are typical Suffolk perpendicular, but on a small, intimate scale. Inside the church, the silence is punctuated only by the birdsong from the churchyard and the occasional passing car.
A 17th Century poor box stands in front of the late 15th Century font, symbols of the evangelists alternating with Tudor roses. The view east is to the rood screen, rough and rustic with little figures in the spandrels - crowned angels, two other angels blowing the wind, while yet another angel holds a spear, which you might think an instrument of the passion were it not for the fact he is defending himself against a dragon creeping up from the other spandrel. The nave benches are low and narrow, and it is easy to imagine the 19th century citizens of Thrandeston huddled together in them. The benches at the west end of the nave have lovely medieval carvings. St Peter holds his key, St John his poisoned chalice, and what must be a crouching St Bartholomew holding a flencing knife (or is it St St Simon, holding the tail of a broken fish?
These bench ends are somewhat overshadowed by those in the chancel, though. Here, parts of the rood loft and pieces of 17th Century panelling have been cobbled together to make a stall. In the central entrance stand two most extraordinary figures. They are female. One hitches up her skirt, and they both carry animals. One has a cat, the other what may be an owl. Mortlock says that it is hard to resist the notion that they are witches. But where do they come from, and why are they here? Almost certainly, they are 17th Century, and originally from a domestic setting. A similar figure is carved on a wooden mantelpiece at Christchurch Mansion in Ipswich, and I have come across several others on similar furnishings.
They have a misogynistic feel to them, and were no doubt originally inspired by the witch hunt hysteria of the middle of the 17th Century, which was a strong one in this part of East Anglia. Under Cromwell, the Commonwealth persecuted thousands of people to their death, many of whom were old women. Their crime? Perhaps they lived alone, and kept themselves apart from other people. Perhaps they practised natural medicine, or could be called upon if a woman was having difficulties in childbirth. Perhaps some of them were Catholics, and thus didn’t participate in the austere and lengthy services of the Puritan church. Whatever, they were considered witches, and therefore evil, and were drowned, or hung, or burnt. There is no one as superstitious as an extreme protestant.
With this rather sobering thought it is pleasant to turn to a window on the north side of the nave which contains a collection of fragments of medieval glass. Lots of churches have some like this, but these here are particularly pleasing. The feet of a bird, possibly the eagle of St John, the forked beard of God the Father, an angel hand plucking strings, a group of 15th century cockerels that might easily be roaming Thrandeston common but are probably from a heraldic shield, and below them part of an inscription that was once so common but is now so rare that you wouldn't know about it if it didn't exist in places like this: Orate pro Animabus, it reads, 'pray for our souls...'
Contemporary with the glass is an inscription for one of the Cornwallises set in brass in the chancel wall. It is for Elizabeth Cornwaleys. It begins Of your charitie, pray for the sowle of Mistress Elizabeth Cornwaleys. It was missing from this church for three hundred years, thanks to vandals or collectors, but was returned here in the mid-19th century. There are a couple of other, later, brass inscriptions in the chancel.
The chancel windows contain some interesting 19th Century glass by William Wailes. They commemorate two children of the Lee-French family. Hugh Spencer Lee-French died in 1860 at the age of 22 months. He is depicted in one light being held by Christ as a demonstration of the Kingdom of God, and in the other being somewhat dramatically borne up by an angel from the globe of the earth to the lights of heaven above. The other is to Thomas Broadley Lee-French, who died at the age of 11 in 1866. In one light he is depicted as the young Samuel telling the priest Eli that he has heard the voice of God, and in the other as the young Christ being found by his parents teaching in the temple. A third window is in a similar style, the Good Samaritan pouring healing oils on to the beaten man's wounds, as St Peter falls to his knees as he watches Christ walk on water, but it is not of the same quality and may even not be by the same workshop.
Looking down on all this, the 19th Century corbels to the roof depict a diverse array of heads. A Moor and a Negro are perhaps tributes to the Victorian empire, while the woman in a wimple harks back to the 14th Century. By the chancel arch, a man whose arms seem to grow from his head cackles manically. At the other end of the nave, an ugly man gurns, perhaps suffering from toothache, a popular late medieval depiction.
A church full of drama, then, fascinating and lovely.