I lost my blues in Blois.
Low GI. All the good stuff, none of the bread.
More Blois blues.
Stairs up through the old city walls.
More views from the ramparts.
One of the earliest cameras ever. Employed by the architect to record his greatness.
Love the mix of old and new. Business today in ancient buildings.
In the private royal prayer room. With sexy saints like these, no wonder Catholicism was all the rage.
Neutrals and blues: my favourite shades.
Great staircase of the royal castle.
My road out of Blois, following the Loire upstream.
Turns out Blois was a centre of ceramics excellence. Is that where I get my love of this artform from?
Picture of queen and twins. In another queen’s private dressing room.
More stairs through city gates.
Hat style. Brought back memories of the extensive hat collection I had when I visited Blois last.
Doug’s alter ego.
How many people must walk a stone staircase to leave their trace?
Still more Blois blues. More pastel than the Provencal blue.
Because of course you wear a suit to sit in the park and read your paper.
Leaving Blois. Leaving the blues.
Second-hand bookshop. No space for people.
Magical sound and light show in the castle courtyard
Thousands of years of footsteps here.
Looking down on the riffraff.
Disco and blues
Blois blues. Much real estate for sale.
The royal castle, home to 7 kings and 10 queens.
Flatlands, a stone’s throw from my ancestral birthplace.