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