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