One of the benefits of a cut-price classical education is that I am able to find my way round Google when I want to appear educated. My Grammar school career ended after only one year when the school was converted to a Comprehensive.

Whilst watching photographers near the bridge at Bakewell I thought Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? Well you would, wouldn’t you? Though “Who photographs the photographers themselves?” would be more suitable.

As a result I decided to photograph some of the photographers. That’s not as easy as it sounds, as most of them now use cameras for taking pictures and merely appear to be staring at their phone. It can be difficult to separate the photographers from the general run of slack-jawed tech users. It’s a bit like shopping these days – it’s difficult to tell whether people are talking to themselves or using a bluetooth earpiece. I tend to think that neither is necessary whilst shopping.

Photographer at Bakewell b

Photographer at Bakewell c

Photographer at Bakewell d

Photographer at Bakewell e

Photographer at Bakewell f

I also took a picture of a pair of boots. They are Doc Marten’s with an angel painted on them. I used to wear DM’s for work. They were light and comfortable and, despite the odd puncture, very practical. As I recall, they used to come with instructions for punctures repairs – you used to heat a knife blade and use it to seal the hole by melting the rubber sole around the hole.

It seems positively Victorian. My Dad was part of the last generation to wear clogs, I wore Doc Marten’s and my kids wear all manner of exotic footwear. Such is progress. You could probably chart the decay of Western Civilisation by reference to the nature of our footwear. From clogs to boots to trainers. My grandchildren will probably wear dancing pumps.

Boots at Bakewell

They were interesting boots, though anything beginning with the letter “B” would have done to complete the title.

If someone had walked past with a bulldog it could have been a very different post.