You see Depth of Field mentioned a lot in magazine articles, books and on websites, but do you really understand what we mean by 'DOF'?

The nearer the subject is that the lens is focused on, the shallower the depth of field (DOF). Anything nearer or farther away than the area defined by the depth of field will appear blurry in the final picture. There are several factors that affect depth of field; so here's a quick list of what you need to know;

[1] DOF is significantly greater with compact digital cameras than any film camera

[2] DOF gets shallower the longer the lens in use; with a wideangle virtually everything is in focus, with a telephoto much less

[3] DOF also gets shallower the nearer the subject the lens is focused on. Subjects 5cm away may only have a DOF of a few millimetres, at 30 feet everything from a few feet to infinity will be sharp

[4] Finally, DOF is affected by the lens aperture setting... the smaller the aperture (bigger the F number) the more the depth of field.

For most scenic shots you want the maximum depth of field, so everything is in focus. This usually means a wide lens, fairly small aperture and distant focus point. But there are times when you want shallow depth of field – either to add emphasis to the main subject of the image or to remove a distracting background from a portrait. As mentioned at the top, digital cameras have a lot of depth of field anyway, so it can be a challenge to reduce it significantly. Use the long end of the zoom and portrait mode (or aperture priority) to set the widest possible aperture (low F number) and you should be able to throw the background out of focus.

Raindrops splash against the pane
From heavy clouds, gathered high,
To make the children’s faces glum
For they are sad, but oh, not I.

My mind has drifted to a place
Before this time, when knights of old
Rode chargers ‘cross the countryside
In chase of dragons, or deeds so bold

That once completed they become
A part of folklore, legend, tale,
To be passed from mouth to mouth
Beside the fire o’er jugs of ale.

A time when chivalry was norm,
Where worthy gallant knights abound
Of castles, kings and ladies fair
And unicorns could still be found.

In my mind dressed for the deed,
I see myself on trusty steed,
Onwards now to Arthur’s court
More fairy castle than defensive fort,
And offer up to him my lot
To join with him at Camelot.

As raindrops splash against the pane
I ride the hill tops once again,
My shield is polished, my crest bright
I’m ever ready for the fight,
For righting wrongs it seems to me
Shall always be my destiny.

The bravery of a Chepstow sailor awarded the Victoria Cross at Gallipoli in Turkey in 1915 was being marked at a service in the town.

William Williams died in the arms of his commanding officer who said he was the "bravest sailor he had ever met".

He jumped into the sea braving gun fire to help other troops ashore before he was killed.

Members of the seaman's family were expected at the Chepstow Anzac Day service.

Able Seaman Williams, who was 34 and single, died exactly 91 years ago, on 25 April, 1915.

He later became one of only 39 people to receive the VC in the Gallipoli campaign, which saw 100,000 allied lives lost.

He stood alongside the commander of the HMS River Clyde, Captain Edward Unwin, and two other sailors, chest deep in the sea holding a rope keeping the drifting lighters together and helping two battalions to disembark at Gallipoli's V beach.

The official entry in the Register of VCs says: "He was eventually dangerously wounded and later killed by a shell whilst his rescue was being effected by his commander who described him as the bravest sailor he had ever met".

Henry Benjamin, treasurer of Chepstow Royal Naval Association, which is organising Tuesday's memorial said they had been holding the service for the last five years.

"It's one of about 10 held around the UK, but unique in Wales," said Mr Benjamin, adding they believed the bravery of the seaman, who was a reservist called up for action had to be recorded.

He said members of the sailor's family, some who live in nearby Caldicot, attend the memorial each year.

Chepstow museum has a large display dedicated to AS Williams - the town's only Victoria Cross winner in World War I.

Museum curator Ann Rainsbury said the sailor, who was born in Shropshire, had been recommended for his bravery before Gallipoli, including while serving in South Africa and China.

"He had joined as a boy sailor and come out of the Navy in 1910, " she said.

"His service expired in September 1910 and he transferred to the Royal Fleet Reserve but he was recalled to active service in August 1914, and died on 25 April, 1915 at V beach in Gallipoli".

Before he was recalled, Williams was in the police force in Newport, St Mellons and Risca, and also worked at the Orb steel works in Newport.

There are two memorials to the sailor in Chepstow - a painting showing his bravery at Gallipoli in St Mary's Church as well as a gun from a German submarine presented by King George V.

The actual VC which King George presented to Williams' father in 1916 is now in private ownership.

Interesting stuff this from Giuseppe Arcimboldo:

One of the most bizarre and distinctive painters in the whole of art history, Giuseppe Arcimboldo (1527-1593) owes his reputation to the series of composite portraits of heads made up of a variety of objects, both natural and man-made. Most of these paintings were created at the court of Rudolf II, who hired Arcimboldo as his court painter, placing him at the centre of Rudolf's eccentric menagerie of artists, scientists and charlatans.

Giuseppe Arcimboldo was born in Milan in 1527 into a highly distinguished family, which boasted archbishops (including his grandfather), jurists and artists (including his father Biagio). Little is known about his early life, but his connections with Milanese nobility undoubtedly helped him secure work designing frescoes and windows for the cathedral. In 1562 he travelled across the Alps to Vienna to become the portraitist and copyist to the Hapsburg court, at the invitation of Emperor Maximilian II (his talent having been noted by Maximilian's father Ferdinand I, who employed him as a painter of conventional portraits).

See more of Giuseppe's artwork.

Some weekends are undoubtedly longer than others, but on occasion even the usual Saturday/Sunday break seems compressed into a minor blip that squirts by with nought but the briefest respite for the weary worker.

A feeling of normally is settling over my household this morning, following the reinstatement of Darling Daughter to her term-time address in Bradford. Her presence in the family home will be missed: there’s currently an empty feeling about our nest.

Under optimal circumstances the round trip from South East Wales to West Yorkshire and back can is pleasant. My preferred route takes you through some interesting countryside and from my point of view it’s been entertaining to witness the seasonal changes. Of course Sod’s Law rears its ugly head from time-to-time and decrees the journey will be undertaken in torrential rain, driving snow or fog, effectively blocking out the landscape. Weather conditions like these not only make for a dull journey, but also create a tired and irascible driver. This last weekend it was the turn of the Motorway Monster to throw a spanner in the works with the closure of the M6 on Saturday morning, forcing a change of route and additional driving time.

Bad planning I know, but yesterday wasn’t notable for being London Marathon day, St George’s Day, the anniversary of the Bard’s Birth or anything else, except Our Mam’s Birthday. Our Mam takes pride of place over them all in this house, especially as reached Two Fat Ladies yesterday.

So here we are on Monday morning after an action packed weekend and with a busy week ahead and instead of my feeling refreshed and raring to go I’m tired, irritable and just a little depressed: God help any student who pisses me off today!

It's always sad when a family member dies, no matter how far removed they may be from the rest of the clan. No family wailing or gnashing of teeth on this departure but that doesn't mean I enjoyed having to remove one of my fish (floating inversed) from the pond this morning. No visable signs of damage or illness. An otherwise perfect specimen, if only it had been breathing.

Tired of uninspiring snaps? Start thinking about composition and you'll soon be taking pictures you'd be proud to hang on the wall.

Fill the frame: if you're taking a portrait, zoom in as much as possible to concentrate on the person's face.

Think in two dimensions: remember that you see in three dimensions, but your picture has only two. This is why we often don't notice that a tree behind a person looks like it's growing out of their head – until we've taken a picture.

Use a zoom lens to fill the frame with your subject.

Foreground interest: Shooting landscapes seems simple enough: there's a nice view, point the camera and snap! But to make a shot more interesting or to draw the eye into the picture, make sure you include some foreground interest. This simple device will add impact, scale and interest to your shot.

The Rule of Thirds is a photographic technique that divides the scene horizontally and vertically into thirds, and places the main point of interest on any point where the lines intersect. The simplest application of the rule is to place the horizon on one of the horizontal lines (a third of the way down from the top or a third of the way up from the bottom of the frame).

Experiment and you'll see how this simple rule can add impact to your shots. Some cameras even overlay a grid showing the lines onto your colour screen.

Use diagonal lines to lead the eye into the picture. Good examples are pathways or fences in landscape scenes.

Try to indicate scale by including either foreground or something recognisable

Use natural framing: whether you include some nearby overhanging foliage in the picture, shoot through an archway or between two trees, framing the main subject of your picture will produce a much more pleasing result.

Natural framing can create a pleasing effect

Snail crawls slowly up window pane
Reaches the top and turns back down again,
Wondering in his humble snail-like way,
“Where shall I go on my travels today?”

Blue Tit flies from nest box in tree
Eyes bright, searching for what he may see,
Snail ignores the little bird’s rush,
“Thank you Lord, it wasn’t Thrush.”

Black Cat slinks close to the ground
And looks for that, which can’t be found,
Green eyes darting here and there
But Snail just crawls without a care.

And as his journey nears its end
Snail smiles, his mind in state of pretend,
“I’ve travelled near yet been so far
In my Red Ferrari motor car!”

Artists have understood this simple rule since the time of the ancient Greeks, and – though nothing can guarantee a good photograph – the rule of thirds is the nearest thing we have to a 'golden formula'.

The basic idea is simple. You draw a horizontal line one third of the way down from the top of the frame and another one one third of the way from the bottom. Do the same thing vertically, so the frame is cut into nine equal squares (like a noughts and crosses board). The key to a pleasing composition is to place the most important part of the scene on one of the four points where the lines intersect, or to place a main horizontal or vertical line along one of the lines.

Placing the horizon on one of the horizontal lines is a sure fire winner.

It sounds complicated, but it isn't. In fact, if you look at your best photographs you'll invariably find that they conform to some degree to the rule of thirds. And if you remember to place the main point of interest towards one corner, about a third of the way in, you'll find your 'hit rate' increases dramatically. The rule of thirds is especially important in landscape photography, where it defines the placement of the horizon. There are very few situations where placing the horizon bang in the middle of the frame makes for a good picture; those that do work usually follow the rule of thirds anyway (by placing something else, such as a dramatic cloud formation) on one of the horizontal lines.

Although the horizon is very high, the rule of thirds still applies as the main focus of the image is placed on one of the intersections.

In portraiture the rule of thirds usually applies to the eyes, which are placed roughly one third of the way from the top of the frame. The rule is so powerful, and so reliable, that some photographers go as far as etching the lines onto their viewfinders or marking the LCD screen. Many cameras offer a 'rule of thirds' grid display option too.

When photographing people in a scene you should still aim to place their face on one of the vertical lines – and the eyes near the top right or top left intersection.

Quick tips

1. Use the grid overlay if your camera has it – you'll soon find yourself producing more balanced pictures.

2. Don't treat the rule of thirds as a binding rule – it's a tried and tested guideline, and even if you follow it roughly it'll improve your composition.

3. Just moving your main subject off-centre is usually enough to improve composition.

4. Like all rules this one is made to be broken; don't become a slave to the rule of thirds, just bear it in mind when trying to work out how to frame a scene. It'll soon become second nature.

5. Look back through your favourite photos – both those you've taken and those by others. Try to work out if the rule of thirds applies – you'll be surprised how often it will!

A long time ago I wrote a book. It might not have been much of a book, but it was my book. I owned it. I gave it life. The book was written. The book was read. The book was put away.

I've decided (with a little help) to share my literary genius with the good people of Blogland. I don't intend posting the whole book, but I hope at least some of you will pay Happy Jack's Saline Drip a visit from time to time and share some sea stories.

I've always had an affinity with water, although I'm not sure I appreciated it as a callow youth. It's probably why I turned to the Royal Navy as a career choice as opposed to any of the other services when reaching my manhood. Life at sea was a pleasure for me, I loved the motion of the waves and hardly ever stopped to consider the fact my bunk was well below the ship's waterline. Even so a sailor's life can be a tad tedious at times and that's when they stop to ponder life's mysteries; I was no exception and found myself wondering the whys and wherefores on many occasions.

So, Good Friday and the allotted time for my first big pond clean-up of the year. Some tidying had already been undertaken at the back-end of February. Too damn cold then to spend more than a few minutes in the water, but now that April's well under way things have warmed considerably.

I don an old pair of swimming shorts and t-shirt and stepping up to the pond's edge, dip a tentative toe in the water. It's okay, not too cold at all in fact. I wave to the wife, who offers me a sad expression, shakes her head and turns away from the window. I step boldly into the depths, pausing momentarily on the first level before proceeding down to the second. It may be worth explaining at this point the pond has four depth levels, the deepest being at the far side from my entry point.

The work starts as I remove the pre-pump filter for cleaning and put it aside. I scoop out fallen leaves and the odd snail shell from around both filter seat and pump base. Next is the removal of some of the oxygenating weed, which will take over if simply left to its own devices.

I step down into level three with a sharp intake of breath as the water laps around my thighs. This is worst part of the job, the clearing of the fallen and rotting grunge from last year. Why don't I use a pond vacuum? Because I'd rather do the job in a more gentle, controlled way. I crouch allow the water to explore my lower torso, while reaching down and gathering my first handful of crap for removal. A head appears and a voice mutters, “You must be flipping daft. Are you going to play with mud pies long?”

Answering in the affirmative I continue, happy in my work dredging out the sludge. At this point one of the ghost koi decides to investigate my toes. I wiggle them in an effort to scare the fish away, but no, it's determined to play. Move the foot, step sideways. Another handful of sludge, another tickle around my toes. Wiggle again, same effect. Move foot. A second investigative fish joins the fun: here's where stupidity takes over. I know what's playing with my toes and I know they can't hurt me, but does that change anything? No. I flick one foot then the other shuffling forward as I do, onto the slippery edge of the depths and then over and down.

The water's 4'6'' deep here and I'm already in a crouching position. I jerk myself upwards, not wanting my head to dip below the surface. It may look clean enough, but I really don't fancy sticking my face into the pond. The shriek of laughter from behind tells me first, the wife is still present and second, not to expect any sympathy. Oh well.

Twenty minutes later my sludging is complete and I leave the pond to it's more natural denizens. The pre-pump filter is cleaned and returned. I stand shivering in the wind, but not for long. T-shirt and shorts are deposited in a wet heap on the patio as I head for the kitchen door and the pleasures of mineral salted hot bath.

The "sixth sick sheik's sixth sheep's sick" is said to be the toughest tongue twister in the English language (thatks to Seconds).

Got a better one? Post it here.

I’ve spent a good part of my working day today sat in front of a computer: nothing new in that, given that I teach IT skills for a living. Today has been different though because it’s me that’s been doing the learning.

The university has access to an online facility called Welsh Networked Learning from which subscribers can access online training materials to aid staff development and I’ve just become the eLearning Administrator for our establishment.

Not wanting to sign other people up to courses without first trying the system for myself, I registered and have been working my way through one of the modules. I’m glad I did, not because I’ve found the system difficult to work with, it isn’t, in fact it's well worked out and quite enlightening.

There is however one flaw as far as I’m concerned and that’s the instructor’s voice.

Okay it’s difficult to sound really interested and animated when you’re coming from a computer speaker, so I’ll let that pass. Did the British company who produce the software have to use an American presenter though? No, of course they didn't. So she’s Microsoft trained and obviously knows her subject, so what? The constant use of Americanisms and the little girl giggle followed by “Good job” when a task is completed really got up my nose.

I’m not being xenophobic here, I hold American nationals in the same esteem as people from other races, it’s just that the production company is British and I’m British living and working in Britain, so why couldn’t the presenter/tutor be British too? You can bet if the software production company had been Chinese the presenter wouldn’t have been a Yank!

I seem to have seen a lot of poetry here in blogland recently, so I thought I'd add to it. I tend not to pen much nowadays for whatever reason, but here's a little something you may find interesting.

Spanish Rose

Reflected shadows on the wall
In firelight, rise and fall,
Of silhouettes in love's embrace
Dancing together, face to face,
Which on inspection mi amore
Spring from solids on the floor,
From bodies, Carmen, yours and mine,
In ecstasies of love entwined.

Such love as ours knows no bounds
It's truly wondrous when it's found,
And makes mere mortal man's heart sing
To know he's luckier than a king.
A love as ours is hard to find
And should you look deep, in your mind,
In truth, My Darling, you must know
We are together, Tu y Yo.

Now aren't you just dying to know who Carmen might be?

Acting captain Andrew Strauss made 74 as England won their first match of the series, beating India by five wickets in the sixth one international in Jamshedpur.

Phew! At least the one day series isn't a complete whitewash now, though goodness knows India have outplayed England in just about every facet of the game (and well done them).

I wonder if the boys can make it 5-2 in Indore on Saturday?

It’s not everyday you spot a bargain as good as this one, so if you’re currently looking for a quality digital SLR, or are considering upgrading to a digital SLR, read on.

The Digital Camera Company is offering the superb Fuji S3Pro camera body for an incredible £729.00 (inc. VAT). That’s an amazing saving of over £570.00 on the RRP of £1,299.99!

Fujifilm Finepix S3 Pro

The S3 Pro marks the third in a series of Fujifilm digital SLRs (DSLRs) based upon Nikon bodies. The S1 was based on the Nikon N60, while the S2 Pro and S3 Pro are based on the Nikon N80. The S1 came out in 1999, the S2 Pro appeared in 2002, and the S3 Pro appeared in late 2004, so it seems that Fujifilm is shooting for about two-year product cycles although there is currently no news from Fuji of a successor to the S3 Pro.

Rear View

I own Fuji’s S2 Pro and am extremely happy with it, but at the Digital Camera Company’s price I’m certainly considering an upgrade to the S3 Pro: the best price I’ve found elsewhere is £949.99 from Camerabox.

Yesterday saw us on the road again and driving into the Midlands to visit Stratford-Upon-Avon, birthplace of the Bard. Darling Daughter had expressed a wish to visit, so off we went up the M5.

We entered Stratford via a B road, which conveniently brought us into the village of Shottery and Ann Hathaway's cottage. It's all a bit chocolate boxey, but the building is arguably the most picturesque of the Shakespeare Birthplace Trust properties.

The cottage belonged to the prosperous Hathaway family and was the pre-marital home of William Shakespeare's wife, Anne. Although referred to as a cottage, it is actually a substantial, twelve-roomed, Elizabethan farmhouse. Externally the building with it's low thatched roof, timbered walls and lattice windows has changed very little since Anne Hathaway's time. Parts of the building structure date back further than the 15th century, using some of the earliest English house-building techniques. The cottage was built on a slope, and parts of the building consequently sit at different levels.

We did the tour and moved on into town: next stop Shakespeare's birthplace.

Shakespeare's Birthplace

This is possibly the most famous and most visited literary landmark in Britain. it is the house where it is thought that Shakespeare was born and spent his formative years. The property originally belonged to William Shakespeare's father John, who was a glover and became a successful Stratford businessman. John & Mary Shakespeare moved from nearby Snitterfield to Stratford in 1529, shortly after getting married. It is known from Stratford records that the Shakespeare family were residing in Henley street by 1552 and that William Shakespeare was born in 1564. It is assumed from this collection of dates that this building in Henley Street was William Shakespeare's Birthplace. The Birthplace remained in the hands of Shakespeare's descendants until the 19th century, after which it had a somewhat chequered past.

The house is quite amazing, but if you get the chance to talk to the guide in the glove workshop you're in for a treat: the guy's knowledge is fantastic and he's so enthusiastic.

A walk down to the RSC and Swan theatres, stopping for a bite of lunch on the way. Unfortunately both theatres were in rehearsal, so we couldn't tour. Just to be different, the weather decided to play its part in our day out and it snowed on us as we walked the short distance to Nash's House.

Shakespeare didn't live in Nash's house, but his grand daughter did. In effect, Shakespeare lived next door in New Place.

New Place in Chapel Street was William Shakespeare's final retirement home. He purchased the impressive building for £60 in 1597, whilst he was still spending most of his time working in London. He finally settled at New Place in 1610. Built by Hugh Clopton it was the second largest building in Stratford and was the only house made from brick. It is difficult to imagine the grandeur of New Place, now that it has been reduced to its foundations and the remnants of a well. However, earliest drawings show that it was was an impressive building with a courtyard at the front, and barns, spacious gardens and orchards at the rear.

New Place is no longer standing and as Nash's house is a fine example of a wealthy Elizabethan home, that's the house you tour. It's a fine building and the grounds are superb. By the time we exiting, it was getting late and our thoughts turned to the journey home. We headed back to the car promising ourselves to return to Stratford later in the year to complete our tour.

Our second port of call was the Cheddar Gorge and a visit to both the public show caves.

Gough’s Cave is the bigger of the two public caves at Cheddar and although it has a couple of spectacular features I find the smaller Cox’s Cave more interesting.

Both caves are the result of years of erosion by running water and were opened up by Gough Cox in the 1880s. The guy must have had some real yen to explore underground because the amount of spoil he shifted to make Gough’s Cave navigable had to be immense.

King Solomon's Temple

I doubt anyone who has seen the chambers called Saint Paul’s Cathedral or King Solomon’s Temple will ever forget them: the formations build up over the millennia are truly spectacular.

Cox’s Cave is an absolute gem though and although much smaller has the most amazing formations of curtain stalactites I’ve ever seen. Rippling away along the length of one passage in particular, these stalactites look exactly like the curtains on a stage.

Cox’s Cave also has formations of stalagmites rising from water pools, some of which are the most bizarre shapes and somewhat reminiscent of those erect items on sale at Ann Summer’s. One in particular we nicknamed Maiden's Dream: I couldn’t work out where to insert the batteries, but judging by the smooth lustre on this and other protrusions perhaps there is no need as the items come, batteries not included!

Maiden's Dream

It’s been a busy, but extremely pleasurable weekend, despite the best efforts of some moron to wipe me and my family out on the M5 yesterday. Driving standards in the UK (something that has raised its ugly head here in blogland in the past) can be really woeful at times. If anyone out there can explain just why some motorists insist on driving at speeds in excess of 90mph at dusk, in driving rain and without lights, I’d be incredibly interested to read your treatise.

So what’ve I been up to? Playing at being a tourist, that’s what. We’ve visited the depths of Welsh Wales, been down deep English caverns and spent a day being rained and snowed on tramping around Shakespeare’s old stomping ground. Quite a lot of driving, even larger amounts of walking and vast amounts of fun.

I’ll split my weekend blog into three separate sections. First let’s revisit Merlin Falls in Wales.

Melincourt Falls, Resolven

Melincourt Waterfalls Reserve is owned and managed by the Glamorgan Wildlife Trust. The falls are reached by a public footpath from the B4434 Resolven to Tonna Road and are well worth the 20 minute walk up through the valley from the public car park.

There are two waterfalls; the main one is depicted above. The smaller of the two falls carries little more than stream, while the main falls is a part of a fair sized brook. I imagine the amount of water flow would be quite impressive following heavy rain.

For those interested in industrial archaeology, there are the remains of a blast-furnace and iron works on northern boundary of the reserve. Built in the late 1600s, the works were opened in 1708 and produced iron for over 100 years. The great overshot water wheel was powered by water carried in a channel from above the falls.

Base of Melincourt Falls

So what prompted the decision to drop everything and act like a bunch of demented tourists? My daughter’s wish to visit Stratford, my own desire to photograph the waterfalls at Melincourt and a joint decision to play at being troglodytes. Maybe you folk out there also do things on a whim? If you don’t, perhaps you ought to try it; it's fun!

The subject of William Henry Davies' Leisure came up on Eponymous' blog yesterday, so I thought I'd post a potted history here for anyone interested.

WH Davies
Tramp poet and writer from Pill

Born: 1871-1940

Place of Birth: Pillgwently, Newport

Biography:

The life of Newport's "tramp poet" is one of the most remarkable in literary history.

William Henry Davies was born in lowly circumstances in Portland Street in the Pill district of Newport, the son of an iron-moulder who died when he was two years old.

His mother remarried and left her three children to be adopted by their grandparents, who ran the nearby Church House Inn.

Badly behaved as a teenager, Davies joined a shoplifting gang and was given the birch for stealing two bottles of perfume.

On leaving school he began work as an ironmonger before signing up as apprentice to a picture frame maker.

But Davies was dissatisfied with life in Newport, leaving first for London, then Bristol, and eventually the USA in 1893.

He spent the next six years intermittently working and begging his way across North America, occasionally working his passage back to the UK as a sailor on cattle ships.

Being jailed for vagrancy was an occupational hazard which at least offered a few days' shelter.

Davies documented this period of his life in his acclaimed memoir Autobiography of a Super-Tramp although the book may be short on facts and long on embellishment.

The turning point in his life was the loss of a leg after he was dragged under the wheels of an express train he'd tried to jump onto at Renfrew, Ontario.

Unfit for manual labour or life on the road, Davies turned to writing and returned to London where working-class poetry was all the rage and his memorable, accessible verse found favour.

But the bohemian boy from Pill felt out of place in Edwardian London's literary circles.

At the age of fifty he married Helen Payne, a prostitute thirty years his junior, leaving the city to move first to Sussex and later Gloucestershire.

Davies continued writing and an account of his marriage was eventually published in 1980 as Young Emma.

He returned to his native Newport in September 1938 for the unveiling of a plaque in his honour at the Church House Inn with an address given by the Poet Laureate John Masefield.

But Davies was unwell, and this proved to be his last public appearance. His health deteriorated, not helped by the weight of his wooden leg, and he died in September 1940 at the age of 69.

A biography of WH Davies by Lawrence Normand has been published by Seren Books.

Leisure

WHAT is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare?—
No time to stand beneath the boughs,
And stare as long as sheep and cows:

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass:

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night:

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance:

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began?

A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

I spotted a second-hand Nikon 14mm lens for sale this afternoon. What's so special about that, you may ask? Well I'll tell you. This is an ultra-wide professional piece of glassware that retails at around £1,500.00 in the UK. A Rolls Royce compared to a Mini. Something you don't see every day. A lens that almost sees around corners in its attempt to capture the world.

I sat gently salivating at the thought of this optical wonder, my mind racing with the excuses I might employ in justification of a purchase. A colleague wandered in and stood gawking at the puddle of drool collecting on my desk. His intrusion broke my reverie and I was dragged kicking and screaming back to reality. Oh bugger, I still had work to do.

Now that work is over for the day I've revisited the shop selling the fish-eye. Okay, so the lens is considerably cheaper than its new price tag, but it's still an expensive purchase: I could book a two week holiday on a Greek island and afford to throw in some spending money, or I could buy a piece of glassware. Don't you just hate life's little quandaries?

Progress has been made with the dentist. The situation is still not fully resolved and my daughter requires more treatment, but conversations have been had and things have happened: result. Shame things couldn't have been resolved yesterday, but I guess like everything else, if you want a job doing, talk to the organ-grinder, not the monkey!

I was somewhat frustrated earlier today by a visit to the family dentist. Not that I'm suffering in any way you understand, but my daughter, currently at home on vacation from university, is. So dear daughter has a toothache and being considerate parents we contacted the family dentist first thing this morning to request an emergency appointment. The dental receptionist was very understanding and a booking was made for 12:35 this afternoon.

My daughter duly arrived at the dental surgery and was examined by the same dentist she has been seeing since she was a tot: a filling has crumbled and she has a cavity. Examination over, see the receptionist and make an appointment for treatment.

Daughter: What? But this is an emergency appointment.

Dentist: Well we don't have time to attend to you now, you'll need an appointment.

Daughter goes to see the receptionist.

Receptionist: First available appointment is at the end of May.

Daughter: But that's two months away and I'll be back at university in Bradford then and anyway, what about my toothache?

Receptionist: I can't help your toothache; do you want the appointment or not?

Daughter: But I have an emergency appointment, it's today. I've just seen the dentist.

Receptionist: Yes dear, that was for a check-up. Do you want me to book the appointment or not?

Daughter: But I'll be in Bradford. I have to go back to university. What about my toothache? What can I do? Have you nothing sooner?

Receptionist: Why don't you let me book the appointment dear?

So the daughter booked an appointment she won't be able to keep because the dentist is in Monmouthshire and she'll be in Yorkshire. Meantime has a toothache that is causing her grief, but doesn't seem able to get treatment.

Is it me, or is this a crazy situation? Is this the kind of service we're all supposed to expect from dentists nowadays? I bloody well hope not.

Now, where did I leave that ball of string?