Gold Miners Cottage In Alexandra

Bygone Dreams of Another Moment

The curiosity in me really wants to see what it’s like inside this old cottage, I look at it every time I drive past it. However, as it’s on farmland, I’ll have to keep wandering until I get permission.

Bygone dreams of another moment – Buy

Competition – Give Away

I decided it’s time to give away some art. I’ve got this lovely 18 x 12 inch print of Dunedin’s historical home, Olveston to give away.  It’s mounted, framed, finished with glass  and has a value of $400. The great thing is that it’s all ready to be hung and an enjoyed in your home, office, flat, or wherever you desire.
Printing by the The Photo Gallery in Dunedin.
Mounting and framing by Gallery De Novo in Dunedin.

How To Enter and Win
To win this wonderful piece of art all you have to do is leave a comment on my blog and you’re in the draw, it’s as simple as that! Every time you comment you’re in the draw, so you can enter as many times as you like. I’ll be posting a new image everyday while the competition runs, so you’ll be able to see a new photo to comment on everyday until Friday 8th February. It’ll be like having 300 seconds of good escapism during each work day.

Competition Details:
The competition will run from 6:30am  on Monday 21st January (NZ time) through till 4:30pm, Friday 8th February (NZ time).
The winner will need a valid email address to be contacted by.
Please note any comments that involve profanity will be deleted.

Image Details: 
Olveston, Royal Terrace, Dunedin.
Camera maker: Canon
F – Stop: f/13
Exposure time: 1/25sec
ISO speed: ISO 100
Focal length: 10mm

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2 thoughts on “Gold Miners Cottage In Alexandra”

  1. Looking at your photo of the Goldminer’s Cottage reminded me of the abandoned farmhouses in Wicklow, which prompted this:


    Dark night, where the single kitchen light
    struggles with shadows in the corner.
    At the window, a tapping where winter
    hooks its fingers into crumbling putty.
    The kitchen door, swollen, scuffs against
    the tea stained floor. In the hall, worn boots
    clagged with muck flank flagstones
    washed dull by tired grey ditch-water.
    The stairs fall in against the wall as they list
    and warp to keep the upstairs at bay.
    The front room with yellowed newspapers
    stacked in columns, as if to steady a buckled
    ceiling. The fireplace coughs soot with each
    pigeon settling on the chimney. The bare rug,
    a sheep’s memory, membrane for the floor.
    The front door slumps under a weight of guilt.

    The lane, a grey sliver in the half moonlight,
    rots weeds in the meridian, suckles the stones.
    In the field, a sleeping cow ruminates, its
    cud chewed bitter with a taste of absence.
    The stream of silted bog water lies dank
    and, unable to reflect, swallows the light.
    The tree, bitten by the wind strips itself raw, peels
    layers, shivers in its nakedness. In the branches
    only the cuckoo calls, mouth wide with greed.
    The grass lays down wilted, black, avoids any
    nourishment from the earth, attracts brambles.
    The henhouse smells of ammonia and decay
    not even brushed by predators. The tractor
    leaks rust in the yard where wheels melt as
    it ignores a plough, enfeebled by metal fatigue.
    The farmhouse, fumbles its way into dawn.

    1. That’s fantastic Sean, I like it a lot. Thanks for commenting and sharing your poetry. I take it as quite a compliment if it reminds you of other inspiration.
      You’re in the draw.

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