[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 23 December 2024].
radio city 96.7
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 2 May 2024].
I visited Liverpool from Sunday to Tuesday to support an event for my day job on Sunday and Monday.
I took advantage of my day off in lieu earned through that to stay an extra day in the city to see more of it.
The one time I visited the city for an extended period was on New Year's Eve 1999 for Cream 2000.
However, my time there during that visit was predominantly spent in a tent designed to accommodate 26,000 ravers, where the focus was music, dancing and welcoming in the new millennium, not the city itself.
I wrote a short piece about that visit on my Instagram earlier in the week when I posted a photo of Pier Head I took with my phone camera on Tuesday during my two-ish hour photo walk.
I snuck a short photowalk in on Sunday evening en route to get supplies from a supermarket. But, both that walk and the one on Tuesday predominantly focused on the waterfront area, with my walk on Tuesday extending into Matthew Street (where The Cavern Club is) and up to Lime Street, from where I caught the train back to London.
Unfortunately, due to the weight of my rucksack, I didn't manage to revisit places I'd passed that caught my eye en route to my accommodation on Sunday with my D700.
I could have left my bag behind reception in my accommodation after checkout and returned for it. But the hotel was about a 23-minute walk from the station, so it would have involved me walking there and back to retrieve it on top of my photo walk when my intended route took me close to the station anyway.
Liverpool is, understandably, littered with tributes to the Fab Four, The Beatles. And, while I have some photos from my visit that relate to them that I'm pleased with and will share in future, I wanted to avoid the Liverpool cliches for my first post of one of my D700 photos from the city.
So, instead, here's a music-related photograph of St Johns Beacon, the former revolving restaurant that became the home of Radio City 96.7 in July 2000.
Radio City's stations rebranded to Hits Radio on my birthday this year. Unfortunately, they've announced they'll rebrand the tower with their new logo, which I don't think will work as well on a structure of that era, so I'm glad I captured it when I did.
I hope to arrange to sit Sir Peter and his peacock friends in Delamere again for a longer stretch. If I can, I'll take advantage of the proximity to pop over to Liverpool again for a day or two or three to explore more of the city with my camera and to visit Tate Liverpool, the Open Eye Gallery, the various museums along the waterfront and more.
a little christmas flare
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 23 December 2022].
reflecting upon a subject deer to my heart
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 3 March 2022].
bosham ices
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 16 February 2022].
sister
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 7 December 2021].
'til death do us part
She wondered to herself - not for the first time - how many other's parents had set the bar for romantic relationships so high. So high that their children's expectations for their own relationships seemed a pipe dream. That anything less than what their parents had was a pale imitation. Anything else left them feeling wanting.
Her parents had shared everything. They had no secrets from each other. They trusted each other implicitly and loved each other unconditionally.
They supported and encouraged each other. Cared for each other and lost sleep worrying about each other.
They talked about everything, and they made decisions as a couple, as a partnership. All the way through their marriage until her mother's dementia meant she couldn't make decisions or talk about things in the same way.
Neither of them dictated anything to the other or made the other feel bad for asking questions. Indeed, most questions were answered before needing to be asked. Their relationship was one of open dialogue and transparency. Always.
There were never any power games. Never the sense that one made the other feel they were being given or denied a treat by being able to see the other more or less. When, how and where they met was a mutual decision. They wanted to see each other equally and showed no restraint from either side.
Her mother became part of her father's family and vice versa. She came from a very affectionate family into one less so. But her mother gradually coaxed her husband's family into the habit of hugs rather than handshakes. Growing up with an aunt whose catch-cry was "kissy-up, kissy-up" on arrival and on leaving her home encouraged her mother to engender that level of affection in her father's family. Though she saved kisses on the lips for her husband alone.
She grew up with the example of intimate and affectionate parents. Even as they grew older, she watched them reach for each other's hands as she walked along the streets of London with them. Instinctive and natural.
Their friends were their friends. Not her mother or her father's. The friendships may originally have been made or found through one. But they became mutual friends her parents spent time with, both together and apart.
There was never any compartmentalisation in their relationship, their relationships with others and their lives. They even worked together side-by-side for about 10 years.
Their weight gains and losses were irrelevant. They were the same people beneath the flesh and bones, so what did weight matter?
As her mother's dementia took hold, she saw how it broke her father's heart. His best friend, lover, partner and confidante of almost fifty years changed. Her mother saw him as a stranger, and he recognised the real her only in glimpses of lucidness. But he has never stopped loving her.
In her own life, she felt she'd never truly experienced what they had. What they have.
Others might argue that what she sought was a romantic fantasy. But she'd witnessed it growing up, so she knew it wasn't just in her imagination.
Sure, she knew their marriage wasn't perfect. Their relationship wasn't perfect. None are. But they worked through anything that might have created an issue. And came out stronger together on the other side.
But what she witnessed of their relationship over more than forty years of her life was always one of love, trust, openness, communication, honesty, affection, adoration and longevity. Damn near perfection, in her eyes.
And so far, she'd only had glimpses of pieces of what they had in her own life. Samples. Tasters. But nothing that stood up to the same tests. Nothing that lasted long enough or brought as much happiness as that she'd witnessed watching her parents as she grew from a child to a teenager, a teenager to an adult.
Everything she had experienced felt like a shadow of what she'd witnessed.
When it came to her own relationships, she viewed the possibility of something even three-quarters as good as what they'd had as a chimaera. Something she hoped for but felt she would never achieve or realise. The stuff of dreams. A fantasy.
Except she knew it could be real.
So she kept seeking it out. Hoping against hope. Believing that maybe, just maybe…
But again and again, she returned to the thought that maybe her parents had set the bar too high. Raised her expectations of what love and "forever" might be to something only achievable for a select few; for people of previous generations, perhaps. But not for her.
She thought, not for the first time: maybe she should just let go of all expectations. And forget 'til death do us part, even if it didn't involve any formal declaration or ceremony. Clearly, it wasn't meant to be.
love letters to london: the wild life
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 28 February 2021].
So, here's my first proper love letter to London!
Firstly, I need to clarify that the aspects I'll highlight in these love letters are not necessarily exclusive to London or even to the UK.
I recognise the global nature of so much in our world means very little of what we enjoy about a place is native to that place or is exclusive in any way.
This series will highlight things I've either discovered in London, appreciated most from my time here, or that I feel London does well.
For example, I know Australia does wildlife like no other continent. It might not have the most extensive collection of native animals (or maybe it does. I haven't checked the stats on that!) But it has some of the most distinctive and recognisable ones.
But there are critters here you don't see roaming in the wild in Australia. And so, for me, London is the place I've had the opportunity to discover these fellas and observe them in their day-to-day activities. Many, literally, in my own backyard.
Despite living in a built-up suburban area of north London, I get to see eastern grey squirrels chasing each other in my backyard almost every day.
I get to see red foxes lurking about under the sensor light in the wee hours, leaving their tracks in the snow.
I get to check out tits perched on the branches outside my bedroom. Great tits, even.
I hear the hopeless karaoke of Eurasian magpies (beautiful birds but they cannae hold a tune!) and the lovely song of the blackbird, right from my cosy bed.
I'm not going to lie: this could have been devoted to squirrels. And I'm not discounting the possibility that I will, at some point, share a post that is purely squirrel, squirrel, squirrel.
I mean, they love nuts, toast and hanging around in cemeteries. We haven't discussed their opinion of cheese and cider. But I feel sure we see eye-to-eye on most things, aside from spending time at great heights and climbing trees.
I know the eastern grey is seen as an invasive species and has driven out a large proportion of the native red squirrel population. But they are super-cute little guys.
However, I thought I should also highlight some other critters I find engaging.
Unfortunately, I see foxes a lot but never manage to capture them well for various reasons. Many times because I'm indoors looking out from my bedroom or kitchen, other times because it's twilight or night-time and I'm only equipped with the camera on my phone. A neighbour of mine takes beautiful photos of them. Apparently, they hang out in his allotment, so I want to find out if I can drop in some time to meet them.
It feels like mute swans are everywhere in central London parks and canals. I'm not sure that's true, but I see them a lot, and they are one of the more difficult birds to capture well in photographs. Their bright white feathers often end up blown out in photos, especially where they're submerged and surrounded by dark, murky water.
They definitely seem less daunted by humans than other birds may be, though, not necessarily 'tame'. Likely because "they are protected under the Wildlife and Countryside Act 1981, and killing or even injuring one carries a £5,000 fine or six months in jail. Stealing a swan egg is considered an equal offence and carries the same maximum penalty".
Apparently, the 'punishable by death' law was never repealed either. Not that I have any intention to do these graceful fellows any harm, let alone consume them. But worth knowing.
An introduced species like myself, the Canada Goose seems to be as common as muck around London.
They are rather pleasing to look at, and they don't give a coot about other birds.
Speaking of coots, apparently, they're also commonly found in Australia, but I only noticed these masked birdies once I moved to London.
Back to some native birdlife, the grey heron is pretty eye-catching. Its yellow eyes, especially.
They also appear to be self-appointed lifeguards. Keeping an eye on the safety of other birds and animals on lakes in London's parks.
This post only just scratches the surface of the animalia that has caught my eye here in London. I'm regularly discovering birds, animals and insects that are new to me. Whether out and about in parks around London or just in my own yard. And photographing them where I can, of course!
the courtship
Day ten of The 100 Day Project.
Illustrations:
Dodo by Peter Newell from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
Flamingo by an unknown artist from Bilder-atlas zur Wissenschaftlich-populären Naturgeschichte der Vögel in ihren sämmtlichen Hauptformen
a bird’s eye view
They talked of little things. Of big things. Of middling things.
The sort of things that stuck in their craw, or alternatively that made them sing. Not that seagulls are particularly known for their singing. If you can even call it that, and most don't. But sometimes, just sometimes, there were things to speak of good enough that they made them sing, even if they were the only ones to call it that.
To be fair, she talked more. He mostly listened. He interjected sometimes with an amusing quip or anecdote and then dropped into the background, letting her speak her thoughts aloud.
Sometimes the deepest thoughts. Sometimes simply gossip about the other birds roundabout. They had views on most things, albeit mostly a high level aerial view, with the odd deep dive into society and its mores. They were dab hands at picking up tidbits around and about, but getting clear of it all when shit went down.
Occasionally they fraternised with the other birds. Other seagulls and pigeons mostly. But sometimes they travelled further afield and crossed paths with blackbirds or magpies, or other smaller neighbourhood birds. Tits, robins, sometimes the odd starling. Though the starlings tended to be a bit too obsessed with flying in formation, which didn't make for much opportunity to just chill out and network together.
They squabbled with other birds over morsels left behind by the humans, or they talked about nesting and raising their young. Exactly how much they should feed their young through regurgitation? How young was too young for the hatchling to fly the coop, or the nest? You know, the usual, really.
Despite the draw of the seafront, they didn't really like crowds much. Their favourite place to perch was over the town square; the one with the church and its churchyard. It was more peaceful and less overrun by tourists - both on the ground and in the air - than the waterfront. The nearest pub was down the hill, so apart from the Sunday sermons, the area was quite quiet.
They liked to watch the humans congregate one day a week in fancy clothes. Occasionally they would swoop down to snatch a beribboned bonnet from a small child or a prim and proper lady, causing a bit of a ruckus, soon forgotten.
Something colourful for the nest was always lovely to have. Something to brag about to their neighbours. When the humans weren't looking, sometimes they took a stroll around the churchyard to gather up the colourful tributes left behind on the graves.
What good was a colourful ribbon, an evergreen plastic leaf, a shiny bit of tinsel, to one of their lost ones? Surely it should be enjoyed by the living? These things made for beautiful touches on an otherwise dull nest of twigs and dry leaves. Something shiny and colourful to brighten up one's home and make the newest member of one’s family feel welcome.
On Fridays they feasted on fish and chips like good locals. They weren't as keen on vinegar and ketchup as their human counterparts, but beggars can't be choosers, I guess.
Some of the local humans had put out bird-feeders in their front or back gardens around the square. Leaving seeds and such out for their feathered friends. Despite initial reservations, they didn't seem to mean any harm; and though the meals on offer were basic, they were mostly hearty.
In between times, the worms surfaced from the earth in the churchyard when the rain fell, and the bins overflowed with takeaway options. The square was a relative smorgasbord without the long lines and bickering to be had by the sea.
They watched from above; surveying all below. They knew all the humans' gossip, but there was little point in knowing it because they couldn't convey it to other humans, and other seagulls just rolled their eyes to hear it. And rightly so.
The humans would never change. They were lower beings. Why bother to observe their ridiculous comings and goings? As long as they left behind the odd scraps to feed on, or left enough fish in the harbour for them to catch their own, then all could live well enough together.
Things had become a little out of hand lately as the humans were leaving the ocean in a right state. Some fish not fit to eat because of pollution, plastic in their bellies, or any number of other reasons, but there was still just enough to go around for everyone. For now.
Meanwhile, the sun was shining. The sky was blue. What more could a seagull want? What a glorious day to go fishing.