[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 11 December 2024].
white apples and berries
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 9 December 2024].
the reindeer section
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 4 December 2024].
My life is currently so chaotic, messy and stressful that I almost forgot it's time for season's grievings.
My current mood is something akin to this reindeer Christmas decoration on a child's grave in Pinner New Cemetery that I photographed just under a year ago.
I'm sharing this for patrons only a few hours instead of two days early to allow me to catch up.
I'll post the second image for this year later today, which will be closer to a day early.
The third will be posted tomorrow, two days early, and then I'll be back on schedule.
While I'm here and referencing the Scottish supergroup with my title for today's instalment, I highly recommend giving them a listen (if you haven't previously), specifically their second album, Son of Evil Reindeer.
he died of a broken arm
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 1 October 2024].
While reviewing photos to edit and share with you from my wander through the Bishop's Stortford Old Cemetery while sitting Betsy and Dudley a month ago, a new writing project idea struck.
Inspired by a combination of some of the inscriptions in the cemetery, personal memories and a conversation with a friend this evening about death. Specifically, euthanasia.
The words gently edging towards my fingertips aren't all about death, let alone euthanasia.
The ideas gently swirling aren't perhaps as melancholy as what I've written above may suggest (and how can you write about death without writing about life?)
But I'm probably feeling a bit too raw and tired (emotionally and physically) to pour those thoughts out in the wee hours of this particular morning.
So, instead, here's a photo I took of a grave I found paired with an irreverent title to lighten the mood.
Unrelated (maybe): have you heard the new single from The Cure, Alone?
I've listened to it a lot since it came out, but I only just properly listened while watching the lyric video (as I went to find the link for you) and took in the words and the visuals they've chosen, and I teared up for so many reasons.
And then the comments.
angelic youth
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 9 June 2024].
memorial to heroes of the marine engine room
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 5 May 2024].
I let the team down.
This monument and some flowers attached to a railing near the Isle of Man ferry terminal were the closest I came to photographing a grave while visiting Liverpool last week.
Nostalgia was heavily represented: tributes in various forms to The Beatles, Billy Fury and others. And my memories of Pier Head swirling around my head.
But my time in the city was too short to allow time to seek out a cemetery.
There may have been graves in the Our Lady and St Nicholas Church Garden, but I only paused briefly to capture the church before moving on.
And even when I photographed this monument, I had forgotten seeing it on the map.
Google Maps records it as the Titanic Memorial. Wikipedia tells me that was the original intent of the monument. However, it took on a broader recognition of the heroes of the marine engine room after World War I.
From Wikipedia: The memorial was intended originally to commemorate all 32 engineers who died in the sinking of Titanic on 15 April 1912. Liverpool was the Titanic port of registry, as well as the home of the ship's owner, White Star Line. Construction was funded by international public subscription.
Spaces were left on the monument to record the names of other engineers. However, due to the heavy loss of life throughout World War I, its dedication was broadened to include all maritime engine room fatalities incurred during the performance of duty. Shrapnel damage from bombs that fell during the Second World War can be clearly seen on the monument.
The shrapnel damage mentioned is apparent in the photo I took. However, I was so conscious of time (and the weight of my luggage on my shoulders) that I didn't stop to inspect the monument more closely and take more photos. I only looked up this information after editing. I realised I should have spent more time capturing it.
past his bedtime
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 22 April 2024].
One of the first graves I came across in the Glasgow Necropolis was that of poet William Miller, who "appears to have popularised a pre-existing nursery rhyme, [Wee Willie Winkie,] adding additional verses to make up a five stanza poem" and publishing the same in 1841.
I didn't know there was a monument to him there, and to be honest, I couldn't have named him, though I grew up learning at least the poem's first stanza. The monument stood out because of the detailed profile of him.
He died destitute, and his remains are interred in an unmarked grave in Tollcross Cemetery.
Though I've read enough Irvine Welsh novels to understand a reasonable amount, I don't know enough Scots to understand Miller's original without the paraphrased version in English alongside it.
Despite that, I love reading it, and I share the complete poem below, courtesy of Wikipedia:
Wee Willie Winkie rins through the toon,
Up stairs an' doon stairs in his nicht-gown,
Tirlin' at the window, crying at the lock,
"Are the weans in their bed, for it's now ten o'clock?"
"Hey, Willie Winkie, are ye comin' ben?
The cat's singin grey thrums to the sleepin hen,
The dog's speldert on the floor and disna gie a cheep,
But here's a waukrife laddie, that wunna fa' asleep."
Onything but sleep, you rogue, glow'ring like the moon,
Rattlin' in an airn jug wi' an airn spoon,
Rumblin', tumblin' roon about, crawin' like a cock,
Skirlin like a kenna-what, waukenin' sleepin' fock.
"Hey Willie Winkie, the wean's in a creel,
Wamblin' aff a bodie's knee like a verra eel,
Ruggin' at the cat's lug and raveling a' her thrums-
Hey Willie Winkie – see there he comes."
Wearit is the mither that has a stoorie wean,
A wee, stumpie, stousie, that canna rin his lane,
That has a battle aye wi' sleep afore he'll close an e'e-
But a kiss frae aff his rosy lips gies strength anew to me.
she hath done what she could
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 6 March 2024].<
Often, when I'm perusing my catalogue of unedited photos to share, one will pop out at me, and I just know it's right to share at this moment in time.
It may not always be the most eye-catching or aesthetically pleasing photograph.
But it captures where my mind or heart is right now.
Or it depicts a place, an object, a plant, etc., that - when I research it further - is relevant to something in my life at that moment and clicks.
This photograph I took in Cornubia Lutheran Cemetery, also known as Carbrook Lutheran Cemetery, did that for me today.
coaxing life from death
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 26 February 2024].
5 weeks
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 28 December 2023].
sunshine on wreath
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 24 December 2023].
stale wolf-fart
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 15 December 2023].
I took this photo of a puffed-out Lycoperdon last month in London Road Cemetery, Bromley.
The origin of the scientific name did give me a giggle.
From Wikipedia: The scientific name has been created with Greek words (lycos meaning wolf and perdon meaning to fart) and based on several European dialects in which the mushroom name sounds like wolf-farts.
I'm not sure this sounds appetising to the vegetarian palate: Most species are edible, ranging from mild to tasting distinctly of shrimp.
The puff holes remind me of cigarette burns.
fly agaric
peace wreath
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 10 December 2023].
of red bows and holly
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 7 December 2023].
never a dull moment
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 27 November 2023].
i only want to be with you
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 13 November 2023].
also perpetuating
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 7 November 2023].
happy birthday, anthony
This year's visit to Australia was predominantly about family and officially saying goodbye to Mum.
But alongside that and reuniting with some wonderful friends, I also had the chance to (officially) say goodbye to one of my oldest friends, Anthony Horan.
My thanks go out to Anthony's brother, Chris, and mutual longtime friends, Amy and Richard, for accompanying me and making the visit possible.
It was lovely to finally meet Chris and reunite with Amy and Richard after so long.
It was a sombre visit. Rain threatened. There was much mud on the 'lawn'.
But there was also cheeky humour amongst us, in keeping with the sort of comments and jokes Anthony would have made if he'd been able to reply to us as we stood by the grave his ashes share with his father's remains.
When I visited, there was a temporary marker for Anthony and his dad. I'm sure when I visit next it will look different (if it doesn't already).
I've been catching up on sharing iPhone photos from my trip on Instagram, and this morning, I reached my photos from that day. I thought I would share them on the second anniversary of his passing in January, oblivious to the date.
But, when I remembered later in the day it was his birthday in Australia, it was obvious today was the day to share.
It's currently his birthday in Melbourne and London.
So, the penguins and I are raising a toast to an old friend.
Love and miss you, Anthony. Always. xx
uplifting angels
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 10 July 2023].