[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 29 October 2023].
untitled #79
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 13 February 2022].
damn paparazzi!
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 25 August 2021].
from the stable yard
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 11 August 2021].
I ticked quite a few things off my to-do list today but not the major ones I need to. Like cleaning the kitchen and finding new clients, both of which I need to have done "yesterday".
While it was mostly a good day because I closed off some items and stopped to pet Susie on my way back from the high street. Tonight I'm feeling flat.
Finding a flatmate is proving to be as time-consuming and demoralising as trying to find a new flat usually is. I really don't have time for it right now, but I need a new flatmate as soon as humanly possible.
I had lots of energy and focus today for bringing in business and getting more of my work out into the world. But, instead, it had to be channelled into more immediate domestic tasks.
When I could finally sit down to decide what to share today, I perused many possible places from my travels near and far. But it was one of those days when nothing felt right, nothing fit my mood.
Eventually, I settled on this image, which I actually edited back in September 2019 but for some reason hadn't previously shared online.
I took this photo of the entrance to Hatfield House from the stable yard back in July 2019. It reminds me of so many Merchant-Ivory period films.
The image feels like standing on the outside looking in, which feels appropriate to my mood tonight. But also holds the promise of possibility, which will hopefully be my mood on waking tomorrow.
untitled #19
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 25 July 2021].
Today was a learning experience: I am not superhuman.
Back out of self-isolation - finally - and feeling like a million bucks, I went ahead with plans made before catching Covid. I ventured into central London to meet Phil to see the Sophie Taeuber-Arp exhibition at Tate Modern.
It was meant to be my first visit to the gallery since 8 March 2020, just before the pandemic started.
Instead, it was a fool's errand.
Double-masking for the Tube journey, by the time I reached Holborn, I knew something was wrong. I started to feel faint after the short walk to the station and about 15 minutes of standing on the train. The cooler air as I came up to the Central line refreshed me a bit. But I grabbed a seat for the two stops to St Paul's.
By the time I got out of St Paul's station, it was a quick call between the Co-op for food or sitting down to avoid falling down.
I went for the latter on a park by the back of St Paul's Cathedral, but then I was too far away from the Co-op to get food and drink to revive myself.
Full disclosure: yesterday was a mess of a day, and in the process, I neglected to eat. I'd had a handful of sour cream and chive pretzels while dressing this morning and thought I'd be okay until I could grab a sandwich at the gallery.
When I realised my predicament, I called Phil to let him know, and I ended up bailing up a passing couple who kindly took some cash from me to buy me a sandwich and a drink. They came back with both plus some fruit. Thank goodness for the kindness of strangers!
The food helped but not enough. I realised I couldn't walk 20 minutes from St Paul's to the gallery, let alone 1.5 hours slow-walking around inside the gallery in a mask. As it was, even after finishing the cheddar ploughman sandwich and a third of the cherry 7Up Free, I was struggling not to feel lightheaded standing on the spot.
At that point, I admitted defeat and told Phil to go ahead with the exhibition on his own, and I'd figure out how to get home.
It took me an hour, all told, to get transport.
I managed to get to a nearby Starbucks to use their bathroom. I then tried to head home via the Tube, but as soon as I got down to the platform, it was clearly a massive "nope".
I quickly made my way back up to the street level to try to hail a cab. There were so few of them, and those that passed already had passengers or were on the wrong side of the multi-way intersection I was near.
I sat back on a bench about two over from the one I'd landed on when I came out of the station. I repeatedly swore as I waited for the Uber app to download, and I went through the process of setting up an account. Finally, I was able to book a car to collect me.
The seven minutes to arrival felt like the longest seven minutes ever. I had a feeling of pressure on the back of my ears and across the back of my head, indicating I was perilously close to fainting. I couldn't lie down on the bench because it had armrests between each seat.
The relief when my Uber arrived was unbelievable. I was finally able to lie down in the back of the car to recover. It took about 5-10 minutes until I could sit up and talk with the driver for the rest of the journey. He was a nice guy, and we had a good conversation while he drove me back to the safety of home.
I made it into the flat safely but was still very low on energy. So I crawled back into bed to try to recover.
After a 50-minute call from a friend in Melbourne and replying to some messages, I felt like I would at 3 AM, not 3 PM. My body threatened to fall asleep while I was typing into my phone.
While thunderstorms raged outside, I slept for most of 1.5 hours. Then close to another 2 hours before I finally felt able to resurface and get some chores done and edit the photo above from a visit to St Ethelreda's Church in Hatfield in 2019.
Based on today's experience, it will be a while before I venture far from home again. I might try to walk to the high street (about 500m from my place) tomorrow for some small things. But I'll be ordering groceries online this week and laying low while I recharge my batteries.
On a "related, but not" note: it is not ideal to have symptoms of carpal tunnel syndrome for the first time when in the midst of, and recovering from, a highly infectious and deadly virus. But at least now I know what the strange tingling in my left arm is. And the panic surrounding that particular symptom has disappeared.
Also related: the virus has made me a cheap drunk, at least temporarily.
love you all x
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 13 June 2021].
In the wee hours of Friday morning, I got caught up in discussions with a friend and a lover (two different people). Two random conversations about oscilloscopes, dating and relationships, Black Box Recorder, Sarah Nixey (if you look closely, you can see me in this video), and The Jesus & Mary Chain. Subsequently, I didn't get back to photo editing.
On Friday afternoon, I caught up with one of those people and three other friends for our first proper reunion since well before the lockdown started in March 2020.
Of the four friends I met with, I'd only seen Sophie in the interim, and even then, on three occasions months apart.
It was a lovely afternoon and evening which lasted longer than I had expected but still felt all too short.
Here's to things getting back to normal over the coming months and us being able to catch up more regularly again.
Love you all x
mayfly graveyard in the sky
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 8 June 2021].
I wanted to call this suspended animation. But the mayflies were definitely not still alive in any interpretation of the word.
These fellows made their presence known along the River Lea in Hertford last Monday when Simon and I ventured out for the day. I didn't know what they were at the time but found out tonight.
I found this line from the Encyclopedia Brittanica entry about the mayfly particularly drew my eye, though, thankfully, we didn't notice that at the time:
"The winged stages attract attention through mass emergences when they may make roads slippery, clog gutters, and taint the air with an odour of decay."
Today was calmer and more positive, despite a rocky start before going to bed in the wee hours of the morning.
For a start, my periodontist appointment was nowhere near as painful as I'd expected it would be after some relapses into bad habits in the past six months.
I have a new design/social media project to work on for a former colleague. I also have a research role I want to throw my hat in the ring for tomorrow.
And I've decided to try - as far as possible - to share a photo a day with you. And by "day", that may mean it carries over into the next day, technically. But as long as I'm awake, it's the same day, right?
Sometimes with a diary-like entry, like this one and my previous post. Other times, just an image.
Forgive me in advance if it doesn't happen every day, but I'll try.
The photos will be whatever fits my whims at the time. Perhaps something to reflect my feelings, the day I've had or just something random.
My other weekly themed shares will continue, and I'm still working on my Love letters to London, I promise.
I also bought a dust-free eraser and a putty eraser today. I want to continue sketching when I have the time and energy. I won't share everything I draw but, hopefully, there will be sketches I want to share from time to time.
My latest earworms are linked below. Two out of three feature Robert Smith from The Cure, one of my constant inspirations since about 1989. I spent many an evening writing terrible teenage poetry by candlelight while listening to Wish. Simpler days, though still full of angst.
How not to drown - Chvrches featuring Robert Smith
Not in love - Crystal Castles featuring Robert Smith
Thanks to Chris for bringing the Crystal Castles track to my attention.
beeson's yard
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 2 February 2021].
A year ago today, Simon and I spent the day in Rickmansworth.
I don't recall exactly, but I don't think coronavirus was even a thing we discussed at that point.
Personally, I was just trying to stay upright!
I was out of my "moon boot" but still struggled with balance and confidence in walking on questionable surfaces. So, after a short attempt along a muddy path, we had to skip the Ebury Way and head in the opposite direction toward Batchworth Lock.
After a wander along the canal, one of the final points we passed was Beeson's Yard, and obviously, the signage caught my eye.
season's grievings
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 2 December 2020].
As promised in my 22 November post, albeit starting a day later than planned, I've been putting together a new series of photographs.
These are images I've previously taken that have a particularly seasonal relevance. Though, as warned, they're not really full of your usual Christmas cheer.
As many of you will know, I've a bit of a thing for graveyards, cemeteries, churchyards and other places of rest. If you don't know, now you know.
Reviewing photos I imported from earlier this year recently, I realised I've gathered a collection of photographs from various places of rest that capture mementoes of Christmas. Festive ornaments and decorations left by family and friends recently or not so recently.
So, I thought it was as good a time as any to edit a selection of these to share with you as a series entitled 'season's grievings'.
I'm still reviewing how many I have and editing them as I find them.
Given the topical nature of the series, I'm going to share them early-access for patrons-only on my Patreon, but only two days ahead of them becoming public and being posted here and elsewhere on the interwebs, instead of the usual week.
For the avoidance of doubt: these photos are shared respectfully. Both, for those who've passed and the families who decorated their final resting place.
I find these both beautiful and heartbreaking tributes to those now gone.
untitled #12
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 22 November 2020].
Reality reared its ugly head again on Thursday afternoon this week after a reverie of about seven months.
Was it reverie or just denial?
Either way, I've had to focus more on things other than my photography, art and writing over the past few days.
On the positive side: I've imported all my photos and videos to near the end of April. I hope to get up to date in the next week, around things that need to be done in 'the real world'.
I fell ridiculously behind with importing after my trip to Australia with Simon. Far worse than I've ever managed before.
I also started work on a new collage recently - which may or may not work out, so it may or may not appear here soon - which is part of a new series.
At the tail-end of the night (what's now last night), I had a chance to look through some of my photos from earlier this year that I'd barely seen since I took them.
Doing so gave me ideas for two new series of photos using images I've already taken but, in many cases, not yet edited. One is Christmas-themed, so I'll start posting that series from 1 December. Spoiler alert: it's not full of your usual Christmas cheer. Sorry.
However, I chose this photo to edit and share with you for now.
It caught my eye earlier this week as I was importing photos from my DSLR from that day. 2 February 2020, specifically. A nice palindromic date: 02/02/2020. The serenity of the scene felt like that particular soothing thing I needed right now.
Listening to Grandaddy's The Sophtware Slump... on a wooden piano as I edited also helped to slow my racing mind.
At least for a while... until my computer crashed and I lost this post and had to start again. Thankfully I managed to get the bulk of what I'd written captured with the camera on my phone before it disappeared into the ether.
I hope this image helps to calm you if that's what you need right now.
Let me know what you're listening to lately to help you deal with whatever stresses you're going through. Music recommendations spin me right round, baby, right round.
landlocked
He was back in front of this window; the window that had ended his school days, every day.
When he was young, he used to stop and gaze up at the model boat and the marine rescue vehicle as he arrived home each day. He would stand there, distracted for long moments.
So long, that his mother - waiting, anxiously, for him to return home from school - would open the curtains and find him stood there. Motionless, head tilted back, mouth slightly gaping and staring up at the boat.
She would come to the front door and watch him for a minute or two, a soft smile playing at the edges of her lips before she bundled him up and took him inside to the kitchen. She would ask him about his day while she prepared supper and listened to the tales he would bring home from the schoolyard.
His fascination with the boat had not waned over the years, but he had stopped gawping at it as he grew older. There were girls to gaze at instead, and as he grew up, they were what caught his eye or kept his attention as he arrived home each day from high school.
As he reached the end of high school, he was usually too busy sneaking in one last kiss with his girlfriend, Sarah, as he unlocked the front door of the house and said his goodbyes for the day.
The model boats, the marine rescue vehicle and the lighthouse baffled him a little bit when he was growing up.
Their home was twenty minutes from the nearest body of water, and that was a river, not an ocean or the sea. Hardly somewhere that a lighthouse or a marine rescue vehicle would be needed, let alone various large boats or ships.
The models were his dad's, but he didn't talk much about them and didn't like being asked about them.
His dad didn't really like being asked about anything. Or talking about anything.
The models just sat on the windowsill gathering dust, hidden from the inside of the house by the curtains. A display for others, not for us.
Except him, of course; he was fascinated by them.
On occasion, when his dad was in a more social mood or simply wanted to distract him while he talked with the grown-ups, his father would let him take down the marine rescue vehicle. Roll it across the rug, pretending he was saving his Lego men from some maritime disaster.
But his dad was always firm about the boat. The boat was not a toy. It wasn't to be removed from the window. He had received more than one firm slap across his legs and buttocks for even inching his fingers up toward the boat.
It was only in the past few years that his mother talked more about his dad's upbringing. It was only in the past few years, as he became more ill and his mind started to slip that his father spoke about the sea. It was one of the few things he could still connect with. That he still remembered.
He didn't remember faces, except his wife's. He never remembered birthdays; that was no change. But he could talk vividly about the sea. The sound of it. The smell. The feel of it on his hands.
His dad would sometimes stop mid-sentence and tilt his head as if listening closely to a conversation through the walls. After a few moments like this, he would invariably ask if they could hear the waves. They nodded and smiled awkwardly, hearing nothing, but knowing that they had to agree. That his dad would look crestfallen and confused if they said "no".
Growing up, he never met his dad's parents. His dad never spoke of his father, so he grew up believing he only had one set of grandparents. He didn't question this for a long time, and then it seemed too late to ask. Too awkward of a conversation to have.
Coming home now, facing the front windows of his childhood home, he gazed once more at the boats, the lighthouse, the marine rescue vehicle. He knew that now he could lift them out of the window and take a closer look. He knew that no one would reprimand him for that.
Since his dad had died, a lot of pieces had fallen into place in the puzzle. His mum had opened up dusty photo albums hidden away in the loft for decades. Too painful for his dad to look at, to speak about, to share.
In the yellowed black and white photographs taken in his dad's childhood, a warm, smiling, middle-aged man gazed into the camera from the railing of a boat.
He waved at the photographer with a look of love.