Christmas in Sheffield

We spent Christmas in Sheffield and had a splendid time hanging out with the in-laws, eating their food, doing our best to empty their wine rack and generally having a self-indulgent time. We had snow on Christmas day, which was a real treat, only slightly marred by the fact that we'd lived through several days of icy, snowy conditions before we travelled up so there was no novelty to it. There are countless (well, 60) festive photos on my Flickr pages but I decided to post this one here precisely because it's not a Christmas picture. We went to a panto at the City Hall on 27/12 (Cinderella, since you're asking) and found a rather incongruous bunch of fairground rides outside, squeezed into a relatively small area. There was a large spinning swinging thing you can't see in this shot that came within just a few feet of the side of the building every time it swung one way, and about the same from some cables when it went the other. I'm sure it was all very safe but it certainly didn't look it...

The big freeze

Can it really be nearly a week since I last posted? Good Lord...

Brighton has been hit by a lot of weather lately as I've mentioned in previous posts but this weekend we really struck the jackpot with two days of proper snow and barely an overnight thaw between them to ruin it all. Actually, that's nonsense, we've actually had just one night and half a day of snow, it's just stuck around for longer than it usually does so it feels like we're in the Alps all of a sudden.

I've been out seeking nice photos, obviously, and you can see the fruits of my labour over on my Flickr pages. Capturing the one you can see here was a perilous affair. In order to get the sunset colours in the background I had to climb onto the bench of one of the seafront shelters and cling onto a protruding design feature (I think it was some kind of flower) with one hand while operating the camera with the other. As I stepped onto the bench my foot slipped in the snow and ice and I very nearly did a dramatic lunge into the shelter that would certainly have ended in tears - particularly as I was unfortunate enough to go completely arse over tit last night on my way to a boozy Christmas party. My legs went from under me and I landed heavily on my back, which wasn't much fun (even though I'm sure it was actually quite amusing to watch) and left me with a very tender back, so the last thing I wanted today was another injury. Ah, the things we do for our art...

Come on in!

Perhaps it was the imminence of my 46th birthday that prompted me to pause by the entrance of a local graveyard the other night to capture this delightfully cheery image. There's something about the circle being broken by the open gate and the blackness beyond that really grabbed me - rather to the bemusement of the several passing pedestrians who peered past me to try and figure out what I was looking at.

For someone who's spent so much time over the past decade thinking about death (long story - perhaps for another day) I dwell on it remarkably rarely when it comes to any kind of creative outlet. I don't read about it, I don't write about it and I don't usually take photos inspired by it. Perhaps that's because I'm scared of it and, like the small child who will cover their face when found doing something naughty so they won't be seen, I'm hoping that it will leave me alone if I leave it alone.

Festive Coopers

There I was sitting in the Coopers Cask tonight with my mate Simon, when suddenly my photographer's goggles slipped over my eyes and I realised that the window we were sitting next to actually looked rather lovely with its condensation and it's forlorn little Christmas baubles backlit by the streetlights on Farm Road. So I whipped out the Ricoh and snapped it without a second thought.

One of the most annoying things about the creative process - and Lord knows there are many of them - is the certain knowledge that one is constantly surrounded by potential sources of inspiration, but that one only sees them when the muse deigns to give you a glance. Pah! to the muse I say! Why can't I see them all the time?

Chilly pigeons

The weather has been so relentlessly crap for the past few weeks that I'm beginning to forget what the sun looks like. We've had the wettest November in the history of mankind and December looks like it's going to do its best to get into the record books as well. It's also cold and grey and I have a cold. Meh.

But of course there are always photo opportunities and I spotted this lot perched in a tree above the faux well in St Ann's Well Gardens near where I live, huddled against the cold and looking as miserable as I felt trudging past them.

I suppose there's some comfort in the old maxim about there always being someone worse off than you - and sure enough the thought of not having to sit naked on a spindly branch on a cold December afternoon, feeling the rain seep into every orifice and the wind trying to dislodge me even as it was making the rain feel even colder somehow cheered me up no end.

Ah, the power of positive thinking.

Christmas lights

I had the wrong camera with me when I took this shot (there I go blaming my tools again), but the point 'n' shoot did a reasonable job of capturing the Christmas lights in the North Laine yesterday. What I really needed was the Nikon with a fast telephoto of the type I'll probably never be able to afford, and ideally a tripod too. I wonder if I'll ever turn into that kind of photographer. A fairly large part of me sincerely hopes not - the paraphernalia and the patience and the perfectionism are all a bit beyond me I think. But oh how I'd love to come up the sort of images that all those Ps produce...

Puddle

In a rare moment of calm during the recent downfalls I went for a stroll on the seafront and found lots of puddles where you don't normally find them. I grabbed some nice reflection shots but this was the one that I kept going back to for some reason. I think it's the shape of the wooden kerb that I like - and in particular its reflection in the edge of the water.

I'd view it large (by clicking on the image)...

Sea, sun, bird

There's been nothing fabulous enough to post with pride over the past few days so you'll have to make do with this, taken the other day on a squally seafront. There's something about a stormy day that really makes me relish the prospect of heading out with my camera but the results are, more often than not, disappointing. Trying to photograph big waves is rather like trying to capture a rainbow - easy enough to commit to a photograph but borderline impossible to make interesting. Anyway, take it from me, this looked brilliant in the flesh.

The disco shoes are dead

The worst possible news: my disco shoes are damaged beyond repair. They have finally shuffled off their final dancefloor. They are dead.

I bought them about 15 years ago, when spending £125 on a pair of frivolous clubbing shoes seemed the height of good sense. It was a time when Rach and I spent most of our free time clubbing - when we would devote entire weekends to the ritualistic preparation for, attendance at and recovery from parties. It was a very special time in my life that I will always remember with great fondness.

So it's all the more upsetting that one of the few material links back to those fun-filled times has finally given up the ghost. They went out in style though - I wore them to a party last night that was filled with more laughter and lunacy than any 45 year-old retired raver has any right to expect. Towards the end of a very confusing night I noticed that something wasn't quite right and inspected my left shoe, only to find a gaping hole where the heel should have been, with the black sole flapping about like an ill-fitting toupee in a stiff breeze. As I trudged home through the rain-sodden streets of Hove in the early hours of this morning I reflected on how much fun I've had in these shoes and how I'm never going to buy anything like them again.

When those shoes died, a little part of me went with them. This is a sad day.

Size four and a half on the Lawns

I saw this discarded shoe (size four and a half) impaled on a post at the western end of The Lawns yesterday and it sparked off a rather brilliant thought process, even if I say so myself. I'm beginning to think there may be some mileage in the idea of tracking down enough discarded women's clothing to make up a whole outfit. I could then open a little boutique called something like Wardrobe Trouvée and sell them on for vast sums of money. If there's a flaw in my plan - and that's a big 'if' there because I think this is a winner - it's the time it might take to find enough stock. It has, after all, been several weeks since I found the other item, this bra. But I might be able to turn this into a selling point. I might be able to convince the sort of vapid halfwit who might shop in such a boutique that their scarcity makes my items that much more valuable. This could be my big moment! Does anyone have Paris Hilton's mobile number?

Stormy Saturday

Last night we were warned by those sages at the Met Office that there might be a storm today and for once they were right. It wasn't quite as biblical as they feared it might be but the wind was strong enough to drive the rain into my face so hard I had to change direction this morning as I walked towards the seafront. The wind was funnelled along the street I was walking along and the rain felt like multiple pin-stabs on my forehead - really painful. I briefly wondered whether it would have been quite so intense if I'd had a bit more hair but figured there was no point dwelling on that one. Obviously this wasn't the only shot I took. There are loads more on Flickr.

Fishfingers, chips and mushy peas

I had lunch with Madge in the pub yesterday. My choice was fishfingers, chips and mushy peas with a homemade tartar sauce. I had high hopes because this was the Earth & Stars in Brighton and they do know how to make a good lunch, but they outdid themselves yesterday.

The fishfingers were more like delicious stubby little fishthumbs with a hint of tarragon, the chips were thick and crispy on the outside and fluffy within, the mushy peas were minty and mouthwatering and the sauce was just right, piquant enough to make a difference but not overwhelming. To wash it down I had a pint and a half of Arundel Ale, which is a gorgeously nutty dark beer that never gets cloying in the way some of those winter-warmers do.

All told it was a triumph, and if your mouth isn't watering by now I would suggest you have some kind of eating disorder.

Cheap jumpers

It's odd how I can walk through Brighton on one day with a camera and come home completely empty-handed and depressed and then take the same camera around the same route the following day and return with a memory card bulging with promising shots. Odd and rather frustrating.

Saturday was a thumbs up day. I was with the family and we were on a bit of a mission but I seemed to see nothing but photogenic gorgeousness all around me. Perhaps it's because I was in a hurry. Perhaps I only thought I saw loads of good shots but walked away happy because I didn't have the time to stop and make a concerted effort to make the most of any of them. This leads me to think I might be able to guarantee my most satisfying photographic experience ever by leaving my camera at home and just ambling around muttering incessantly about marvellous light and shadow play.

I'll mull that one over. In the meantime, here's a snatched shot that I really like of a clothes rail in the North Laine area. Marvellous light and shadow play, no?

The old and the new

I'm not built for all-nighters any more really, but unfortunately that doesn't stop me staying up all night every now and then. Last night was just such an occasion I'm afraid - I finally hit the sack around 5am after nearly 12 hours of brandy, cava, wine, beer and bourbon, far too much talking and lots of rich food. Just three hours later I was woken by the sound of Lionel, one of my partners in crime last night, chatting to my kids downstairs. I toyed with the idea of rolling over and going back to sleep but figured that would be a bit rude so I sprang from my bed like a young gazelle and skipped daintily down the stairs for a bucketful of coffee which made no discernible difference to the MONSTROUS hangover I now realised I had.

The occasion was a mini Old Dovorian reunion (that's a mini reunion, not a reunion of diminutive former schoolmates), one of whom - Debbie - is celebrating her birthday today. So we had our excuse to carouse til the small hours and carouse we duly did, Debbie, her husband Garry, their son Fred (all pictured above), Lionel, Margo, Sara and me. It was utterly splendid but completely over the top and as a result I seriously don't think I'm ever going to drink again.

Enough empty promises already. What I really wanted to say about the whole thing is that it was a pure delight to spend more time catching up with old school friends and simultaneously making new ones. And that's all I wanted to say - or more accurately it's all I can bring myself to say right now. I may edit this when I've recovered from my current rather pitiful state. Over and out. Bleurgh.

Fireworks

It's hard to avoid taking your camera along to firework displays - almost as hard as it is coming up with anything remotely original once you get there. I quite like this one because it was 'made' rather than just snapped. It was a conscious effort to capture a distant explosion against a foreground of other, closer explosions and some spectators and buildings for context.

I took about 120 shots that night and ended up with fewer than 20 useable ones thanks to a nearby streetlight that I didn't notice at all when we were there, but which leaked light into most of my shots. Good job it was just a bit of fun and nothing important...

Catfight brewing

I've been a bit disappointed by the photos I brought back from Spain. I think most of them were average snapshots. But I'm also aware that I have a tendency to be a little hard on myself, to the point where I'll actually stop doing something - poetry springs to mind - because I don't think I cut the mustard at it. Whether I do or not is entirely irrelevant of course. What matters is enjoying it, first and foremost, but also working at it, not giving up on it, improving because of it. I need to watch this tendency of mine - it's dangerous.

Anyway, I stumbled upon these three while out for a stroll in La Herradura. They were squaring up for a proper scrap I think, but who knows? Maybe they worked it out as soon as I'd disappeared...

He's the greatest dancer

A moment of triumph for our mate Archie as he holds aloft his prize for winning the best dancer competition at the Halloween party at La Bamba, La Herradura in southern Spain last week. We had a fantastic time soaking up the autumnal sun, swimming in the sea, drinking and eating far too much and generally kicking back with Archie, his brother Louis and their parents Liz & Rink for the half-term week.

I seem to be paying the price now though, with a particularly nasty case of man flu (truth be told it's no more than a sore throat at the moment but it's got all the hallmarks of a builder so I'm bracing myself). We also spent far too much money for a one-job family, but enough of such minor irritants. On balance it was definitely worth it.

Yellowman

Nothing much to say about this little chap, seen this afternoon outside a shop in the North Laine. I couldn't tell you what the shop sells because I was so diverted by the paint job on our friend here. It's a horrible colour, badly applied. So why does it work so well? Search me.

After hours barber

Another blast from the recent past tonight. This one's been growing on me slightly since I took it on my way home from the 65daysofstatic gig where this shot was taken. My ears were ringing and I still wasn't sure if I'd caused them permanent damage - the Digital system is L O U D (thankfully it's also very good, so I escaped without any after effects). But as I strolled home, enjoying the peaceful ringing in my ears, I was looking out for photo opportunities. This was the only one I saw and I wasn't all that impressed at the time. I think I was hoping for something a bit more dramatic and gritty - something that might attract the interest of someone like the incomparable Dr Karanka on Flickr. But there were no dramas, just the quiet streets of Brighton, leading to the even quieter streets of Hove. So I made do with this scene, hoping that the door frame might act as an aesthetically pleasing divider between the east facing red chairs and those facing west. And it does. At least I think so.

Raspberry throwback

I'm cutting myself a little slack here. This photo was taken at the end of August but that was a quiet month on Bah! Humbert so I'm allowing a little nostalgia to creep in. I'll let you decide for yourself whether or not this has anything to do with me feeling photographically uninspired at the moment, life being as full as it is of things that happen to be diverting me rather more.

This shot was taken in an old-fashioned Italian café at the Marina, in which one of the largest and most beautiful coffee machines I've ever seen looms like a church organ in the corner, manned by the owner of the establishment, a man who obviously takes great pride in making a damn good cup of coffee. It's the kind of place in which apron-clad waitresses swoop from table to table dispensing good cheer and amazingly dangerous looking cakes, all bathed in a golden glow produced by many spotlights hitting many beige surfaces. It reminded me of a long-gone coffee shop called Buttery One in the middle of Dover, where I used to go as a teenager with fellow public school ne'er-do-wells to sip the same cup of tea for three hours, smoke countless Marlboros and try desperately not to say the wrong thing in front of my mates.

So we sat there for a while, me and my two kids, as I remembered my adolescence and they worked their way through vast piles of home-made ice cream. It was a good afternoon.

Seafront kip

It felt a little intrusive taking a photo of this couple snoozing on the seafront but it made for such a delightful image that I snapped the buggers anyway. For all I know they could have been blind drunk after an epic pub crawl or a three hour lunch, but somehow I doubt it. I prefer to think they'd been strolling around Brighton for much of the day, sat down on this seafront bench and before you know it the sea air had got the better of them. Moments after this was taken one of them probably jolted awake, gently shook the other and shared a joke about not having quite as much energy as they used to. Then they'd have helped each other to their feet and walked slowly home.

Bike porn

I went to the Cycle Show at Earl's Court yesterday, feeling ever so slightly sad about the prospect of spending a day wandering around a large hall full of shiny bikes I had no intention of buying, but also quite excited (sadly enough). I thoroughly enjoyed it, just like I knew I would. I spoke at some length to the Enigma guys about theoretical future purchases of course. They told me about a man who had bought his beloved a titanium framed roadbike with diamonds inlaid into the top tube (as dots on the i of the word Enigma on either side of the tube), and with gold-plated front and rear mechs, gold tyres, and a gold chain. It was an engagement present (she said yes I believe) and amazingly it didn't look at all tacky - no idea how they pulled that off.

There were remarkable bikes everywhere, many of which I took photographs of, needless to say. But there's something about this Moulton that really caught my eye. It's the top of their range (which means it sells for about £6,000) and is made of very narrow stainless steel tubes arranged in an intricate pylon style. An amazing bike and one I'd love to own, obviously. I must be growing up though, because I returned home having spent just £10 - eight of which was on a sandwich and a pint of beer.

Playground numbers

This one was taken while in a state of extreme boredom as I waited for Marni to emerge from her after school art class and Oskar played one-on-one football with his mate Jay. I need to figure out how to use the post-school hour more productively on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, when Marni's occupied and Osk just wants to kick a ball around with his mates. With all due respect to the lad's ever-growing football prowess, there are only so many times you can watch an eight year-old pretend to be a Premiership footballer and act impressed. So I ambled around the playground trying not to look like a pervert as I snapped a few interesting patterns, by far the best of which was this one.

Barking

Textural fun and games today, taken during a visit to Petworth House and its magnificent parkland at the weekend. Nothing much to add to this image really, except that I like it, and that it's typical of a particular kind of photograph I seem to be taking at the moment: slightly more abstract and less conventionally composed than my usual stuff.

Bra in the gutter

It's impossible, when seeing something like a discarded bra in the gutter, not to reflect on how it got there. There are many possible reasons, none of which are particularly edifying, but all of which are quite entertaining. I'll leave you to make up your own...

Prime Minister's tea time

In these troubled economic and political times it's reassuring to see evidence of some old fashioned hospitality being displayed by the people of Brighton as the Labour conference hits town. The PM may be widely derided for his lack of charisma and his apparent inability to do anything right but it's good to know there's always a nice cup of tea available for him above the chip shop on Brighton seafront if he so desires.

Elsewhere, roads have been closed and a first-floor tunnel built between the Grand Hotel and the Brighton Centre, there are gun-toting policemen everywhere, traffic is permanently gridlocked, and smart-suited young people looking simultaneously earnest and smug are prowling the streets weighed down by mountains of paper, smartphones and identity tags as they strive towards a better Britain, bless them.

Centurian cyclists

Ignore for a moment the unusual pose I've adopted here. Try not to think about what I might be trying to conceal. Don't dwell on the reasons behind the almost freakish jollity on the faces of my two companions either. Focus instead, if you will, on the reason this photograph was taken: I'd just finished my first 100-mile bike ride and was feeling so overwhelmingly elated that I demanded someone took a picture of me and two of the three cyclists (the third is the photographer) whose apparently limitless energy had seen me through the dark miles from Plumpton to Devil's Dyke - miles 85 to around 97 of the 100.

The Brighton 100 is a new organised ride that starts and finishes in Preston Park, taking in quite a large part of East Sussex in a huge double loop that goes through Newhaven, Lewes, Eastbourne and numerous villages in the High Weald before heading over to Hurstpierpoint and back to Brighton - with a killer climb to Devil's Dyke three miles from the end. I finished the course in a shade over six and a half hours, at an average cycling speed (ie not including the compulsory 30 minute break for lunch) of 16.7mph. I was more than pleased with this time although I confess I was slightly disappointed not to hit the 17mph average mark.

I was pushing quite hard throughout so by the time I got to the refreshment stop at Plumpton, 84 miles in, I was getting tired but feeling ok. Leaving the pub I latched onto the rear wheels of my three new friends and clung on for dear life as they careered through the countryside at a pace that was very nearly too much for me. About eight miles outside Brighton I started getting cramps in my inner thighs. Then we hit the hills heading up to Devil's Dyke. Blimey but that was hard. I reckon I would have clung on to finish come what may as we were so close to the end, but having a wheel in front of me to focus on going up those hills felt like a real lifesaver. When I got to the top of the hill and knew it was all downhill from here to the finish I was filled with an incredible sense of elation and achievement.

It's the toughest physical challenge I've taken on I think - one I've been training for for around three months. I'm delighted to have stuck to the training and I'm even more delighted to have completed the course in a respectable time without crashing, falling off or otherwise disgracing myself. I think I may be a cyclist...

Old school fun

The whole idea of school reunions has always filled me with a special kind of horror. Why would anyone want to subject themselves to the inevitably unfavourable scrutiny of people they were fond of many years ago but with whom they long-since lost any meaningful connection? I assumed the bulk of any reunion would consist of career, waistline and hairline comparisons - none of which I'd emerge from with much credit. And why revisit a school where I spent a good part of my time feeling inadequate, insecure and in constant conflict with various teachers - the less said about some of whom the better?

How wrong I was. Last weekend was spent with a group of people I haven't seen in 30 years in most cases. I wasn't even all that friendly with some of them three decades ago. And yet we spent nearly three days together, meeting up in London on Friday for drinks and an evening meal, then again on Saturday at the school in Dover for lunch in our old refectory - surrounded by today's pupils no less - followed by a tour of much of the school. Then there were more drinks, another blow-out meal, more drinks, and some low-key alcohol-fuelled dramas (without which it would have been a pretty poor reunion, let's face it). On Sunday morning the brave-hearted met for breakfast at the school (I was blissfully asleep at the time - I managed a lie-in til 11.00!) a trip to the hills outside Dover where we used to meet to drink cheap wine and engage in immature pursuits, followed by yet another meal and then, finally, home.

People flew in from Australia, the US, Canada, various parts of Europe and travelled from all over the UK. There were even people at the London event who had crossed the river for the occasion!

I wouldn't swap a minute of the whole weekend. It was a fantastic celebration of timeless friendship, shared experience and joyful reminiscence. One of the most remarkable of many remarkable things about it was how effortless it was to pick up the old friendships where they'd left off. We're all older and different in many ways but the fundamentals haven't really changed. The sleazebags are still sleazebags, the diamonds still diamonds, and the feelings are just as strong as they ever were (once suitably nurtured in a hothouse of constant exposure and alcoholic lubrication). And now we've all grown up a bit we're capable of speaking to the people we never went near at school because we weren't cool enough - or because they weren't - which resulted in a whole series of new friendships. We were able to say what we meant this time - rather than muttering vague adolescent indications of how we felt about each other. The upshot of this was that I left feeling genuinely loved by these people about whom I'd stopped thinking for years until a few weeks ago, when the invitation arrived.

It was a heart-warming, life-affirming experience and I'm so glad I parked my scepticism and my nervousness and my silly misgivings. To have given in to them would have deprived me of a genuinely significant event in my life.

I took lots of photos, obviously, but I couldn't possibly pick one that did any kind of justice to the occasion so I've gone for a silly one: the really rather delicious apple crumble they served us in the refectory on Saturday lunchtime. You may feel I've tweaked the colour saturation to emphasise the yellow of that custard. You'd be wrong.

Another Marni injury

Not content with splitting her head open a few months back, then breaking her arm, then getting run over by a massive piece of farmyard equipment on a steeply sloping field when we were camping, Marni has added another injury to her increasingly impressive collection. This time she fell over a chair at school and landed awkwardly. It could have been worse by all accounts (well, hers anyway): her fall was broken by Morgan, a classmate who's so robust and plucky that I didn't even think to ask how he was after the incident. Needless to say, Marni's delighted to have a proper shiner to show off. If it gets any more spectacular over the coming days I'll take another shot of it (for her you understand...)

Hasn't she got beautiful eyes though?

Wide-angle bandstand

The newly refurbished bandstand on Brighton seafront has already become something of a photographic cliché so I approach it with some caution. But the sunset was beautiful last night and this couple were in just the right spot taking pictures of each other and the wide-angle lens just happened to be on the camera so I went for it anyway. Clichés are clichés for a reason after all (how clichéd was that?)

Back seat delight

This was taken while travelling at some speed in my brother's VW Passat as Black Sabbath's Iron Man blared out of the speakers. We were on our way to West Wittering beach near Chichester, a place I will definitely be returning to before long I hope. It's a beautiful stretch of sand and dunes - long enough not to be crowded even when it's a scorching Saturday in mid-September and thousands of people must have had the same idea as us: to make hay while the Indian summer sun shines. We were camping, for one night only, at a site called Stubcroft Farm, not far from East Wittering. There were 11 kids, seven dads and not a mum to be seen (although Oskar and Marni's very much wanted to be there). Just as well it was just one night I think - it could have all gone very badly wrong if we'd had two nights like Saturday. Let's just say single malt whisky and leave it at that shall we? All told it was a great success - it was particularly wonderful seeing the cousins getting on so well.

65daysofstatic

Good gig last night - 65daysofstatic at Digital. They were very noisy but the system at Digital is so good there were barely any after effects, thankfully. 65days are post rock or math rock or experimental or any one of a dozen other labels, but the bottom line is that they're really quite good (how's that for a new sub-genre?) I must go to more gigs during this little career hiatus of mine...

Someone described the gig thus: "...fucking phenomenal... for half an hour. Reckon they should play really short sets. It's a bit like being wanked off by someone with a death grip without achieving orgasm... feels fucking great, then a bit sore, then you wish they'd vary their grip or something. But yeah, brilliant for 30 minutes or thereabouts." Nigel liked this description so much he nicked it for his review. I like it equally so I'm nicking it for here.

090909 cooking skills

A small audience mainly consisting of reasonably well to do late middle-aged women with quite fancy hairstyles was entertained this lunchtime by some cooking demonstrations at a stage outside the Churchill Centre in Brighton. I think the chefs pictured came from The Arrogant Frog.

The demos were part of the Brighton and Hove Festival of Food (or something like that), which I applaud, but which I think has some way to go before it registers on the global gastronomic calendar. Still, the food looked nice and I found some interesting looking sausages for supper, so I left happy.

A tough life

Today was the first proper day of my career hiatus. Since I left my job at the end of July I've been surrounded by family, kids, holidays, festival and a lot of noise. Although the kids went back to school yesterday Rach was here for half of the day - most of which I spent on a huge bike ride in any case, so it really didn't feel any different to the holiday days that preceded it. But today was different - the family were all otherwise engaged and I had the whole day to do whatever I wanted with. So what did I do? Filing, laundry, grass-cutting and bike-fettling. It was a day of blissful mundanity. To celebrate the glorious hum drumness of it all I went for a swim in the sea before picking up the kids from school. The water's still warm enough for it not to be a balls-out masculinity test every time you jump in and the sun was beating down when I got out, so I dried myself on the beach and took photos that made my feet look odd. It's official: I'm happy.

New friend

This rather intimidating dog approached me while I was eating a crayfish and prawn ciabatta with chips at a nice pub in the wonderfully named Funtingdon, a small and rather posh village near Chichester, last weekend. She sat quietly and politely, never becoming in any way pushy, but never taking her eyes off my face while I ate my lunch. She's one of those scary pit bull types so I didn't feel comfortable stroking her or even engaging with her very much because I don't generally trust dogs like her. But as time went on she won me over with her unflinching attention and eventually I started speaking to her and even stroking her a bit. She behaved impeccably throughout - but I still didn't give her any food. I do so love dogs - even the intimidating ones it seems.

We were in the area to spend some time walking in the country, eating posh food and generally being away from the kids for a day or two to mark our anniversary. It was a delightful weekend that left us aching worthily from our walking exertions, but also thoroughly toxic thanks to the rather excessive blow-out we enjoyed on the Saturday night. I paid my penance in full today by embarking on a 77-mile bike ride that's almost completely incapacitated me - but which has also made me feel incredibly virtuous.

Ten years on

This weekend was spent celebrating our tenth wedding anniversary. So really there's only one photo I can reasonably post today - even though I didn't take it, not the original anyway. It's just a photo of a photo, complete with glare from the glass. But it's also one of my favourite photos. It looks like something David Bailey would have taken in the sixties if you ask me, and it captures the happiness of that amazing day better than any of the other several thousand shots - all taken by my mate Jon Rigby, an excellent (professional) photographer and a jolly nice chap to boot.

First panorama

I've never done one of these before. It's quite fun in a labour-intensive kind of way. I'm sure it wouldn't take much to fine tune this one so it's not quite so screamingly obvious where one photo ends and the next one starts but there's something appealing about the joins being obvious. In fact I thought long and hard before deciding not to include the jagged edges, Hockney-style, as though the photographs had just been thrown together.

This (or these I suppose) was (were) taken just outside Abbotsbury in Dorset, from where we've just returned from our annual holiday. It was a triumph, thank goodness. After last year's total wash-out I'm not sure we could have survived another rainy holiday. Camping in the English countryside in good weather is almost as good as it gets if you ask me - doing so in relentless downpours is something approaching hell on earth.

Note that I'm making no apologies for being away for such a long time. There's just no point!

Another Chill shot

I quite like this one - for me it captures some of the peace of being outside at a festival at night as well as some of the excitement of being inside one of the tents. This is the Coop, although why they didn't just call it the club tent and be done with it I don't know, because that's what it was. This is where the Horsemeat Disco team did their thing after Orbital had rocked the whole festival on Saturday night. HMD are into their good-time, old-school dance music - they played some Michael Jackson and some famous (and some obscure) late-70s disco as well as some more up to date stuff. Most of it worked a treat, although even my Catholic tastes were stretched to the limit by their finale: Down in Africa by Toto. Hmmm. If you ask me there are some guilty pleasures, then there are some tunes that really ought to be allowed to rest in peace. Down in Africa falls into the second category, no doubt about it.

Woodland mystery

Where could this lead I wonder... Well actually I know, but I'm going to let you guess. I found it in the woods within the Sussex Wildlife Trust's grounds near Henfield, where the kids were learning how to wreak bonfire havoc with minimal parental help. I still can't quite believe we paid for this privilege but there you go...

Zombie wickerman

We went to the Big Chill at the weekend. I've been at least five or six times over the years but never to the current venue - Eastnor Castle in Herefordshire. It's grown a lot since I last went. There's capacity for 35,000 people these days and it never used to be more than 5,000 or 6,000 as far as I can recall. I worried that this might be a bad thing but it's not. The variety and vibrance of a festival that big is always going to be more interesting and they've been going for such a long time now that the organisation is pretty much perfect. We barely had to queue all weekend, everything happened when it was supposed to, getting in and out was incredibly easy... all the little incidental things that can erode your patience and start making a difference to the amount you enjoy a festival were very well taken care of. The kids had a great time and, thanks to a free pass on Saturday night from my saintly and awe-inspiring wife, so did I. I'm paying for it now a bit but that kind of comes with the territory. At least I haven't got Monday morning in the office to worry about.

This is a picture of the enormous zombie wickerman effigy that was burned on Sunday night, after we'd gone home. There was a zombie theme this year, which we didn't know about and which very nearly derailed the whole thing as it freaked out the kids to the extent that they both wanted to come home pretty much straight away. But hey - that was never going to happen.

Just dessert

This is a turning point dessert. It's a decent sized bowl full of chocolate brownies covered in hot chocolate sauce and rich chocolate ice cream, with a desultory raspberry on top that seems to be laughing in the face of healthy eating. I ate this at lunchtime yesterday. I ate it quickly and without guilt. I knew it was wrong but I ate it anyway. "Today is the first day of the rest of my life", I said to myself (rather pleased with my originality). "If you're not allowed to eat something like this today then when are you?" I didn't take much persuading.

And yet ever since I licked the last little smudge from the least accessible corner of the bowl I've been feeling slightly sick. At first I thought it was just a momentary blip -- my body issuing a well-intentioned warning not to consume desserts like this too often. But then I went for a walk, then a bike ride, then I ate again, then I slept. And still I felt a little sick now, more than 30 hours later. I hope I'm not coming down with some bug. But then I also hope I won't be affected like this every time I decide to push the gastronomic boat out a little. I think that would be even worse.

On my first day of freedom

I am now officially unemployed, which feels very odd. On my first day of freedom I drove the family to Hawkhurst, where we enjoyed a very nice lunch with my parents before heading to Bodiam Castle on a whim. I'd never heard of it before but it's a lovely place -- made all the lovelier by the glorious weather and the absence of screaming hordes. I don't know if we were just lucky or if it's always so peaceful there. If it is I think I've found a new favourite place for picnics, ambling around with old people, and general mooching. This one's been Photoshopped a little -- there were a couple of other figures visible, but I thought it would work much better without them.

Hat-flipping escapologist

I caught about 20 minutes of this guy on The Lawns yesterday. His main act is escapology but the real shtick was his humour, which was irresistible. There must have been 200 or 300 people watching him and I reckon everyone there had a continuous chuckle going on throughout his act. He was effortlessly amusing - appealing to toddlers, drunks, grandparents, families and passing cyclists equally it seemed to me - a genuine entertainer. Not half bad as an escapologist either. The only thing he wasn't so great at was catching a hat flipped from his foot while in chains at the top of a ladder. It took him at least four attempts to catch it.

Tweaked subway family

I won't make a habit of this, promise, but I'm reposting a picture I used on here just two posts ago because I'm so gobsmacked by the effect a few Photoshop tweaks have made to it. I'd taken the colour out of the original shot on a whim. Then I tweaked the levels a bit and reposted it on Flickr. My mate Dave (the legendary Disco Dave 2000 that is) saw it and made a few suggestions: clone out this, tweak that, add a shadow here... And I thought he might have a point, so I went ahead and made the changes. This is what emerged - suddenly I think I have a new favourite photograph (of my own I mean...let's not get carried away). I particularly like the converging curved lines, the texture on the walls and the mystery that lies beyond the bright light...

Monochrome beacon

This was very ordinary until I took the colour out of it and tweaked the levels a bit. I really like it now - especially those crazy cloud shapes. I'd like something eye-catching in the foreground but you can't have everything can you?

If I'd managed to get my act together sufficiently to capture this shot of a touring tandem couple properly I'd have used it instead of this one, but I still had my aperture shut right down for the landscape and forgot to check it so they came out all blurred. I wish I could say that'll teach me but the disappointing truth of the matter is that it won't. I guarantee I'll make that mistake again.

Subway family

This is what you want from a point & shoot: the confidence that you can just point it and shoot without stroking your chin for ten minutes over white balance and ISO settings, and still get something serviceable at the other end. I'm sure the D90 could have handled the challenging light conditions just as well on auto mode, but then so it should being twice the price and all that - and that's without a lens. So all told I'm pleased with the Ricoh so far - even though I'm still half convinced I should have gone for the RX200. But then I may have just got tied up in the purist photography options it offers and missed this shot altogether.

Eating dad's face

The inestimable Nigel Bailey has his left cheek chewed by his son Nicky on Hove lawns this afternoon. After weeks of nothing but dad-on-dad action the two tribes finally got together today and I think I can safely say it all went very well. The highpoint had to be Nigel's 15-hit keepy-uppy display, which left Oskar's mind well and truly boggled. I didn't like to upstage my new friend so I feigned incompetence - rather successfully I think. Too successfully perhaps...

Marni bounces back

Just eight weeks after breaking her arm in a nasty fall from this very trampoline - and six weeks after it was reset rather excruciatingly - Marni is back doing what she does best: risking life and limb. We waited three hours for the privilege of seeing a consultant for all of five minutes yesterday. It was infuriating but there's no point in complaining is there? Or maybe there is...perhaps I should fire off a stroppy letter for a change. Do you know what? I think I will!

More aerial shenanigans

It's not every day you get the chance to take some photos from a basket hanging under a crane nearly 200 feet above Brighton beach so I'm sure you'll forgive me for using one more from the weekend's bungee shoot (get me, I'm calling it a 'shoot'). In fact I reserve the right to use more of these if the mood takes me and I don't find anything fresher to offer. I very much look forward to spending some time really getting to know the new camera properly and then practising with it. Right now I feel somewhat out of my depth - both with the camera and the new wide-angle lens - but I'm seeing this as an opportunity to learn stuff, once the pesky job is behind me.

One Giant Leap...

I took something like 450 pictures of a sponsored bungee jump on Saturday, which sounds a bit excessive until you realise that I was there in a semi-official capacity at the request of the organiser. It felt strange and quite nice to be referred to as 'Martin the photographer' but it reminded me of my early days as a newspaper reporter when my toes used to curl with embarrassment whenever anyone referred to me as a journalist. Eventually that became as natural as breathing. Perhaps the photographer thing will too eventually.

I was never going to do a jump myself, obviously (sometimes a dodgy back makes life nice and simple) but I did go up in the crane to watch a few brave souls hurl themselves into oblivion at close quarters - like the one pictured. It's a very brave thing to do I reckon - there's a moment where you just have to swallow the madness and the fear and do the most counter-intuitive thing in the world... Except I'm not sure it is. I was talking to the chap in the basket who does the encouraging and, ultimately, if people agree, the pushing, and he reckons there's something in us that really wants to hurl ourselves off tall things. It's the same impulse that makes vertigo so sickeningly irresistible. And I know what he means...kind of.

By the way, yesterday's craziness was all in aid of an interesting initiative. The Thinking Men's Project is a charity geared towards helping men who need help, in a nutshell. There's a much more sensible explanation on this web page.