Readjustment

It's all been rather a whirl since I finished work. A couple of work-related social engagements; Christmas shopping and a school reunion.


I've had no time to miss my old job. Actually, it just feels like I've not been in for a couple of days.

M asks if I feel OK about it. I'm non-committal.

The seminal moment for me was at the school reunion...or should I say, an informal gathering of people who went to the same school.

This is the second such meet-up in about as many months. This time there were a few more people, including someone I used to hang out with, and play music with. It's been 27 years since I've seen him.

We sit and chat. 27 years pretty much drop away as we catch up with what we do now and how it relates to how it was then.

Wandering off and talking to other people was pleasant and polite. I suck at smalltalk but we all got by.

Once I got home, still smiling from the pleasant evening, I realised that none of us had changed all that much.

The popular girls were still the popular girls. The outsiders were still on the edge a little but the differences were a lot less marked. I still found the guys a little easier to chat to than the girls.

What struck me is that the difference for me is that I no longer care that much whether or not I fit someone else's definition of "normal".

It was a timely realisation in that the one school friend I kept in touch with told me her teenage daughter seems to be having a bit of rough time of things - and it seems to be in part to do with the pressure to conform.

Today I go out with my business partner for a survey trip for work. We've been pals for a couple of years and part of the reason I find him easy to be with is his lack of coventionality. He's told me that he didn't really fit in at school either.

It was a pleasant afternoon. A coffee, a sandwich in the car...a drive, a look at some land, some photos, no hidden agendas, no subterfuge. Just a couple of mates doing some work.

My 16 year old self wouldn't believe I could do this. My 22 year old self was striving but failing to fit in so much that she wouldn't have even seen the opportunities.

This 46-year old says that you know who the real friends are. The ones who love you just for you are. Who, even when you're pissing them off, would never ditch you for someone else just because someone else "better" or "more interesting" came along.

Despite the uncertainty I have in my life at the moment, I've never had so many real friends. 27 years seems like a long time to learn what's important...and no time at all.


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The view from up here

So...there we go.

27 years in the financial services industry ends with a low key presentation (at my request) and a quiet exit with a few hugs.


Some conniving by a couple of colleagues with an ex-colleague/friend with an entirely un-work-related friend (through the magic of Facebook) sees me with a gift token from my camera provider of choice.

Messages flow in, people pop to my desk to see me...promises to see me at the pub on Thursday. All saying I'll be missed.

I have a note from the department boss - low key, appreciative & understanding of my reasons for leaving.

So just remind me again why I'm doing this?

It no longer fits. It's difficult to get passionate about financial services. It's very important, it provides a vital safety net for people...hell, I've even been on the receiving end of the benefits and I can attest to the peace of mind it gives.

But passion?

Nah...

I didn't leave to do something else specific...I left because I needed to leave.

I guess all of this started with the loss of "Idiot Boy". Suddenly I needed to look around me again and take stock.

I suspect this is the natural culmination of having more time to look around at things and think; more new people to be inspired by and seeing the world again with new eyes.

It's not all good and it's not all bad. It just is.

The question remains..."any regrets?"...

The answer is that I don't really do regrets - and haven't for about 20years...regrets are largely pointless.

This might all go horribly wrong but a wiser man than I said "I'd much rather think that didn't work, having tried it than I wish I'd tried..."

So thank you all I've worked with and for over the last 27 years. Thank you everyone contributed to my leaving gift - and for the connivers SK, JAF, MD and TD for getting it just right. Thank you to "the boss" for respecting wishes with just enough pushing of boundaries.

Thank you for all the friends and family who didn't say "how stupid are you?" but instead said "Go for it".

Oh, and thank you my new business partner for grunting the words "it'll not happen unless you're involved" over coffee one day...

Here's to all the frustrations and difficulties ahead...


x

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The geek shall inherit the earth

It won't come as a surprise to anyone reading this who knows me but at all...

I'm a geek.

Meeting people and making small talk is most definitely not my forte. I'm always anxious if I know about it in advance. In fact, I used to avoid it altogether if I could.

These days, I make more of an effort and most of the time the effort is well worth it (we'll leave aside a couple of cringe inducing incidents, shall we?)

So yesterday, the combined desire to get somewhere new to look at taking some stock photos and to meet up with someone with whom I've shared the odd email, tweet and Flickr comment saw me on the train (and replacement bus service) to Birmingham.

I have to say, Brum is a place I only travel through and would never have considered as a destination so when M lists some of the places I might consider looking at I have to re-evaluate.

I arrive at New Street and locate M...or rather, he locates me.

Naturally, first stop is coffee/tea and I fear my lack of ability to talk about the weather, Big Brother and whatever else is often a good common starting place will hamper flowing conversation. I needn't have worried...

M is a programmer. We were soon geeking away like old pals. His enthusiasm for his work is apparent and once again I'm envious of anyone who is so caught up in what they do to pay the bills.

Then we have a wander around the city. I am transfixed by the place. Far from dingy tired image I had of it, I got the impression of a lively and vibrant place.

We stroll down to the delightful "Gas Street Basin" a regenerated part of the inner city canal system. The place is clean and tidy without being sterile. The bridges and brickwork are original but not looking tired. James Brindley would have been pleased, I think.

It's possible that there was some canal geekery on my part at this point. I make no apology for it but I probably got nearly to seal-clapping territory and I forced M to listen to me enthuse about the Pontcysyllte Aqueduct.

Fewer pictures were taken than I'd planned but I'm perfectly content to wander and chat and then go and drink more coffee.

Over coffee we chat about how neither of us have lifestyles that would be considered entirely conventional - I mean, we spend our time happily fiddling with bits of machinery, taking photographs and chatting to people on the internet. We also agree that we like it that way - golf and car obsession being largely over-rated, an all.

It was very, very relaxing to not have to spend time feeling the need to explain away some of the aspects of my life in the way I so often do.

I did squeeze a few minutes "new" work into the day but mostly it was about good company and strolling and looking at a new city. A city I'll undoubtedly return to because it's clearly got a lot of photographic potential.

A big win all round for me...

Thanks M


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The meeting of two minds

At the moment the perpetual question from friends, family and colleagues is

"So, how are you feeling about leaving work?"

With about a month to go until my last day in the industry I've spent the last 27 years in...I would say I'm in two minds.

Mind one says "can't wait" and mind two says "Holy crap! What have you done?????"

Mind two had been winning.

Then a week or so ago, TD makes a suggestion to kick start the business proposition we'd been steadily working up for the last couple of months. What followed is a flurry of actvity to get from almost a standing start to a point where we almost have an organization to work within.

I've learned about domains, webhosting, HTML, limited companies vs LLPs, VAT, corporation tax, and, and...

It's all been a bit of a blur.

Voice one got a little louder in my interview at the local Business Links office. As I explain to the advisor what it is we're trying to do, I see that I've made myself understood...and he thinks it's a great idea.

I'm even surprised, when he asked me some pertinent "feasibility" type questions, that they are questions I've already asked and we have answers for.

Then today TD and DM come round to my place for a discussion about another potential project. Listening to two of my favourite people enthuse over design, and architecture and stuff like that is a treat in itself. Then they include me in the conversation like I have something to contribute beyond nailing them down for dates and agreeing who does what. Bliss.

It was hard work and, damn it all, this is the weekend. But if this is what work can be like - at least some of the time - then bring it on.

As I sit here fiddling some more with website stuff I barely understand, and trying to get more soon-to-be-work stuff going voice two ain't getting a look in.



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Small Acts of Kindness

Picture by
Mike Stimpson








There has been a theme in my life over the past couple few days - I have been knocked out by people performing small (and large) acts of kindness in my direction.

Last Thursday GJ emails me in advance of the monthly Flickrmeet which was a little more far afield than usual - and in a place where some people (women?) might feel nervous to walk on their own on a darkening evening. He asks if I would like company for the journey.

After the meet, I was content to get a bus hom and was waiting at the stop when PG, another one of the Flickrfolk offered me a lift. Knowing that it was a fair bit out of his way I thanked and declined the offer whereupon he declared that he was perfectly capable of standing in the road and arguing to the point I'd miss the bus. So, I accept the offer.

Today is my birthday and although I keep forgetting and generally don't pay it much heed, other people have been more attentive. I had cards from the usual people who send me cards but also from CJ, who doesn't generally do the whole remembering of anniversaries thing. TD finds me some wholly inappropriate YouTube clips to send me despite the fact he's stressed and rushed off his feet.

My closest friends (they are also my neighbours) can't think what to get me for my birthday and so take me out to a comedy gig and for a meal...much the nicest way to mark the occasion.

Several emails, SMS messages, Tweets and messages on Facebook...including one from someone I've never met but we comment on each other's pictures - it's his picture at the top of the page and I haven't smiled so broadly for quite some time because it's a rendition of me taking a photograph that he liked in my photostream.

What's my point?

That in a world of people and businesses where human interraction is getting rarer, and where the Daily Mailists out there insist the World's going to hell in a handcart, and the Internet is a Bad Thing full of Bad People, it's heartening to know how people there are out there who still make the effort to be thoughtful and caring. Small kindesses which make a huge difference.

Thank you everyone...



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Look out below!

A while back I blogged about the urge to quit my job.

Things have moved on a-pace in the last nine months.

I've got interested in new things. I've met yet more new people. The shift in working environment has continued.


So a little over a week ago I told my boss I'd be leaving.

Date yet to be decided but most likely by the end of the year.

Do I have a cunning plan?

No, not really.

The maths has been done and I can get by for about a year without earning any money. Obviously there won't be much in the budget for dream-holidays to far flung places, or to buy new cameras but I've thought, and re-thought through all the possible consequences of me leaving a steady job...and, more importantly, the likely consequences of me continuing where I am.

The latter consequences are far less pleasant to contemplate than the former.

If I were sensible I'd probably get something sorted before quitting - in fact someone has already suggested this as being a more appropriate way to approach the issue. However, I know me...and that means I'd never quite find the time to do it and that would leave me getting more and more disatisfied with the situation.

I've a few ideas, a willingness to do contracting, an iStock account that generates a very small amount of cash but could doubtless be tapped for some more, given a little effort on my part, and a naiscent plan with a friend that could be something we could both be proud of.

I'm not expecting to earn anything for a good few months - indeed January will most likely see me sorting out things that have been on my to do list for a number of months.

In a year's time I may have to go and get a conventional job again but even if I fail to pull the "alternative" off, it'll be good to know I tried.

Meanwhile if you know anyone who wants a meeting facilitating or a project managed...I do know someone who'll be becoming available soon.

Watch this space.



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Worse things happen at sea

The work on the house continues.

The decorator left having completed two bedrooms, landing, stairs and hallway.

On Tuesday a nice man will arrive to fit curtains in the two rooms.

The builder and his various colleagues have been beavering away in the basement remodelling the utility area.



Only today, they hit a snag...where "snag" = gas pipe which was buried in a concrete floor they were digging up to do something with a soil pipe.

There was momentary fluster, alarm and quite a lot of smell.

The decorator was concerned...he looked a little bit scared.

I was summoned down to hear the tale of woe. The builder was ready with reasons why they hadn't known it was there, couldn't have been expected to know it was there. He looked fed up and a bit anxious.

I shrugged. I wasn't that worried. He was right, sticking pipes in a concrete floor seems like a stupid thing to do.

He said he'd called someone to effect a repair and said the gas would be off for a while.

I couldn't drum up any emotion whatsoever, but I'm not really sure why. I'm sure I should have at least felt a bit of annoyance, or something...but...nada.

I've had a rough week at work for one reason and another, and other stuff's going on in my head and maybe there's no room for anything else just now.

But I figure in the ups and downs of owning an old house that needs a bit of TLC shit happens. Maybe this is the shit they refer to.

I'm reminded that worse things happen at sea - and probably a broken gas/fuel line would be much worse at sea.

Just as well I'm on dry land, then, innit.

Oh there is just one thing...following some rejigging of electricity circuits I discover some of the downstairs lights aren't working. Slightly annoying, but as I amble around in the dark a fair bit, I daresay I'll cope until Tuesday when the builder's back.



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In praise of the humble shop

My builder wasn't too comfortable buying some of the fittings and finishes I want for the utility/loo.

So it was agreed (ie I was left with no option) that I would buy them.

Armed with TD's helpfully detailed specs I set about making what I assumed would be a series of simple purchases of a sink, a loo, some taps and a radiator online.

I was thwarted at every stage. Did the loo come with a frame or a mounting bracket? What about the cistern...and the "button". Who knew? The websites certainly didn't help any.

The sink, I couldn't find on line at all.

I became disheartened and sought advice from TD.

He wasn't sure either but agreed to meet me in a "shop" that sells bathroom stuff, not far from he is working.

We rolled in more or less on spec and immediately were greeted by a friendly chap called Steve. We introduced ourselves and started explaining my needs for sanitaryware.

At every turn Steve was helpful, knowledgeable and willing to phone the manufacturers for further advice. At no point did he try the hard sell. He was happy enough to give me prices and for me to go and think about it.

He carefully laid out price options and at no point even tried to force me down the "expensive" route.

After the prices were written down I just said - 'yeah, go for it' or something similar.

I'd only gone in to source the sink and maybe the WC but I was so impressed I suggested we check out the taps. Sure enough, they had those too.

Then as the finale I muttered to TD that that just left the radiator for which I'd have to go to Bath. Steve immediately apologised for being forward and asked what radiator I wanted (me saying Bath was a pretty big cue for a particular brand of radiator). When I told him he said "Yes, we do those too". Job done.

OK it took an hour and I probably owe TD more than the takeout coffee we were left with getting before going back to our respective day jobs but I have to say the whole experience was a salutory lesson in customer care.

The guy clearly gave a damn. He knew his subject and seemed genuinely interested in finding me what I needed.

For the prices I knew, it wasn't the cheapest option...neither was it the most expensive. However, I see the slight premium as a small price to pay for the service...indeed the excellent service.

TD's not a man to praise lightly and even he was impressed.

In our defence, we did provide the guy with a little entertainment as we stretched the normal boundaries of professional practitioner and client as we bickered and TD criticised my skill with a tape measure (I still don't know what's wrong with cm as a unit of measurement). Steve wasn't to know we're pals who regularly bicker on a non-architectural basis.

What Steve also doesn't realise is that when I do the bathroom (some time next year, I'm hoping) that they'll probably be my first port-of-call rather than the refuge of a desperate woman.

A good day for proper retail.


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Anonymity breeds contempt

I follow my friend Dru's blog. She has a wicked way with words and an understated sense of humour.

This post has had me thinking for a while now.

The controversy over the gender testing of Caster Semevna has bothered me a fair bit but I knew little about the biology involved until it prompted me to do some reading.

Far from being just a matter of some chromosones, a bit of anatomy and some brain function, it seems that not only is gender medically complicated but is also fairly plastic in terms of psychology.

In fact - it seems almost as though imposing just two genders on the human race is almost arbitrary. Yes, yes, I know you're saying that the two genders are really about procreation but life's more complicated than that these days.

Or is it?

I have several friends that my father who, lovely though he was in many ways, would have struggled with if discussed in the abstract. However, had my dad met my friends he would have liked them.

So how is this related to an athlete whose gender is being questioned?

Well, as TD said with a tone of exasperation and anger, laced with compassion.

"She's a person".

...and that's the most important thing of all.



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The difference between empathy and knowledge

Bit of an mind opening experience this week.

A long conversation on the phone with a friend. We live a long way apart so we don't get to generally natter over a coffee or a pint very often.

Recently both of us have been feeling a bit blah. For me, the work to clear space and dispose of old stuff had taken its toll.

A stuffed koala, made by me a long, long time ago had me in a crumpled heap on Sunday afternoon. By Tuesday, it was just a soft toy with a couple of associated memories that made me smile.

WTF?

Whilst telling myself it was probably normal, I couldn't truly shake the feeling that I should have got beyond this point by now or that this was not a normal reaction.

I explain this to my friend.

"I know what you mean", he says.

He doesn't mean 'I can imagine how that feels, and isn't it awful'. He means he felt like that last week, yesterday or possibly 2 hours ago.

We chat about stuff for a while longer.

I feel the tension slipping out of my shoulders and I look at the koala and smile. Now I know I can put it in the spare room and not think I'm mawkish or stupid.

Don't get me wrong - I've lots of friends who will happily support me through the bad times. They give me a hug, they give me beer or coffee and they empathise with me. They have helped me in my lurching from highs to lows to highs again.

But until the conversation on Wednesday, it hadn't struck me what a huge difference knowledge and shared experience makes.

Furthermore, it finally explains to me why my best chemistry teacher wasn't the one who was the most brilliant. When I didn't understand the concept of the mole he patiently and sweetly explained and re-explained it to me without once getting impatient...and yet I always knew that deep down he had no idea why I found it so difficult.

The teacher who had clearly struggled with his own development in the field proved to be a much more effective teacher because he knew what it was like to struggle with a concept and in passing that side of his knowledge on, allowed me to relax and learn without feeling I was in some way uniquely stupid.

It's a paradox - you wouldn't wish the difficulties you're suffering upon anyone else and yet their suffering eases yours and you hope that yours helps them.

Nothing I can do about it other than be grateful for a friend who understands. Thanks.


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Discovery

My house is full of junk.

The decoration is well underway and that means that rooms have to be emptied.

This is my hall before the addition of a box of technical books, a box of electronic components, and a large laserprinter.

CJ is a veteran of clearance. He tells me short, sharp bursts of sorting things out and getting rid of things is the way to go.

When I mention getting a skip to junk stuff in to make my life easier TD clucks in a disapproving fashion and tells me to 'freecycle'. "You'll be amazed what junk people will take off your hands", quoth he.

I didn't believe him that anyone would want the rubbish that I was looking to dispose of, and yet it would take an age to get out in the fortnightly rubbish collection.

So - I dipped a toe. Put a Palm Pilot IIIc and a Laserprinter on the local freeserve group. My hand was practically bitten off.

In addition to stranger freecycling, I've put the word around a few friends who have asked their friends.

To date I have managed to offload:

A printer
An obsolete hand held computing device
A keyboard stand
2 CD racks
2 old, tatty cartwheel back chairs
Loads of tools
Electronic components
Reels of various cables.
Countless books

The best bit about this is there really is no downside.

The people taking the stuff off my hands are as enthusiastic about receiving it as I am at getting rid of it.

Buoyed by my success so far I'm going to continue simplifying the contents of the house.

Who would have thought that a 30cm x 30cm space on the carpet in the music room could be so satisfying?


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Simplicity itself

Once again I was amazed at how simple some pleasures are.

Twice in as many days, I've had a guest for a meal.

My ma is a firm believer in letting guests relax whilst she buzzes around the kitchen getting stressed.

Often I follow suit, but on Friday, when the meal preparation was a bit of a rush job, I accepted TD's "Shall I chop the avocado" offer, with gratititude.

We spent the next ten minutes or so nattering happily enough over shared food preparation. I relaxed, TD seemed relaxed...and there was food to eat at the end of it.

Then yesterday DrP - who stayed with me for a few weeks earlier in the year so knows his way around my kitchen pretty much as well as I do - in almost unspoken agreement looked after the quesadillas whilst I made a cuppa.

I realised that this is the thing I probably miss most about living alone. Comfortable co-existence whilst doing mundane, shared tasks.

A highly underrated pleasure.

Love at first sight

I had some processing time yesterday so I went through a few of the pictures I took on my first proper trip out with my M8.

Inside a dark cathedral with a 50mm is probably not the natural habitat for the wee beastie.

We had fun my M8 and me but I didn't really expect much more than an opportunity to learn how to focus and maybe set the exposure more quickly.

Then I turned over this photograph.

It's not perfect, not technically, not aesthetically but I loved it the second I took it...and looking at the raw file I loved it all over again.

Now I'm aching to get out there with the camera again. That's a good thing.




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You're my M8 you are...

Short post today.

A pleasant feeling remembered. That of wandering alone with a camera.

I had an errand to run. I wanted to get out of the house for a bit. I wanted to make the most of the sunshine. I needed to properly check the upgrade of my Leica's firmware.

I haven't gone for a proper photographic wander just around my hometown for ages.

It's a very different experience than when I go somewhere specific with a friend, or if I do an event. I'd almost forgotten how much it blocks out the stresses and other noises in my head.


Worth remembering.


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Subborn Cow Syndrome

Decorator is due tomorrow. My bedroom had to be cleared for him to do his work.

The bed, thankfully, is staying where it is but the other piece of substantial furniture - a chest of drawers made from reclaimed wood - has to move into the spare room.

I was told, the other day, that I'm a "stubborn cow" because I have a tendency to do things without asking for help.

It's not that I don't know there are loads of people who would help me, if only I were to ask. Thing is, for some reason I don't ask.

So, today, faced with a chest of drawers that is about 4' wide & 4'6 tall (and I'm 5'3") do I ask for help? What do you think?






This is the beast in question. Shown with the drawers already removed and some of the contents consigned to the recycling.






It had to be moved to here




The chest is much lighter when it has its drawers removed. Even so, it's awkward.




So, faced with this what does a single gal do?



She employs a dolly. Not Tiny Tears, not Barbie nor even Action Man but...





Something "Idiot Boy" bought a long time ago and I couldn't see the point.









Employed like this



It makes the task of moving something somewhat easier.





There's the coefficient of friction between the surface of the dolly and the surface of the item versus the inertia of the wheels on the wooden floor (and more so on the carpeted surfaces) which can add a frisson of comedy but, on the whole, the whole job becomes a veritable piece of cake.


So, a few moments of manoevring and a tiny bit of colouful language later, we have the furniture in its new home.




For those of you (mostly my lovely male friends) rolling your eyes heavenwards and thinking "why on earth didn't you ask?" I know you're happy to help. I know I could ask. But sometimes there are things this girl has to do by herself...just to know she's coping.



Have no fear. Now I know I can do it, I've no real need to move it back without help. What are you doing in about 10 days' time?

Oh, and a belated comment to Idiot Boy...OK, you were right, buying that dolly was a bloody good idea....





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Bump!

I've come down to earth.

A couple of days' playing with CJ's M8 a few weeks back, and the technical quality of the images I came home from Scotland with lured me into changing the item on the top of my photographic wishlist.

Then in a fit of "you're a long time dead" I employed the JFDI project methodology and bought a Leica M8 of my very own.

The lovely people at Ffordes supplied me with camera at a reasonable (all things being relative) price and provided excellent customer service. I would heartily recommend them as they were heartily recommended to me.

I've found the reaction of people to the camera slightly odd.

CJ smiles - well, it sounds like he smiles when he's chatting to me on the end of the phone, or in email. He was uneasy about my swift conversion (Saul, Damascus...you get the idea) from secondhand film Leica to brand new digi. He's a little concerned I'll hate it and lose money on the deal.

One professional photographer stopped mid-way through berating me for giving photographic services for free to a community interest company and said "is that a digital Leica?"

We then had a short but stilted exchanged about the build quality of digital cameras vs film cameras but I couldn't shake the feeling that he didn't think I was worthy of the camera in some way.

A couple of other people who know of the reputation of Leicas have sighed in a wistful fashion. Tonight, one friend got very excited when I told her I had it with me...she also found it intoxicating to use.

There have been hints of "stupid amount of money to spend on a camera" and "we are not worthy" in roughly equal measures.

I particularly like the studied indifference of one pal who merely asks if I used my "new toy" for a particular excursion.

There's a brand kudos around Leica that I'm not sure I like, to be honest. It's interesting to note that the M8.2 has a snapshot mode. The implication is that some people who want to own the camera will value such a feature.

I have to say, if you're not an enthusiastic photographer...and actually quite a serious one...this is a daft camera to choose.

There is no autofocus.
The auto white balance settings are rubbish - far, far worse than my Nikon D300 (apparently an outstanding firmware fix I ought to apply improves things with WB...but it still sucks)
There is no autofocus (I'll just say it again for effect).
The metering is just about adequate but it won't win any awards.
The sensor is quite an old design (I'm told it's Kodak) and has a "mere" 10.3MP
High ISO performance is OK but hardly cutting edge.

Using a rangefinder is a distinctly strange experience if you're used to an SLR.
It's perfectly possible to shoot shedloads of pictures blissfully unaware that you've got the lens cap on (hint: Have image review set on)
It's perfectly possible to shoot loads of pictures completely out of focus because you forgot or just got it really badly wrong (beware shooting anything with repeating patterns).

Ergonomically, the camera isn't cutting edge. It largely looks like every M-series Leica. Workmanlike design with few comforts.

So why on earth would anyone who isn't interested in brand showing spend so much money on a camera that does so little and punishes so much?

For me, one look at a RAW file off the camera is enough to do it.

Whether it's the lens, or the sensor, or the rendering of the file, or a bit of all these things, the files that come out of the camera are luscious.

By way of example, I've pushed three images up to iStock to see if they get accepted. I needed to do no noise reduction on them and yet all three images got accepted.

The framing of a shot where you can see not only the picture you're going to take (ish) but also a reasonable margin around it is very different to the induced tunnel vision of an SLR. Just now I'm not sure if it's a good, bad or indifferent thing but it's a marked change that requires concentration as I shoot.

I do know that I've NOT taken a number of pictures with the M8. That is to say, I've seen something I think will make a good photograph, put the camera to my eye and then decided against it.

There's also something less intrusive about the more slender design of the camera - this reduces the barrier between the photographer and human subject.

So is it "better" than the Nikon?

No. Not universally.

My gut feeling is that I might take some of my very best pictures with the M8 but also some of my very worst.

The Nikon is a more biddable beast. If you're not in the mood to work really hard, the D300 will probably deliver a larger percentage of perfectly nice pictures. But, I'm guessing, fewer that make me go "wow".

Am I happy with my camera?

Abso-bloody-lutely, I am. From the feel in my hands, to the fantastic rendering of the out of focus areas of a picture, I love it.

Is it the right camera for you?

How would I know that? I honestly didn't think it was the right one for me when I was standing in the road in the Highlands of Scotland failing to get the damned picture in focus, and (apparently) hunching awkwardly.

Would I like the camera less if it were more mass produced? I wouldn't give a damn as long as the build quality is as good as it is with mine. More of them around, cheaper? Bring it on.

Will it make me a better photographer? No. What will make me a better photographer is using a camera (almost any camera) more and assessing the results. Using a rangefinder may improve my ability to see better pictures - but only if I get out there and use it.

So, I'd better get out and use it, hadn't I?

Rescuing from neglect

Another busy few days.

Still reeling from clearing the room for the builders (who didn't start this week...but should do next week) I seem to have arranged an awful lot of things to happen this week.

Locksmiths, dishwasher engineers, paint delivery...and other stuff too

Today the last of the planned arrivals arrived.

The paint. A palletload of paint.

Here you see it lined up in my hallway.

Exhausted though I am from the week's excitement, I feel an amount of satisfaction that these things have finally been done and that, for the most part, I dealt with them myself.

The problem with letting things go like I have is that when you finally open your eyes and realise how much it bothers you, there's just so much to do.

The benefit of getting people who know what they're doing, in whom you have confidence is that all the details become their problems and you can watch the house being rescued from a safe distance.

Builder starts work in the basement next week, the decorator starts at the top of the house the following week.

Bring it on


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It's just a phase...

Busy, busy, busy, busy week.

Everything in my life has been almost overwhelmingly busy.

Building work; every day home things; work; photography; it's been all go.

A lot of all this is "the cost of doing business". The price of the pleasant position I'm in having a reasonable sized house is that it requires ongoing maintenance. Whether that's the garden or the appliances or the front door deadlock wearing out to the point of failing. I've looked at a lot of these jobs and never quite got around to getting them fixed.

So this weekend I made a list and worked my way through it. The hardest of these jobs in every sense was clearing out a room full of "stuff" ready for building work to start.

It took a total of about four hours, and pretty much every bit of mental stamina I had. In some ways it's disposing of elements of the past. This makes me feel like I'm not so much disposing of things but of a person.

In its way, this is also the cost of doing buisness. It's another step in properly taking over the house. It's hard but simply continuing to avoid the issue doesn't really help in the long term.

In the words of someone who understands better than most, it's not about obliterating the past but in recognising that the past and the future are different places.

When I finally finish I report progress to the friend who is overseeing this building project. Today he comes round and inspects my work. He approves.

Our usual chat and coffee on the back step's a little less riotous than usual. I'm pretty subdued. He's sorry he can't say anything to help - like he says, if there was an easy thing to offer, it would have been offered already.

Then he gently teases me for buying a new camera as a consolation.

I wonder how much these fine friends realise that no matter how insignificant it might seem, just showing you give a damn helps. It helps a lot.

Thanks guys.


As for the consolation...it's on its way. It won't make it better quicker...but it'll distract me whilst the passage of time knocks the rough edges off the feelings.


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I can see the slippery slope from here...

This all started a few months ago. Innocently enough.

A discussion between two photographers.

Of course I'd heard of rangefinder cameras but I didn't have a clear idea of why they were different to SLR cameras like mine.

Then there was the film vs digi debate. I've mentioned this before.

I wanted to give film (specifically B&W film) a go but was concerned at changing technology at the same time as medium. So, I got my film fix by using a borrowed Nikon SLR camera.

I liked. I liked very much.

I wouldn't change my primary medium from digital. It's not just the convenience, but the cost too. I act as a voluntary photographer quite a bit and the speed of turnaround that requires, together with the cost of film and processing means digital is simply the pragmatic choice.

So, film good.

I explained to the film-shooting friend that the reason I didn't really need a really expensive new lens for my dSLR was that what my photography lacked more than technical lens quality was good, strong composition.

"Ah..." says the wise one. "You'll be needing to try a rangefinder."

He pointed me in the direction of The Online Photographer and, in a partcular article, the idea of Leica as Teacher.

He tried to explain to me what it feels like (looks like?) to look through a rangefinder (such as a Leica M series) viewfinder.

Coincidentally, one of the Bath Group Flickr folk brought his film Leica with him to the June meet. He kindly allowed me to take a peep. Sigh.

So, in a trip to visit the rangefinder user in the highlands I am offered a try of a digital rangefinder camera with a view to maybe buying a second hand one for film if I get on OK with it.

The good news is, I loved using the camera.
The bad news is, I loved using the camera.

The nature of the viewfinder is such that you can see around the frame of the picture you're taking. This allows you to see the potential around the frame you're looking at.

Also, because you're not looking through the lens (and SLR lenses are wide open until you press the shutter or DoF preview) you get a more-stuff-in-focus view which should help you notice glaring intrusions into your shot ('should' being the operative word in my case).

It's not a style of camera that lends itself to macro shots but for "street" photography, landscape, and event type photography, it has distinct advantages.

Having looked at the picture quality from this camera I've found myself considering the digital rangefinder possiblities.

Actually, there aren't all that many possibilities. The market is not awash with digital RF cameras like it is with SLRs.

It needs some more thought. A bit of risk assessment. Some budgeting considerations.

But I can definitely see the top of the slippery slope...look...it's just over there.

Home Sweet, Scruffy, Home

Heck!

That's it, then.

M helped me choose lovely fabric for the curtains in both bedrooms. She went on to help me choose paint colours too.

A post lunch stop into Exclusive Tiles on the way home tipped up a suitable number of tumbled travertine tiles at a bargain rate. Archifriend approves of the purchase.

I've negotiated a fixed price contract for the decorating of the upper part of the house and I have a date for it to start.

I've been measured for carpet and lino and colours have been chosen.

Curtain measurement will be done on Friday

This thing's really happening, then...


Would appear so


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A Reason for Staying in Bed until 9am

Non working day today and I've been trying, in vain, to get up earlier.

This morning I had vowed to get up at 8.30. I failed, and heard the Today programme to the bitter end.

I'm glad I did because I learned that my favourite bit of architecture/engineering may become a Unesco World Heritage Site.

Neither words nor pictures can do justice to this feat of engineering. A sturdy cast-iron trough with lead, sugar and Welsh flannel joints sits atop a series of elegant archways made of stone and ox-blood mortar.


If you don't like heights then travelling over it by boat or on foot will be a scary experience. On one side there's a railed towpath but on the other side, just a 3" (ish) turn of cast iron.

Then there's a a drop to the valley floor over 100' beneath.

I loved it. Other travelling companions were less enthusiastic, I seem to remember.

Straying back to an earlier thread in this blog, it's probably not very feminine to get quite so excited about an aqueduct, nor about the engineer that designed and built it (Thos Telford) but if I tell you I squealed like a girl when I heard the news...would that make it any better?

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What is happiness?

M had a bit of a moment, yesterday. Everything she's going through at the momemt clearly piled on top of her and for a moment it became unbearable.

We played hooky for a bit and went and had a cup of tea.

We chatted about emotional things, about practical things, about personal things and about how things might turn out for her, for me, for her kids, for others...

Then she asked a question that stopped me dead in my tracks.

"but are you able to feel happy, these days?".

She probably wanted reassurance that, at some point, she would again be happy, and maybe my past and present would give her some reassurance about her future. That and fulfilling her role for the last couple of years as great friend and monitor of my mental health.

I'm not a great one for platitudes and I think M knows that...so I assume she was after some measure of honesty.

Not wholly content, I concede. My life ran away and changed and I have probably been trying to track it down again. At some point, I'll sort myself out a replacement life, until then I'm kinda stumbling around trying things for size...

But happy in moments. Coffee and a natter on my back step; tea and sympathy in Starbucks; photography in a park with a friend; photography at an event on my own; dinner and an episode of the Sopranos with the neighbours; trips to Scotland in planning; having new reading glasses and the prospect I might be able to start reading in bed again; being greeted by an enthusiastic border collie; being taught something I don't already know; the list is virtually endless.

At these times the old sadness takes a back seat, stops being in control. Then I realise that these moments are not once a week moments, but several times each day.

How could I not be happy with this much to be happy about.

So, M, I know you read this from time to time. The actual answer to the question you asked me is "Yes" but just not 100% of the time. Then again, I never was happy 100% of the time.

...you will be happy again.


x

Slippery Slope

A little while back I decided to try and play with some black and white film.

It was following a conversation that started innocently enough with a question "have you ever used a rangefinder?".

We went on to discuss the nature of film vs digi.

The question asker gently encouraged me when I suggested that I might try film in a familiar format (SLR) before I looked at other types of camera.

I have other filmy friends and they continued the encouragement. Told me I'd love it.

It would appear they're not 100% wrong.

There's something about the range of tones in B&W film that's intoxicating.

Even though this picture has been scanned which will probably have reduced some of the subtleties, the light in the sky would have been wholly blown out to whiteness by my D300 - even though the D300 has a better dynamic range than most DSLRs.

There are disadvantages, however: cost, time, lack of immediate feedback. These will dictate against it being my exclusive type of photography...but I can see me using it more, and more.

So...the next question is, do I try and source a rangefinder?


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The more different, the more the same?

"I don't know what your father and I had in common", Ma muses during my visit to her last week.

She then proceeds to list all the things that she and my father didn't agree on, or didn't have in common. She was right, it was a fair old list.

Nevertheless their marriage lasted for well over 50 years and ran the full "till death us do part" course, as it had set out to do.

Despite all differences, ours was a happy family and my sister, brother and I were brought up in an atmosphere of mostly unspoken love and utmost security.

My own relationship of 20 some years was founded on a mutual love of geekery - but outside of that, were I to examine it, there wasn't all that much that we shared - at least not obviously.

Musical taste was very different - when we got together the only two LPs we had in common were a very obscure album of Bach music transcribed for a Belgian guitarist, and Bronski Beat "Age of consent". He liked Glass, Anderson, Gabriel, Byrne. I liked Queen, Fleetwood Mac, Bach, more Bach.

Literature - he: Larry Niven, Jerry Pournelle, Arthur C Clarke. Me: Christopher Brookmyre, Michael Crichton, Jasper Fforde.

He: Indian. Me: Chinese.

Me: Blue. Him: Green.

The more I think about it, the more difference I can find. And yet...and yet...we meshed.

I've been musing about the differences between my close friends and I - those people I spend most time with, those I email and Twitter to. About all the things that separate us: age, background, profession, musical taste, style of photography, political leanings, film preferences, play preferences, whether hills are good or evil, well you get the gist.

Then I spent a chunk of my weekend taking pictures at some events for Refugee Week. This put difference in some context, and witnessing an unfortunate incident on the bus did so still more.

I realised that I like being introduced to new things, I love being shown the world through someone else's eyes - I like that I don't always agree with my friends. It gives us something to debate.

OK, I miss my friends getting my slightly obscure references to science fiction films ('ah, he wears it desert-style') and programmes but it's really a small thing.

I try and explain to one friend how I've been feeling. He wisely points out that core values are the important thing.

Today another friend, who is going through a fair bit of soul searching herself says the self same thing.

My life is better for being introduced to new things. It always was (25 years ago I had no idea how to solder things) and I should remember that.

Difference is far less important in friendships that the things that bind us.


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I love it when a plan comes together

I'm having some building work done.

I think I'm finally at peace with my decision, having realised just how stressed I've been about it.

A fair bit of my blog has been devoted to how I'm coping as a single woman again after the death of my long-term partner a couple of years ago.

Aside from all the obvious things there have been a raft of things that maybe most people (me included) wouldn't have expected to cause so much heartache.

The building work has been one of those things.

It started with a glass roof that has needed replacement since we moved in the house about 11 years ago.

It was a bit of a bone of contention, truth be told, in that I wanted to fix it when we had the kitchen done but the more cautious man-of-the-house wasn't keen on the additional change that it would have introduced.

Some heavy rain over the winter reminded me again that the roof needed to be sorted.

Problem was, I had no idea how one went about getting such odd structures replaced. It's not part of the original fabric of the house and was probably done in the 1970's...you can imagine how badly it fits in with a nicely proportioned, Bath stone-fronted, mid victorian house.

Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on your perspective, an architectural tech friend became available to help me out in working out how the roof could be replaced.

Then scope creep set in. The project killer.

The problem is the whole of the basement has "issues" and it seemed stupid to spend money on one bit and not sort out the other problems too.

The upshot is the remodelling of a utility room; tanking; moving a drain; making a decent downstairs loo and making a special place in the coal cellar (rechristened 'Monsters' in view of the number of creepy crawlies of which I was hitherto unaware) wherein I can roast coffee. Then there's the rest of the house almost all of which is sorely in need of redecoration.

OK - so maybe with the extent of this work perhaps it's not surprising I'm a little stressed.

But there's been more to it than that, I just hadn't recognised it until this week.

We've gone from the abstract phase of the project where I think "wouldn't it be nice to" through the agreeing more or less what's needed. Onto the getting of quotes and now it's down to choosing fittings. Toilet, flooring, lights, radiators...

So with a blank canvas, the cash to get the job done and no one with whom to negotiate on getting exactly what I want, why aren't I feeling like a kid in a sweetshop?

Precisely because part of the joy of projects like this are their shared nature.

My architectural/design/ideas friend has a fair bit of skin in the project simply because that's his nature - he takes a professional and personal pride in things being right and he's going far beyond the usual parameters of this sort of job. Nevertheless, as he says, he won't have to live with the result so he's expecting me to make decisions - he's my friend and he wants me to be happy with the result.

I have to live with the result.

And that's it, really.

This is my house. Mine.

It seemed to take Idiot Boy's best friend removing some promised power tools to make me realise it.

So...meeting with the builder and archifriend planned for Tuesday with the promise that I'll have a rough date for the work to start.

Promised drawings of cloakrooms with potential candidates for radiators tomorrow.

A quote for the decorating expected in the next week.

A trip out with my soft-furnishings adviser (M, another friend) planned later this month.

I'm fairly certain this won't be the last time I have a wobble...but it's another reminder that wobbles come, we learn from them and we move on.

Bring on the Farrow and Ball paint cards...

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The times they are a-changing

I'm in the second week of my two-site holiday.

Last week I visited brother-outlaw in Glasgow to catch up, take photos, see films and stuff like that. I also took the opportunity to meet up with another friend who lives not exactly nearby but just about within striking distance.

This week I'm with some members of my not-quite-immediate family on our traditional week "with the kids". The kids in question are 17 and 14 and holidays have changed quite a lot over the years.

Once upon a time, idiot-boy and I would holiday on narrowboats in the middle of nowhere and delight in the fact we were far away from other people. In the early days we didn't even have a mobile phone and the internet was just a twinkle in the eye of Tim Berners-Lee.

These days I place a premium on being able to stay in touch with people even when I'm on holiday. So I arranged mobile broadband before I came away and was delighted to learn that the house we're staying in has wi-fi.

As a result, rather than sitting and reading a book when it's raining (like it is today) I'm reading and writing emails to people in Inverness, the Highlands and back in Bristol. I'm also checking out pictures on Flickr and seeing what people are saying on Twitter.

Why?

Actually, I'm not sure.

Once upon a time, if there was just the boy and me, we wouldn't chat much. We'd probably sit largely in silence reading books but enjoying the comfortable companionship that comes with many years together. I don't have that now.

It's possible I'm filling that gap with the "louder" companionship of email and other electronic forms of communication or it could be I've changed how I choose to behave and now need constant feedback from other people to reassure me of something.

I honestly don't know.

So why bother to go to the time, trouble and expense of a holiday in Cornwall and then do similar things to the things I do at home?

Because it's nice to have a change of scenery and new things to photograph. The family I'm holidaying with are excellent company, even if we don't always enjoy doing the same things.

Later we'll probably all play cards and it'll get silly and riotous. The children are growing up so they no longer need constant attention but they enjoy the odd group activity.

Times change and I guess I need to get used to the fact that we all need to adapt as life moves on.

So I'll carry on my conversations with friends and a bit later, even if the weather doesn't clear up, I'll put on my coat and take my weather resistant camera out and enjoy the view of the sea.


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The View from Here

After taking him to my favourite cafe I force CJ to admire the Clifton Suspension Bridge. I've told him it's the law.

Neither of us have cameras with us but we have a brief discussion about what photographs we might take.

For him the picture was of the wire fencing at the side of the walkway.

That had attractions for me too but then I remembered this picture which was one of the first ones I took when took up photography as a way to get a renewed interest in things outside.

It's the first picture I took that really matched up to what I was seeing when I looked through the viewfinder. It was the picture I was making.

I look at it now and I can criticise the flat light and that it was taken with a fairly soft lens but I have to smile at the feeling it evoked when I saw it the first time.

It was a definite feeling of "oh, I can do this".

Yesterday was a day chatting about photography in its philosophical sense, in the technical sense, about economics, bad science, poor understanding of number, of travel, culture, of pasts, and of plans.

Such days are good days.



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Atchoo-Swineflu

One of my responsibilities at work (I work for an insurance company, please don't hate me for that) is helping with Business Continuity and Disaster Recovery planning.


I fell into this role not by choice, but because I work in a support function in the department and my boss looks after BCP.


Like all risk assessment-type work it feels very much like we're the harbingers of doom because we spend most of our time imagining all the things that can go wrong. That's quite odd for me because, as a rule, I have a bit of a Pollyanna attitude to life.

Before you dismiss this work as pointless, you need to remember that if we can't work, we can't meet our obligations to customers by paying their claims. Not only that, the FSA require us to have BCP covered.

Anyhoo...this week has seen the not-terribly-well-named Swine Flu outbreak in Mexico, and the possibility it might go pandemic float right to the top of BCP agenda.

Thus I've been doing a fair bit of reading on the subject.

Almost everyone seems to be falling into two camps:

The school of impending apocalypse and pestilence

and

The school of I'm ignoring you because this is like the little boy who cried 'wolf'

This was demonstrated beautifully this morning on the Today programme with a "debate" between Simon Jenkins and Professor John Oxford.

The good professor has been cropping up and commenting in lots of places and, as qualified as I'm sure he is, the only message I seem to hear from him is "I'd be really worried if this were avian flu" (see about halfway down)

Isn't that excatly the sort of thing that will likely fuel further panic?

On the other hand Simon Jenkins, whose writing I usually really like, came across as a Dawkins-esque fundamentalist this morning. On the page it sounds more reasonable but still, it's a bit of a shrill cry to that it won't happen because it hasn't happened before. That's just shoddy deductive reasoning IMHO.

Surely, the sensible thing to do is quietly take reasonable precautions.

If it spreads quickly then places of work and education will have problems with a peak of people being unable to come to them due to illness. That will have a disruptive effect.

Therefore, it seems like a good idea to remind people not to come to work if they are genuinely ill and not to go to their doctor's surgery but to phone for advice.

There doesn't seem to be any real evidence that the strain has a higher than usual mortality rate so could we please cast the idea of "Survivors" out of our collective consciousness for a moment.

Flu is a nasty disease. If you've ever had it (rather than the cold that you told everyone was flu) you wouldn't wish it on anyone. It kills people. Mostly people with heart and/or lung problems because it's a respiratory illness. However, for most people, most of the time it makes you feel lousy for a week and then washed out for a couple more weeks. Then you get better.

However, we all live with the risk of flu all the time.

Please can we get a sense of proprotion but without belittling the importance completely, please?

OK, I'm going for a little lie down...I feel a little unwell. You don't think....?



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Drinks From Another Angle

Mocha-drinking pal sits in the sunshine drinking his sweetened white coffee whilst I sup my mug of strong black stuff.


We chatter and bicker. All's well with the world.

At one point I accuse him of being "a big girl". He looked me square in the eye and says that men can't win.

I raise a suspicious eyebrow. Really? You don't think the odds are stacked against women?

"Look," he says "if we do the traditionally strong manly thing you all accuse us of being macho, sexist, mysogenists..."

I'm listening...I think I know where this is going

"...if we show the more gentle side then you called us big girls" We can't win.

I feel slightly ashamed.

He's right (and frankly that's quite annoying) - I have just done to him what I've been objecting to. I've said that his behaviour is not consistent with his gender and I've implied that's a bad thing.

Of course I don't care what coffee or anything else he drinks. It doesn't wholly define him, any more than his love of physical theatre and dance does. Nor his ability to encapsulate the complex technical matter of building plans into a bunch of drawings.

Whilst I'd like to point out that the "big girl" accusation was made in the context of an affectionate mutual mickey-taking conversation...it has made me think again.

I believe it is a man's world for the most part but that's still no excuse...

Sorry, matey


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This Girl's Life

"You're not, like, a real woman, are you?", says DrC once.

When I raised a quizzical eyebrow he hurredly sought to undo the insult he felt he'd just levelled at me.

"No...no...what I mean is, you're not very feminine..."

He looked at my face which pretty much asked whether I should take his shovel away.

With one final attempt to get over his meaning without being rude to his friend he grasps at "You're not very girlie"

He thus reaches the appropriate compromise and he finally stops digging.

The reason that "idiot boy" and I got together, ultimately, was that at the age of 21 (more years ago than I choose to admit) I had my own computer and printer.

He was impressed by any girl that geeky that she had her own computer kit.

That was the opener and despite different taste in many things, and some very different interests, it turned out we were a good fit.

He liked that I had no time for Jimmy Choos (in fact he would have had little better idea than me what they are) and that instead of wanting a moderately expensive piece of jewellery for my birthday, I craved an extremely expensive cello.

Weirdly, though, in this house we pretty much fit the stereotypical male/female split of duties:

Me: Washing, ironing (rarely), cooking, food shopping, clothes shopping, cleaning the toilets, choosing plants for the garden, booking holidays and packing, understanding mortgages and pensions.

Him: Plumbing, electrics, lawn mowing, bins, heavy work, digging, paying bills, and managing the bank account...oh, and buying and maintaining the computers.

Yep, that's right, despite our initial "attraction" being partly related to my skill with a computer, I lapsed into "user" mode and let him fix stuff for the most part.

So, last Friday, when at 8pm I was cleaning a washbasin and the hot-tap washer failed in a catastrophic way...I was completely bereft of ideas.

What I wanted to do was call for help...that or lie down and have a good cry.

What I actually did was curse Idiot Boy for not being here; fetch several tools that I was preparing to give away on the grounds I'd never use them and consult some reading matter on the subject of taps.

I Tweeted and emailed and got some encouragement and advice.

I priced up an emergency plumber (£200), then dismantled the tap which had a number of seized parts, and then the next day went and bought a suitable washer and effected the repair with, in the end, a minumum of hassle.

Having done it, I have mixed feelings.

Initially I felt quite proud and I got a couple of "well done you" messages from male friends.

Idiot Boy would have merely suggested that, obviously, I was capable of doing it and he would have expected as much. (He would also have been quietly pleased that his girl was no girlie)

But there is a nagging feeling that sometimes perhaps I should, or would like to, be more "girlie" so that I better fit the mould in a society where girls don't often drink pints, know more about Linux than they do about Gucci or fix their own tap washers.

Thing is, I never thought of myself as a conformist...



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The Myth of the Ten-year Plan

"Where was that in your ten-year plan?", asks CJ.

He's referring to a slightly surreal evening I'd had with a couple of friends. That, and the fact that we exchange emails pretty much daily but have never met.

This weekend TW comes to stay with me. We have worked together in the past but her current job with our mutual employer means I haven't seen her for months. It was lovely to catch up and give voice to all our frustrations with work.

She's recently finished her MBA and now she's starting to wonder "what's next".

Also joining us for the afternoon is M. She's having a rough time at the moment and any plans she might have had are up in the air. Her mind is racing ahead at a time when she can only really deal with the immediate future.

Unaware of these conversation TD circulates an ironic and funny, yet sobering cartoon on a similar theme. He's feeling it too.

And today, AB, another friend says on Twitter that he's thinking about life plans.

We vary in age, background, occupation, skills, and marital status.

Yet we're all asking more-or-less the same thing.

I consider, yet again, my plans...immediate, medium and long-term.

A few "appointments" over the next few days...all by choice.
A holiday split between Scotland and Cornwall next month.
An unfolding project at work which may or may not continue. Interesting enough, but it's only work and, therefore, unlikely to be all consuming.

Long term?

Nothing.

No idea.

No dreams.

No aspirations.

No plans.

Is that a bad thing?

Sometimes, yes. It gives me nothing major to plan for, to work towards. Gives me no sense of forward motion, of purpose.

On the other hand it does help me appreciate the now...

A spontaneous walk in the woods with cameras and a dog

Drinking far too much really good gin, chatting about everything under the sun and looking at a book of Robert Mapplethorpe photographs.

Sitting on the back step early in the morning, in the sun, with my netbook and a coffee.

The option to go to the zoo for an hour to take pictures of butterflies.

A bacon sandwich, a coffee and a bicker with a good friend.

Good times spent with a variety of pals in the furtherance of nothing much, other than deepening our friendships.

Surely that can't be bad...




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Happy Easter

I apologise, in advance, for the content of this post. If you're offended by someone being offended by the clergy, best look away now.


The BBC reports that Rowan Williams, the Archbishop of Canterbury is planning to use his Easter address to say "There's more to life than money".

Errr

No shit, Sherlock!

Sorry - I know that's no way to speak to an Archbishop...

No shit, Your Grace!

Apparently the top ranking Roman Catholic Archbish, Cormac Murphy O'Connor, was to do pretty much the same thing.

I was brought up to go to church - CofE - and I have a huge amount of empathy with the Christian ideal - in fact in the ideals of most of the Abrahamic religions.

On the face of it there are lots of arcane rules, guidelines, observances from the Ten Commandments to the teachings in Leviticus, to the various deadly and cardinal sins etc, etc

But it seems to me that if you ignore the downright silly ones and, excuse me whilst I sideline Commandment #1 (I am the Lord thy God...etc) then it all pretty much boils down to:

- Live your life not at the expense of others.

- Look after people less fortunate than yourself.

I'm an atheist. I never did believe in God but I believe in both of those principles. I'd like to think I do so because they are the right things to do in any civilised society and not because some omniscient being will give me a slap upside the head if I fail.

Anyhow - back to the Easter message. I don't disagree with what they're saying but isn't it just a little patronising?

It's quite an easy thing to say from the comfort of the Bishop's palace. Yes, I know that when they're further down the greasy pole of the holy pecking order they endure relative poverty and work very hard for their crust. But bedecked in their Easter finery and preaching that others should not want designer clothes is a dangerous thing to do, IMHO.

The people for whom they hope this message will mean something will likely know little or nothing about the entirety of ecclesiastical life and would, understandably, feel there is an element of hypocrisy.

This is the problem with organised religions. Not the core of the doctrine, but the way it's delivered to the masses (pun intended).

We all crave security.

Security in being loved by friends and family.
Security in knowing we can be ourselves and not have to fit someone else's mould.
Security in knowing we can pay our bills and feed our children.
Security in knowing our educational or work experience will give us employment.
Security in our faith, perhaps.

It's very easy for those of us who have that sort of security to sneer at those who aspire to it, or what they feel is a near enough replacement.

I know this is going to sound at odds with my last post where I made quite a big deal about money not being everything...but this is about people with some influence potentially making other people feel bad.

So come on guys...

Encourage new parishioners in by giving them a community they can be secure in. Let's not exclude those people who might need that security most...

Who?

Well, it depends on the church, and indeed on the parish.

For example - those whose sexuality is not exploitative and yet frowned on; those who don't fit the parish template; those who choose not to marry but to live together anyway...the list goes on.

There are great examples of clergy who really create an atmosphere of acceptance and a congregation that gives a sense of place and community to all that attend.

Sadly, it's the other type that cause a disproportionate amount of hurt and alienation.

Let's have less of that, eh?




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Ready to Snap

I'm a photographer. There, I've said it.

Today as I lay face down on the thing I laughingly call my lawn, having the sun warm my backside I felt very much at ease.

I had my camera in my hand with a macro lens attached and I was bothering the mini flora and fauna.


It made me think, once again, why I do photography...and why other people do.

Me?

For lots of reasons. Back in 1982 it was to emulate my brother. Something artistic I could do that I might be good at (I wasn't).

In 2006 it was in response to picking up "idiot boy" 's camera and my hands remembering back to 1982. Also thinking it might be something the boy and I could do together.

In 2007, immediately after the boy's abrupt departure it was about sharing something with my much-loved brother outlaw when I needed to keep contact...and a way to still all the thoughts spinning around in my head. Also a way to get out in the fresh air by myself without looking like the sad loner I felt myself to be.

Shortly after, it became a portal to a new bunch of friends and acquaintances.

So what is it now?

To be honest, it depends.

Frequently it's about taking technically good, potentially interesting macro photographs.

Sometimes it's about taking pictures that might sell in a stock library.

Sometimes it's just about looking and using the medium to prove that I actually did see something that once I would have ignored.

Today, specifically, it was about feeling better. I've been feeling very, very down for three or four weeks now and it reached something of a nadir a few days ago. Lots of things conspired to make me feel lousy, and a few things helped me towards an improved demenour - photography being one.

So photography is about mental health for me too...

I know that other people have a different take on the medium

CJ tells me for him it's about the looking and seeing and it's about much more than the result. Many of his photographs are dense...with lots of elements to see. Others are about pattern and form - for me, at least.

DM says he's struggling with the whole thing at the moment. For him, it's mostly about architectural photographs and capuring the spirit of the building in a picture. He's an architect and annoyingly good at getting the unseen angle on the picture.

TD has a very strong visual sense of what he's trying to photograph. He gets disheartened when the picture that comes out is not what his mind saw. He aims for pictures that no one else would see. He often suceeds, but he's his own worst critic.

DrP gets serious withdrawal if he doesn't get out and take pictures pretty regularly. I know nothing of his motivation for photography. I know lots about what he turns out. He can make me look at something mundane in a completely different way.

DrC says he's jealous of the way the other guys see stuff. He's a recent convert to prime lenses and he gets extremely excited about the quality of bokeh he sees. I think he has lots of motivations for photography, a bit like me. Recently he's been looking for the perfect place to take the perfect sunset picture of the city.

Much-loved-Brother-Outlaw kicked in well paid work as a computer programmer to spend his time taking photographs with the aim of selling to a stock library. A calculated but brave move. He's doing pretty well with it and, more importantly, he seems happier for it.

Photography isn't all things to all men (or women) but I love that, in theory at least, it's a democratic medium.

Without it I would potentially be less confident, less be-friended...and $38.90 poorer.

That's some pastime.



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Simple pleasures

Today was doing some much-needed housework and "Woman's Hour" was on the radio. There was a battle between the part of me that wanted to replace the radio noise with some music on my iPod...and the other half of me that was rushing to get the work done and couldn't be bother to go and find the iPod.

The latter "me" won. So I stayed listening as I did the washing up.

They were talking about happiness, pleasure and contentment.

The usual platitudes about "money doesn't bring happiness" were touted and I'm firmly of the belief that this is true...up to a point. Money can bring you choices and remove some basic worries and that can help with the whole happiness thing.

Since switching to part time hours (for my own, selfish, reasons - I hasten to add) I have to think more carefully about how I use my income. It certainly hasn't made me any less happy that I can't just go and buy more-or-less anything I want without worrying about the cost.

The times I have been most happy in the last couple of years were times like yesterday - four of us spent no more than £20 (in total) sat in the sun drinking coffee and catching up on the Downs, then going to the Botanic Gardens for a few hours, and taking photographs.

And times like today (post housework) sitting on the back doorstep with a bacon butty in one hand and coffee in the other, putting the world to rights with a friend.

A lot of these latter conversations were a about bad things going on in the world and how it made us variously mad and depressed.

This links back to the Woman's Hour article - when one speaker said "I don't think that humans are on the planet to be happy and content because it's being discontented that gets the bad things changed"

I don't think either my friend or I are going to change the injustices that we got so exercised about today...but I'm inclined to agree that a little discontentment is probably good to stop complacency setting.

On a lighter note, we also surmised what would happen if an alien came and visited and looked at us all typing on QWERTY keyboards, given the dilberate inefficiencies built into the layout.

Such conversations can't be predicted or contrived, in my experience, but gave us both cause to laugh....and that's worth more than money, any day.


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Reappraisal

For the last six weeks I've had a couple of friends living with me.

They've been having work done on their house and asked to come and stay whilst the work was carried out.

I was happy to oblige. They're good friends, good company and there's plenty of room in my house.

Today they pretty much moved out.

Several people have asked whether I'll miss them, or whether I'm glad to see them go.

The answer's not simple.

I've been living on my own for a couple of years now, having moved from my parents' house some 20 odd years ago and then living with my partner.

I hear that the current "housing crisis" is, in part, due to the fact that so many people live alone.

I know several people who choose to live alone and other people who live alone for other reasons. Strictly speaking, I'm one of the latter.

Until now, I've not considered whether I like or want to live alone...I just do.

Tonight is my first night back on my own in the house with nothing much to do.

Am I lonely? No. It's kinda nice to perch here, on the sofa, "House" on in the background and snuggly blanket on my lap to keep out the chill of the falling temperature.

Do I miss them? Yep. As DrP gave me a hug as he finished packing the car I had to stifle a bit of a lump in my throat. They were both lovely company and perfect houseguests.

So how do I feel about living on my own?

It's still just what I do. But now I know that I positively like some aspects of living alone, and also that I could share my living space again...given the right housemate.

Good result, I reckon.


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A change of mind

I'm not much travelled and I think I mentioned, in an earlier post that my recent trip to Denver was my first time in the US.

I'd never been particularly interested in going to the States, despite many of my friends having nothing but great things to say about it.

I had been given a choice as to whether I wanted to work on my current project at work - and I said "Yes" in full knowledge that at least one trip to Denver would be required.

To say the least, I was not looking forward to the trip. As it came closer I became more and more agitated and crabby with everything and everyone. I knew exactly what was going on, but I seemed powerless to do anything about my mood.

A friend asked what it was about the trip that was making me so agitated.

I still don't really know the answer to that question but I'm guessing it was mostly fear of the unknown.

Airport security, homeland security, a 10 hour flight, the prospect of jet lag, travelling with the English folk that I don't know very well, and who don't know me...oh, and the prospect of working closely with Americans.

My previous dealings with folk from the US have been mostly difficult affairs - involving insincerity, and a strange sort of patronising of people from "the old country".

Anyway...so I went with a heavy heart.

Airport security was a pain, and felt a little intrusive but was over quickly enough

The 10 hour flight was a lot less physically uncomfortable than some of the short flights I've taken.

Homeland security was strange to say the least. The officers are wholly unsmiling. I mistook a serious question for dry humour (bad move) but scored on the rebound by finally making the officer smile when he realised it was my first stateside trip.

The hotel we were put in was a nice, comfortable, corporate sort of place.

Walking around Denver on the only day we really had to ourselves was OK. The compromise required when travelling with others you don't know very well is tricky. They indulged my wanting to walk and look at architecture, I didn't hang around too long for fear of putting them out and I accompanied them to the Mall later in the day.
The city seemed nice enough but I'd need to go there again to see if it was really worth spending a lot of time in as a tourist.

The real revelation came when I went to work.

Without exception, the folk I worked with were engaging, funny, welcoming, keen to learn, delighted to teach and well up for the project we're attempting to pull off.

The smiles were genuine. They were not shallow, nor money obsessed. They didn't think that the US has all the answers, they were realistic about their place in the world.

In restaurants and the hotel the staff were, apparently, genuinely keen to make sure we had a pleasant experience...from the guy who poured coffee and juice at breakfast to the guy who drove the shuttle car around the DTC and beyond. All seemed proud and happy to do their jobs in serving us.

If the next stage of the work proceeds as planned then there's a fair chance that a return visit will be required.

I can't say I'll be gagging to sit on a Boeing 777 for 10 hours in cattle-class again but I'll reasonably happily go through the wretched security procedures and I'll look forward to meeting the Denverites again.

I'd even go as far as considering extending the trip for some time just to hang out and enjoy the place properly...and even fly on my own in order to do so.

I'd really rather go with someone else to share the experience...after all, it's less fun to see something interesting or funny and not have someone you love (in whatever sense) nearby to point it out to...but if a lone journey is required, then I'd do it. Also, I'd probably not send moping emails to a friend saying what a miserable time I was having...probably not, anyway.

So, there's something else new I've experienced...and something else about which I've had to revise my opinion.

This new stuff is all good, you know...





Well, not all good. By God the jetlag really sucks.



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