After a troubling week, I am Pine Mouth free and thanks to my friends here have ceased to worry about my current bout of Verbal Diarrhoea.
That makes me feel happy.
And I want to share the happiness.
Oh, I know you groan when you see a YouTube link but seriously, this is, without a doubt, the best advert on UK TV right now – better than a lot of the scheduled programmes actually. So put a smile on your face and click that play button why don’t you?
Have a great weekend!
At Christmas time I had an enquiry about using one of my photos in a book. A book people! How excited was I? (Very, actually). I’ve had enquiries before – from a hotel who wanted to use an image … and then shied away when they heard I expected payment, and two enquiries from magazines which similarly came to nought, for reasons I know not. I wanted to get it absolutely right this time, so I contacted a photographer friend of mine (who has been in print) and asked for the low-down on what I should be charging, how I should handle things etc. For the print run described she suggested a figure and I then promptly divided her fee by about a gazillion, because I don’t think the photo in question is really that good, and right now I’m just interested primarily in getting the ball rolling on someone/anyone using my work. (Just so you know, the fee I quoted was about the same price as a hamburger …so hardly a mind-boggling amount). Well then. What happened next? Nada. Zippo. Zilch. It looks like yet another non-starter. It’s frustrating, this selling-your-wares business.
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I’ve just been served with a Summons to appear for jury duty. I am the only person I know that this has ever happened to and this is now the second time that I have been called. I’m clearly on computer somewhere, noted as a good, up-standing citizen, of strong moral fibre (hehe, little do they know). The first time around, to be perfectly honest, I kind of squirreled out of my civic responsibilities by saying that I had a young child and no one to look after her while I was away. The bit about the young child was the absolute truth but the second part was maybe a leetle bit of an embellishment of the truth. In reality, I just didn’t want to leave my baby to others to look after for days and days on end. Over the years I’ve actually regretted shrugging off this once in a lifetime opportunity and as trial by jury is a cornerstone of our legal system, if the truth be known, I’ve even been a little ashamed of myself. Well, it’s come back to bite me on the ankles.
With this current Summons, the length of time I will be needed and the way it is described make it sound like it could be an interesting criminal case. The writer in me – because I am (in my imagination at least) a budding/wannabe P.D. James or Linda La Plante – wants desperately to attend. How fascinating it will be – think how it might inspire new storyline ideas, think of the insight into how these things work and just consider what a profoundly important task this is – someone, somewhere right now is bricking it because he/she has to face a jury of ’twelve good men and true’ (including one squirrely woman).
Royal Square – judicial buildings over on the right
The reality? I’m not sure I can do it. Going from memory, I believe there are granite steps up to the Court and I fear these may be a problem for me. Lunch, which I obviously have to take with other jurors, entails a walk of 500 yards to a local hotel (I have a disabled parking disc which is only handed to those who cannot walk more than 75 yards…you do the maths) and parking is not generally provided. If I was lucky enough to get a parking permit, it would be for the car park about a mile away, up a 1 : 4 hill. I think I’m sunk.
Moral of story: When presented with a once-in-a lifetime opportunity – grab it.
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I’ve said this before but I have a theory that WordPress and Blogger are at loggerheads for Blogland supremacy and that a certain amount of industrial espionage goes on. (Don’t sue me anyone – it’s just my paranoid-tendency brain at work again). For the record – yet again: I hate Blogger. When trying out blogging formats I played with Blogger, Typepad and WordPress and found WordPress to be the most elegant and intuitive kiddo on the block. Typepad was just well beyond my poor monkey brain, Blogger was tired, portly, slow and stubborn but WordPress? Ah WordPress! It was the iPhone of blogs. (A silly analogy but work with me here, I’m on a creative roll…).
With the backing of Google it’s no surprise that most people head to Blogger first and as most people’s brains are wired differently to mine, most people stay with their first love of Blogger. Q.E.D., the majority of blogs I read will be on Blogger. Here’s the rub though: sitting here, on the outside, Blogger hates non Blogger people and really puts them through the wringer each time they visit:
‘Name? … Don’t recognise you. :: Name? …Don’t recognise you (rinse and repeat ad nauseam). :: Not going to show you word verification today …don’t feel like it. :: Oooh, look at that – you didn’t type that in correctly. Feel like deciphering yet more completely illegible text? :: Oh dearie me, I cut you off there now didn’t I? …And I’ve just gone and lost your carefully crafted comment. Oh well. Wanna try again? …DO YOU FEEL LUCKY PUNK?!’
Rest assured, dear reader, that if you are on Blogger and you are aware of my presence / comments / friendship then I must really love you to be putting up with this malarkey. Just lately, in particular, I reckon the knives are really out between Blogger and WordPress, meaning that I have aborted attempts to comment at friends’ sites after [no kidding here] a good half-dozen or more tries at form filling and/or word verification. Sometimes you just have to admit defeat and move on. If I appear to be ignoring you therefore, please know that I am not. Me and Blogger are just going through a particularly rough patch in our relationship.
Before any Bloggerphiles suggest it - sorry, using Mozilla/Firefox makes absolutely no difference. Been there, done that.
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Oh and Disqus Comments? Pretty much ditto the above, but with the added rigmarole of having to sign in on a system that often doesn’t like people signing in. I really dislike you Disqus, but then you knew that already, didn’t you? I have one friend currently using Disqus (yes you over there, you know who you are) and seriously, it is an indication of how much I love you that I persevere.
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Why mention the Blogger and Disqus things all over again? I’ll tell you for why: It’s because they are definitely an element in my current lack of enthusiasm for Blogland in general. I can’t help feeling that life is just too short and precious for all this nonsense and faff. Endless form filling and the fruitless re-loading of pages is time-wasting twaddle. Sorry.
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I am no use at all at styling / product shots, as evidenced by these poor showings.
Zig Zags…
….and Granny Squares
I did however think that you might like to see what has so fixated me for the past 6-8 weeks. I’m not sure about the colour combo on the zig-zag blanket but hey, it’s done and it was fun. The cats have adopted it with gusto however…along with our expensive chair (while I sit on the end of our cheap sofa ..am I stupid, or what)?
The granny squares blanket has been a bit of a surprise.
All-in-all, I’m pleased with how it turned out. Remember how it started from this inauspicious beginning?
I bought pretty coloured wool and a couple of patterns for new projects whilst in Florida but it seems I may have left said patterns on the coffee table in Naples. Ooops. Either that or I’m going to discover them, hidden down the back of the settee here once I have cracked open the wool and am half way through crocheting something else.
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I came across this lady and this video yesterday. I’m open-minded, very hippy dippy some might say because I’m willing to explore the possibilities of all kinds of things that might seem totally ludicrous to others. Just because we don’t understand something right now, or it is beyond our current knowledge and experience, does not mean that it should be automatically dismissed or ridiculed.
Little Grandmother’s basic message is a good one but I have to admit that she did start to lose me part way through this. I find her fascinating and strangely compelling though. Hypnotic almost. I’ve Googled her and let’s just say that from what I read, that all may not be quite as it seems with regard to some of her background claims. She is, however, an orator and skilled wordsmith, using some scientific fact in other videos and plucking at the heartstrings to deliver messages that many people are hungry to hear right now.
Has anyone here come across her before? I’d be interested to hear your thoughts.
So I’ve told you of the delays we experienced on our way out to the States just before Christmas. What I haven’t told you is the rest of the story.
Day 1: (Which you already know) …Snowed in at Gatwick.
From the hotel room at Gatwick - it's honestly hard to believe that this light dusting is what made everything grind to a halt.
Day 2: There were flight delays at Heathrow as well because of chaos caused by the snow. When we did eventually get on the plane we sat for four hours on the tarmac whilst staff went through the entire baggage hold, sifting through every piece of luggage. A ‘no show’ passenger meant that everyone went wobbly about the possibility of a terrorist attack on our plane and the relevant bag or bags had to be found and ejected. Some of the natives cooped up in the aircraft cabin started to revolt, complaining vigorously to cabin crew, leading to a very stern old-school/RAF-type captain sharply lecturing us all about ‘nasty men with bombs’, about how he knew what was best for us and about how we should feel entirely free to complain to BA if we felt so inclined because who did we think they would listen to – us, or the guy with the stripes on his jacket? (Gulp). Bag/s found, more delays while the plane was de-iced … although curiously enough, all the passengers sat very quietly.
Day 3 (Going by UK time: 24 hours awake, 48 hours of stress): Arrive in Miami.
Now usually we travel through Tampa – it’s a longer drive down to Naples but we had been told by several people that Miami airport can be a bit of ’zoo’ when busy. So Miami airport was a first for us. As I can’t walk long distances, we always ask for ‘wheelchair assist’, meaning that a wheelchair is brought straight to the door of the aircraft and I’m whisked along, chair-bound, to immigration. Some staff doing the wheeling say nothing, some are so helpful, funny and very nice and like most people, we respond well to the latter approach.
Our Miami Man trundled along and started up a conversation about the delays we had suffered, how as a result he was working late (but he seemed OK with that) and things were going swimmingly – lots of smiles all round. After our oh-so-long journey, we were finally ’here’ and here was a really nice welcome from a good American citizen, with us all chatting happily. Really quite ‘entente cordiale’. Then he asked:
‘Do you think you’ll come again?’
My husband, who was trailing along a couple of paces behind, laden with hand baggage, clearly thought that he meant would we come through Miami airport again and cheerily said:
‘Oh yes, I don’t see why not.’
It became clear that he had completely misunderstood the question.
‘Well that depends on the Lord God Almighty, doesn’t it?’ replied Miami Man, now in ‘pulpit mode’, because he then started on a long speech about the Bible, fire and brimstone, the end of days and 2012.
It’s an odd thing about being partially disabled and in a wheelchair – when travelling ‘at speed’ under the helmsmanship of a religious nutter and in a new environment you can feel really quite vulnerable. The whole atmosphere had changed, we fell into silence, the smiles disappeared from our faces and I shrank down into the chair as we heard all about the evils of mankind and how we are all horribly, horribly doomed. Yes, we had arrived in Miami but our destiny was clearly to go to hell in a handcart by the year 2012.
Not to worry eh? The airport is a public place after all and it wasn’t long before we were part of a crowd again and being processed, probed, quizzed and fingerprinted by the guys at immigration. Only one more hurdle to surmount – Customs. Customs man smiled:
‘Where are you guys from in the UK?’
‘Well it’s a very small island off the south coast called Jersey’ my husband replied, fully expecting the usual confused conversation and explanations about Jersey/New Jersey.
‘Ah, Jersey! I know Jersey!’ said an apparently jolly Customs Man.
‘Really? (Lots of smiles from my husband here). ‘Most people here have never heard of it!’
‘Sure! I know Jersey! As part of our training we had to learn all about third world countries like yours! You were invaded by the Germans in World War II and Churchill left you to rot. He clearly didn’t think much of you!’
Call me picky, call me crabby, call me, at that point, dog-tired and overly sensitive but I wasn’t impressed by our welcome to America. It doesn’t pay to get shirty with customs men however, does it? (I’m thinking: latex gloves). So instead we just smiled sweetly at what, I hope, was just rather inappropriate humour.
I think next time we will be back to travelling through good ol’ Tampa.
A mashup of two failed photos, taken by an overly tired photographer, of our room at the Marriott Miami and a blurry, bauble-covered Marriott reception. (I think I was so tired by this point that I was just clicking for the sheer hell of it).
Christmas Cracker #2 You know you’re back in Blighty when three hours after landing at the airport, and when out at the local country store, white van man one-finger gesticulates and calls you a pr*ck just for making him wait 30 seconds while you allow an old lady time to quietly vacate her parking space.
♫ Tis the season …. ♫
Happy Parking Peeps.
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Photo from iStock
Just back (yesterday) from three weeks in glorious southern Florida. I’m mellow, happy and chilled out. Rather than bombard with verbiage, I’ve decided to go with my own short ‘Christmas Crackers’.
Today: Been wrapping the last of the Christmas presents. Curiously, there are many compensations for my ongoing minor physical disabilities. One would be the fact that now I have ample excuse for presents looking as though they have been wrapped by a dipsomaniac, demented gibbon.
Happy Wrapping.
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Photo from iStock photo
I’ve tossed up whether to post this because…well I’d like to be taken at least semi seriously amongst the world of photographers but I’m going to go with this because it’s the truth and I’m all about the truth…
We naturally all post only our best photos to the web but I thought it would be fun to share with you the smiles I often derive when I look at my own photographic ineptitude. All of the following (kept and left as is, straight out of camera) were taken on a visit to the zoo this weekend and because I didn’t want to be lugging around a heavy camera I instead took my little Canon G9.
Just as well I didn’t bother with the big camera really …there would have been no point!
We went into the walk-in aviary and in the entranceway this beautiful little bird popped out of nowhere. I frantically struggled to get the camera out and this is the fine shot I got:
I’ve named it ‘Birdie BumBums’ because not only was it a pointless shot in the first place (through that fine wire mesh), it’s horribly blurry from my flurry of activity, and the bird did the classic animal thing and on seeing the camera started flaunting its backside in my general direction. Fail!
The meerkats are always good for a few smiles aren’t they? The enclosure has a waist-height glass barrier and the only way to photograph the little sentinel meerkat in front of me was through that glass:
This one I’ve named ‘Meerkat? What Meerkat?’ …for obvious reasons. Fail!
My husband took pity on me and, being taller than me, (well, that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it) he could photograph a group just in front of us by reaching up and over the barrier and taking pot luck shots with his arms stretched above his head.
The only thing was that they seemed to pick that very moment to start knocking nine bells out of one another.
Still, just to prove that this was a PIUNIC situation (Problem In User Not In Camera) and that the G9 was indeed working that day:
Success.
Further away from us in the enclosure is a little ground-height observation bubble and I thought I’d hit the jackpot when a meerkat went over and peered in at the boy.
…Except that just as I pressed the shutter button, the meerkat skidaddled at high-speed (you may be able to make out its rear end in the bottom right-hand side of the frame).
Never mind. We moved on to the orang utans. I love these creatures, and usually they’re happy to just sit around for long periods so good photos should be easier to capture. Non?
Unfortunately it was cold on Sunday and most of the orangs were rather sensibly inside in the warm. There appeared to be just one female outside, hunkered down under a sack blanket and perched on top of the highest tree platform (too high to get a good photo of therefore).
We were just about to give up and move on when another young female appeared from the undergrowth and started to quickly amble across the log bridge from orang utan island to the shelter of the indoor accommodation.
….Another flurry of panicked activity from me and ….
Here she is:
You’ll just have to take my word for it when I say that’s her heel you can see just poking out from the edge of the building. I bet you’ll never guess what I called this one. Yes: ‘Orang Utan? What Orang Utan?’
I gave up on the photos after that.
I’ve come to realise that wildlife photography is definitely not my forte.
Does anyone else have these epic fails or is this exclusive to me?
Vintage shot, 1970: Early morning in the Jotunheim mountains, Norway.
Some places seem to have a specific colour palette associated with them in my mind. For Norway I think very much of shades of green and blue with highlights of crisp white from snow tipped mountains.
My reflection on this beautiful country: 1970, staying up in the mountains, in a youth hostel – one of the nicest places I’ve ever stayed and my first introduction to a continental quilt/duvet. Yes, there was a time when my people knew only of blankets and sheets!
My father’s reflection: In the RAF, WWII, flying over northern Europe in bad weather and being hopelessly lost. He and his crew had to land in what turned out to be Norway. They only had one pistol between them and were met by a party of German soldiers … who thought the war was over and so surrendered their weapons and stood, hands held high in the air. Before leaving, my father and his crew were feted as conquering heroes down at the local pub that night.
I wonder what those German soldiers told their superiors?
‘Hold the bus’ 
It’s rubbish but sometimes it makes me smile. From the spambox today:
Wow, this was a really quality post. In theory I’ d like to write like this too – taking time and actual effort to make a great article… but what can I say… I procrastinate alot and in no way appear to get something done.
It was left in relation to this recent post. Sir Spamalot might like to aim a little higher.
I read the other day that Foster’s have just changed ad agencies. After 14 years with M&C Saatchi, their new agency, Adam & Eve, have come up with what I think is a wonderful new set of ads. Two have aired here in the UK and I can’t wait to see more of the philosophical musings of Aussies Brad and Dan.
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Art:Rene Gruau
Art:Rene Gruau
