Orchid Encore

Two more photographs of kitchen-sill orchids.

Operation Orchid

My good lady wife asked me to take photos of the orchids that live out on our kitchen window.

So, here they are.

"Fun"

To celebrate - or, upon reflection of England's woeful defeat to the mighty cricketing power that is The Netherlands, in the opening match - perhaps, to cast a respectful nod towards the 2009 Cricket 20/20 World Cup, which is currently being played out in England at the moment, I felt inspired to put font to monitor and compose something of a poetic nature.

I wandered for a while among the inner most tranquil meadows of my mind...scoured half-hidden rockpools of inspiration, tucked away behind beaches that swept majestically towards the most illuminating of golden sunsets...in a search to produce something that would speak to the nation...dammit, the world, and make 6 billion people think, 'Wow! That guy just nailed cricket in a few lines with an eruption of breath-taking talent, never to be repeated in the history of all time!'...

After a good 45 seconds of trying this, I stopped being so damn grown up, and instead of staring philosophilcally at the rockpools, with what I hoped was an intelligent posture, I jumped into them and splashed around for all I was worth, while making as many childish noises as I could think of.

The upshot of my simplistic splashings was delightfully silly, and therefore most worthy of repitition.

FUN.

Brownie, the happy, young bulldog

Wore a very loud, orange hat.

One day he met young mr Frederick Frog

Who was carrying a cricket bat.

"Hello there, Brownie" said Frederick Frog,

"How nice to see you today!"

And he smiled sweetly as he asked the dog,

"Would you like to come for a play?"

"Good morning, my little green buddy!"

Said a deep voice from under the hat,

"The green grass in the park is quite muddy,

But I'm not too bothered about that.

I'm a little bit tired and not feeling bright

But I'll come for a game in the park,

I was up chasing 'cat's eyes' all through the night,

They're easier to see in the dark."

"Can I please play too?" Asked a hedgehog,

Whose name was Prickly Paul,

"Why, of course!" Said Frederick and Brownie Dog,

"You'd be perfect to use as a ball!"

So Brownie batted and Paul was the ball

And they played and had hours of fun.

"It's great to have friends and feel special!" thought Paul,

As he flew over the trees for six runs.

So, it's important to feel that we're wanted...

And having good friends is real cool...

But never be bullied, teased or taunted,

And try not to be used as a ball.

Anon...anon...anon...

To my constant joy, I have often noted that I appear to be a strange enigma to some.

There are those who I have met in life who would have sworn that I must have taken a vow of silence some years back, as I used to be terribly shy when younger...not helped by a ferocious speech impediment from age 13 (Thanks Dad), which took several years of kicking myself up the rear and talking endlessly in front of mirrors and empty rooms, before it calmed down and stopped being a pain in my ass...and probably more importantly before someone found me talking to myself in a variety of different accents and expressions and carted me off to the funny farm.

Likewise, there are those who are of the view that I am slightly less noisy than an explosion in a firework factory. The most interesting occasions occur when two friends meet, one from each camp.

At the grand old age of forty-cough-cough, I now care less about what people think about me than I do about the exchange rate between the British Pound and the Outer Magobian Gumbo Bead...and yet there is always an area in which I instinctively shy away from.

Photographs which include my image...hate 'em...don't wanna be near 'em...will hide and have done.

In the past I admit that I've physically run away, especially when you get those inane bores at parties, and social gatherings, who seem obsessed with 'taking a quick shot for the album' of you, even though you have already politely stated on at least seven occasions that you would prefer it if they didn't.

I remember being at some dreary party many years back, where the highlight was probably trivial pursuit, or bobbing for apples...and this mindless young lass with a constant Jehovah's Witness smile, was wandering around armed with an Olympus Trip. Classic camera...vacant-headed owner.

I see her and know what's coming. She wants a photo...quite why is still beyond me, didn't know her from Adam...or Eve...but no, she is adamant, she wants to take my photo. Why? Because everyone else has. I'm not 'everyone else' and I don't want her to. She is stubborn and won't back down. So am I. Things get heated. I've had one too many beers and my mouth can get the better of me...people are now stopping dancing to watch us.

She calls me a 'boring bastard', I call her a 'Nazi cow'...we aren't going to sending cards to each other at Christmas, that's a gimme. She shouts at me, to a now hushed room, asking me why I have to be such a 'spoil-sport dickhead'...the kind of ignorant bullying that I completely detest in life...people who believe that there is no middle ground and they must ALWAYS be right. Your views and opinions don't count one iota. Complete wankers...all of them.

I bravely ignore the armies of marching swear words, marching towards my vocal chords at double speed, and instead asked her:

"If I went to your office every day for a week, opened your window and waved my willy towards the congested pavements below, while shouting your full name, address and phone number for half an hour, along with little key phrases such as 'itchy crabs' and 'crap shag', would you get some kind of perverse kick out of it?"

She recoiled and screwed up her face, shouting out words that gave me the very strong impression that she would not.

"Well, in the same way that you would prefer it that I didn't do that, I would rather prefer it that you didn't take my fucking photo." Point made.

In light of this, I have made a career out of dodging photo lenses, but occasionally - and always with my consent - it does happen. Usually though, I enjoy taking images of me and altering them creatively...something I got rather hooked on at college, some twenty-cough-cough years ago.

A good friend recently got me thinking about this again, and as it's been a while since I've played about with my image, or even thought about in a positive light, I thought it about time that I maybe should.

The less I can make my image look like me, the happier and jollier I shall be. :)

Playing about.

It's not too often these days that I get the chance to play around and experiment with photography.
Today I had a rare day...a chance to get out with my wife, as she went to a couple of business meetings. While she laboured inside the ridiculously outdated 1970's office building - which looked like it had been designed by short-sighted chimpanzees with learning difficulties - I enjoyed the last few rays of our mini heatwave here in the UK, before the clouds came over with the threat of subsequent thunder storms.

Ok, so the office was an eyesore, and on the other side of it was about 5 square miles of building site...but, squashed in between the two eyesores there was by a pretty canal, and although I couldn't move too far up and down the bank I was able to wander away a few feet to sit by some reeds and take in the wildlife around me. I need a telephoto lens - badly! I have always adored the way that water reflections look as if they have been painted in with wonderfully, rough brush strokes...creating a surreal fantasy landscape of their own. I love most forms of artwork, but I'm always interested in Victorian paintings. Something about the clean brushstrokes and strong images maybe, but I did enjoy spending a few minutes trying to create a 'Victorianised' version of a photo I took.

When you only have about 20 feet of riverbank to play with and too much time on your hands, it's always good to see visitors. Word had obviously spread among the local Duck community concerning the arrival of the latest fashion in sockwear - namely purple and black stripes. Here, Quentin Quackfast, chief fashion editor for the 'Daily Ducky' checks out the hot gossip.

After a childhood which had frequent bouts of laying on grass and cloud-watching, I still enjoy seeing shapes in nature and putting 'stories' to them. Here, we clearly see a giant bunny tree on the right. The other trees to the left of the picture are most likely parents. The small one in front of them, gingerly reaching out to stroke the rabbit...well, it has to be the infantry...doesn't it? Shouldn't it? Ahhh...c'mon...

Twitter Twatter Chitter Chatter

Ok, so I'm the wrong side of 40...and maybe my understanding of technology is showing the merest, slightest strains of cloudiness...to the point where my mind says 'Huh?' more than it used to...but hey, I like lots of new-fangled things...such as...well, there's Facebook...that's quite good...well, it's ok...well you can make friends on it and invite all your friends onto it...and have lots of friends...and..well, you can send them cyber presents, and silly pictures from the internet and bombard each other with acres of digital daisies, instead of talking in long, old-fashioned sentences like you both used to, or phoning them and sitting up till 5am, until you had to stop typing cos your ribs hurt so much from laughing.

And then there's Myspace...ah, ok, forget Myspace...never got on with it, never really wanted to. If I was 17, and trying to promote my own garage band, or still in that phase of life where I genuinely wanted coach loads of people to look at me with an interesting glance and wonder..."Hmmm...I wonder what makes HIM tick?"...then I'm sure that Myspace would be a gimme, and I'm sure I'd be right there in the stampede to get 10,000 faceless strangers to call me 'friend'...but, to be absolutely truthful, I'm at that age when you realise that all that nonsense is mostly a crock of horse crap, and the only thing in this often miserable, stressful world that matters is what you think of yourself...more important is that anyone who really doesn't 'get you', or tries to criticise you/your style/your individuality/how you choose to express yourself in this world, can go play chicken with the traffic, or juggle chainsaws until the screaming starts, for all the difference it will make to us and our overall happiness in life.

And so, this week - after resisting for ages - I found myself sucked into a very dull moment, or three...where not even shaking my ass at Dance Island on 'Second Life', while bouncing in my chair and hollering like the coolest of all cool werewolves, could lift me out of boredom.

And so, I flicked through webpages, as one does, until eventually I alighted on the Twitter page. Now you know when something is rubbish, but there is that little rational part of the brain that says "Oh come on...you must never judge a book by its cover...let's go wild and give it a try! Waddya say?" (Why do a lot of my inner, annoying voices all sound like very bad American car salespeople...or those poor unfortunates that trudge from door to door in a vain attempt to sell sets of encyclopedias?)

And thus, it came to pass that I joined Twitter. Well, for about 4 minutes, before it kicked me off and wouldn't let me back in for 13 hours. When I did rejoin, I was facing a blank screen, asking me to say what I was doing.

Well, duh...I'm sat in front of my puter, staring at a screen - when I could be out chasing butterflies through leafy glades, or attempting to find the universal cure for bald hamsters.

I joined the cool, British singer Lily Allen's Twitter page...because nearly half a million people can't be wrong, can they?

So, I joined...and looked some more...hang on, is that really Lily Allen? I could be typing to some 74 year old bloke in Venezuela, sat in his string vest and yellow Y-Fronts...is that really her? And if so then are we buds?

I mean, ok...there are half a million others, but hey, c'mon...we've bonded yeah? Somewhere, in a hotel room, on tour, she will flip up her laptop and my name will flash across her screen as one of the likely 500 new subscribers that day to her Twitter page...and she'll pause for a moment and think "Hmmm, I wonder makes HIM tick?"....dammit, she will, won't she? She don't need all those other people...she has ME! We're tight and we know it.

And hey...I can now say to complete strangers..."Ya know that Lily Allen? Hah...we're mates. Yeah, she tells me everything. Never off my laptop...we sit up tweeting at each other til 5am...God, my ribs..."

So, there's me and Lily...and some complete stranger who wants to sell me things that I don't need and keeps asking me if I want to chat, 'for our mutual advantage?'...but I'm playing it cool, cos even if I never hear from Lily in person then I will know, deep within my heart, that she's out there...and waiting for me to post something relevant and very 'now' on her Twitter...such as 'I am eating toast', or 'The sun was very hot today', or 'I found Jesus in the clouds and He smiled at ME!'.

Lily would respect that.

I know she would - we're tighter than clingfilm, man.

Interesting Socks of the Month - May, 2009.

For roughly half the world - give or take a few hundred million or so, now is the time when layers of heavy duty cable knitwear, and thermal underwear, come sliding off, as we turn our faces to the brighter, bluer skies and welcome the onset of Summer.

Miserable cries and woeful shouts of shivering through the long Winter months are replaced promptly by cheery smiles of joy...which usually last for about a day and a half, before being replaced by miserable cries and woeful shouts of sweltering under the dire heat and feeling oppressed by the mugginess.

The office - a haven of warmth and security in the dark Winter months, now becomes the last place we want to be, as we slowly simmer and seriously consider selling our grannies for an overpriced soft drink and a nice cool breeze.

However...despite the heavy chances of ignoring all safety advice or simple common sense, and burning our skin to a crisp inside a long afternoon...I think it fitting to look fondly towards the oncoming months...or about a week and a half if you live in Britain...of Summer and welcome them in with a pair of summery, cheery sockwear.

These happy-go-lucky socks sure brighten up any day - regardless of mugginess levels or lack of a decent breeze.

Perfect for the beach...or simply reclining with a loved one of your choosing at some outdoor location, such as a picnic or BBQ...although naturally for health and safety reasons the picnic would be the best option. 8/10. ********--