Slightly Askew

I was asked by our PR team at work to document my journey to work, on the off chance that it would be interesting thanks to the recent snowfall. I usually navigate the A12 to Southwold, but on this particular day, I had a meeting scheduled in Fulham.

Sure enough, it wasn’t a fascinating journey. But I did bother to take some photos. So in order to make the exercise in some way worthwhile, here’s a blog post.

The photograph below is the back garden at my Ipswich home. (I don’t have any more homes, but I’d like to assume that someone who doesn’t know me might read this.) At this point, I thought it’d be a pleasant stroll to the railway station.

Of course, as soon as I had shut the front door, a few flakes began to fall.

And those few flakes of snow soon became a full-on blizzard. Bastard weather. So intense was this snowfall, that I nearly turned around and went back home. But I didn’t. There’s something about the thrill of starting a journey. Common sense goes out the window. I was almost enjoying the ridiculousness of it all. Onwards.

The snowfall had all but stopped by the time I reached Ipswich docks.

Part of the docks had frozen. I wasn’t the only one staring at this mini iceberg, which reaffirmed my faith in it being interesting. Or I was in the company of fellow idiots.

This car park is usually full. Just saying.

I reached the station in one cold piece. A man across the street was singing a song about snow. I didn’t recognise it, but it made me smile anyway.

I arrived as the train pulled in. Which was nice.

And there were loads of seats on the train. Which was also nice.

There was snow across every bit of countryside.

We got to Chelmsford in good time.

And finally to London. The skyline wouldn’t be the same without the Swiss Re gherkin. It’s a fab building.

And so to Liverpool Street Underground Station. I’d take the Circle Line and change at South Kensington. As a side note, why doesn’t the Circle Line refer to the trains as Clockwise and Anticlockwise at Liverpool Street? Up or Down, at least. When it’s right on the eastern tip, Eastbound and Westbound is useless.

This is South Kensington. I like this photograph. It has some nice lines.

And I like these Tardis-looking things.

I got to Fulham Broadway in good time, and with a long meeting ahead, I thought I’d refuel. I’ve just finished reading the rather wonderful Eggs Bacon Chips & Beans by Russell Davies. It’s about great little independent cafes. So I decided to shun the franchises and find a little gem.

And I did. Although I didn’t take a photograph of the outside, so I’m not sure what is was called. But it was good. Here’s my nice cup of tea.

And here’s my EBC&B.

Tasty.

Tweet this post.

I’ve posted before on my nephew’s love of drums. He turned three on Boxing Day.

Kids have a reputation for losing interest in Christmas presents before the new year has even arrived. Bradley, on the other hand, has already shown more commitment to drumming than many adults show to anything in their entire lives.

↓ My nephew, Bradley, Christmas 2007.

↓ My nephew, Bradley, Christmas 2008.

↓ My nephew, Bradley, Christmas 2009.

Tweet this post.

Uncle John came round for dinner tonight and brought this photo.

It made me smile.

It’s James, me, Micky the Fish and Jamie having a piss beside the A14 after a day at Newmarket races. And in a bizarre way, I think it sums the day up perfectly.

It was one of those bloke days out where the male species – without guidance from the female – do some bonding. We buy each other beer, talk about football, gawp at tabloids, and fritter money away on horses we know nothing about. Every minute brings the opportunity for a one-liner, an anecdote about sexual conquests, or another drink.

It’s not sophisticated, it’s not big, and it certainly isn’t clever. But it is fun. This photo rekindles all those hazy memories of drunken hi-jinx.

Perhaps the nice thing about this photograph is its tangibility. In a world where not having a camera on a phone seems daft, so many of our snaps remain on memory cards forever. They become easy to ignore; filed away on stamp-sized gadgetry, never to evoke feeling again.

This photograph will no doubt end up in a box in a cupboard in a room somewhere. But for the next few weeks it’ll move around the house, become a topic of conversation when people pop round, and make me smile when I don’t feel like smiling.

Wonderful things, photographs.

Tweet this post.

Some cap doffing is in order methinks.

A friend of mine, the lovely Mrs Emma Kindred, has recently started her own photography business. A talented graphic designer, Emma departed a sinking ship (they’ll be remembered as publishing houses) as every news broadcaster under God’s hot sun decided that we’d slumped into the Worst Catastrophic Recession To Hit These Shores Ever™.

Scary times.

But rather than get in a flap like a Daily Mail reader listening to a Russell Brand podcast, Emma started EightyOne – a photography studio that gives you top-notch snaps of pets, tots, and the tying of knots. And good on her.

Emma graduated from the Norwich School of Art and Design after studying photography. So you’re getting someone who knows their stuff behind the lens and is passionate about their work – not some pleb with a new gadget trying to make a quick buck.

And that’s my sales pitch on her behalf. Visit EightyOne.co.uk for wedding, pet and children portrait photography. Or give Emma a call on 07834 555329. And if you’re in a social media frenzy, tweet @ei8thyone.

Tweet this post.

Photojournalism. It’s my current fad. Not since the potato waffle phase of autumn 2007 have I experienced such salivation for anything other than a Bank Holiday Sunday boozathon.

Whether you give two hoots about Uncle Sam or not, this is brilliant. Via City and Sticks.

Tweet this post.

I’m no photographer, so when I fluked this photo I was rather chuffed. Looking back, nearly a year later, I’m still chuffed. So I’ve posted it here for the world to see. I think Ank would’ve preferred fewer candles, though.

Tweet this post.