Paving: I'm no expert, should have used one.

Because it was a long weekend I intended to have a well deserved, long lie-in followed by a leisurely listing of the relaxing, cool activities in which I'd indulge myself for the next three days.

I had little movies playing, as they so often do in my head, where I the Star, would be attending some sexy food market somewhere, purchasing the makings of a rather elegant (but casual) dinner. Another movie had me entertaining good friends with wine, and a braai (that's a 'barbecue' to those who are unfortunate enough not to be southern African).

Well what actually happened was this: I gave up trying to sleep at about 6.30am (thirst, backache, headaches, heartburn - all the usual stuff) and blurted out to the lovely Anna (my supervisor-cum-girlfriend) that I would like to build a patio for the braai.

Please read this story carefully because it will reveal an important moral.

Yes, we'd been humming and hawing about this project and I considered myself equal to the task. Just dig out a hole, make it level, toss in some sand and lay the paving stones on top. Doddle. I'd be done and dusted by lunchtime.

So after a "discussion" revolving around the layout of tiles, the repositioning of the composter, my alleged lack of spatial awareness, the fact that Anna is always right, the fact that she isn't etc. we headed off to Homebase, our chosen source of blue slate paving stones. After looking at all the things we don't need, we went out to where the paving stones were and proceeded to discuss (rather too bloody thoroughly) the merits of each individual stone and to pile them onto the trolley. Ow! They pinched my delicate, baby-smooth office-worker's fingers.

We loaded the car and headed home with our precious cargo of stones. I then proceeded to move the quarter of a tonne of paving stones through the house into the garden, noting how with each load my body ached a little more. Once the car was unloaded we headed off to B&Q to buy building sand. 6 bags, 25 Kg each. And then home again. for another 6 trips to and from the car...

I was feeling the burn.

Using pegs and string, just like real builders, we laid out the outline of the patio and I started to dig. We don't have a pick so I had to make use of a fork and a small spade or "spadette". I never expected there to be so much "spoil" (Get me, with the technical jargon!!!) which I had to lug across the garden in a rubble bucket. I was busting a big old sweat and my back was in agony. Four years later, I'd dug the hole, leveled it and had stood, swaying, sweating and wheezing gazing at the very disappointingly small, shallow indentation I'd created.

Ah well, onwards and upwards! All I had to do now was toss in the sand and lay the paving stones. It was very satisfying to slit open the bellies of the sand bags, spilling their contents into the hole. By bag number six it was obvious that I needed more sand. And we'd decided to just use all 300 x 300mm stones meaning I had to replace the three 600 x 600 stones with 12 new 300 x 300mm ones. Back to Homebase.

Once again I pinched my delicate designer's fingers and felt my back crunch alarmingly as I loaded another four bags of sand and 12 paving stones onto the trolley...

Once back home I repeated the car unloading pantomime lugging the dripping wet bags of sand through the house. And the paving stones...

Again I slit the bellies of the bags. Again I realised I needed more sand...

Day Two: Aluta continua...

Barely able to stand we made our way back to Homebase to buy more sand. And a rubber mallet. Again I lugged the sand through the house. Again I nearly passed out with exhaustion. "This is supposed to be simple!" I thought to myself and to make myself feel better I blamed Anna for all the woes in the world. She said, "Yes dear." and carried on supervising the trailing lobelia and geraniums.

And so it came to pass that I began to lay the paving stones. The first one took 20 minutes. I could NOT get it to sit level and at the correct height. I was almost tweezering in individual grains of sand in an attempt to get the bloody stone to sit properly, at the right height and to not rock. Stone number two was a bit easier. It took just 10 minutes. Now please bear in mind that I have what orthopedic surgeons call sore knees. I hate kneeling. I hate even more, standing up after kneeling as this hurts my knees and my (what spinal surgeons call) achy back. Added to this I have either a beer belly or a "food baby", I'm not sure which, weighing me down. I am not built for crawling on the ground. So I moaned, groaned and cursed and swore and blamed the ever patient Anna.

After paving stone number eight was laid it became apparent that there was an issue with the levels. Yes, they were all laid in a beautifully straight line, but paving stone number 8 was aiming skywards; the Ying was correct, the Yang not so. Buggeration. I tried to re-lay stone number 8, but this then showed up the problems with stone number seven. Stone six was influencing the angle of stone seven but was also being led astray by stone five. Stone four was... Sod it! I started all over again.

To cut a long and extremely tedious story short, I eventually did finish laying my patio. It has a few moments where it comes close to being level. If I squint my eyes It almost does look level. Almost. The tiles are all pretty close to the same height as each other and only some of the rock a little. I have assured Anna that "they will settle". Now all I need to do is assure myself of the same thing.

So here I am. Mr Braai Patio. Am I proud of it? Perhaps a little - I mean it is all my own work. Am I pleased that I did it? Perhaps a little - but it is not perfect and that irritates me (although not as much as doing it again would). I have to live with it. With second best. Anna stands on individual paving stones rocking... inspecting...considering. She reminds me a of a female weaver bird inspecting the nest her mate has just built...does she like it or will she rip it to bits??? So far so good, but I think she's being kind...

But the real lesson is this: An expert paver will have created a much better patio. It would be level. The tiles wouldn't rock. He would have had enough sand and the correct tools. He would not have broken a sweat digging the hole. He would have built the whole damn thing in a morning. It took me two long days and I'm now crippled. My back's killing me and every muscle in my body aches. My knees have handed in their notice. By contrast, my patio looks amateurish. It is amateurish and I thank God I don't have to use it to attract customers to my business, because it would reflect badly on me.

So, for the few small businessmen that read this blog, next time you want to create a brochure or build your own website, think of using an expert. Think of using an expert like me - and if it just so happens you want a brochure or a website for your paving company, I have some paving that needs sorting out. We can can do a little quid pro quo...


Copyright © 2009 Paul R Davey. All photographs, text and artworks in this portfolio are copyrighted and owned by the artist, Paul R Davey unless otherwise stated. Any reproduction, modification, publication, transmission, transfer, or exploitation of any of the content, for personal or commercial use, whether in whole or in part, without written permission from the artist is strictly prohibited. All rights reserved.

Me 'olidays. Ah well, Britain will have to do!

Me. In Cumbria. Atop a hill. With a view.
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Copyright 2009 Paul R Davey. All rights reserved

For an extremely top secret reason, I am unable to travel to distant shores for me 'olidays. I consider this to be a major pain in the backside because I really do want to go to some places, far, far away for some very special reasons. Instead, I have to stay here in Blighty and make do.

That exciting aroma of Costa Coffee and jet fuel that permeates airports is for me, not a sign that I'm going away, but that I'm either fetching or dropping someone off at the airport. Its the smell of other peoples' fun and I find it makes me mildly depressed. For a maximum of three minutes.

You see, I have to forgo the sheer luxury of shuffling slowly along some pointless queue amongst the "other people" at Gatwick or Stanstead. I have to do without sitting next to Ms Halitosis and her 'ubby, Mr Tattoos on an Easy Jet flight to Malaga. (Why do these people always try to look like anxious, high level business travellers, despite their bizzarre holiday clothes, always checking their watches and making mobile calls as they pace about like Donald Trump as his empire comes crashing down? Kevin, you're not fooling me. I can see you're just a low level sales rep, a denizen of a thousand Travel Lodges, not Alan Bluddy Sugar!) I can't share in the collective pleasure with my fellow travellers as they listen to yet another flight delayed announcement. No, I have to stay here. In the dreadful Britain that they seem so keen to escape. Several times a year.

The Descent.
Kirkstone Pass, descending to Ullswater, Cumbria
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Copyright 2009 Paul R Davey. All rights reserved

Yes, I have to suffer the sights of Britain. In Britain, whilst they, the lucky (?) travellers, get to suffer the British in Spain/Greece/Portugal/wherever. Just like the Brits that travel abroad, I too can drink a pint in the Red Lion/Hearty Gardener/Jolly Farmer/Whatever. The difference is, that my Red Lion is a nice, quiet pub in a gorgeous, stream braided scenic valley, full of nice, interesting people quietly discussing the next mountain walking trip, the best hiking boots or the latest Shimano mountain bike groupset. They are, you see, my kind of people. In my kind of pub. In Britain, near a mountain. And a river. And a beautiful view.

Ullswater, Cumbria
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Copyright 2009 Paul R Davey. All rights reserved

A thousand or more miles away, other Brits are in their Red Lion in Benidorm watching Ms Halitosis and Mr Tattoo having a foul-mouthed, tobacco-and-boozed-breathed knock-down, drag-out barney whilst their putrid offspring are trying to drown the rather bookish child of a couple who are on one of those hideous "Holiday Swap" programmes. (No, Mr TV producer, Holiday Swap programmes are not "an interesting insight into the human condition". They are the lazy-minded, slackjawed spawn of creatively barren minds for the lazy-minded and intellectually barren... oh shit, I'm ranting).

Martindale, Near Ullswater, Cumbria
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Copyright 2009 Paul R Davey. All rights reserved

I used to resent not being able to go away and to be fair, still do wish to go to places like Morocco, Nepal, and Alaska as well as some VERY remote places which will remain a secret. I would never sign up to one of the revolting package deals in "Spine" that so seem to attract the "other people". Not even in my worst nightmare. You see, I have at last, after nine years living here, discovered BRITAIN! And it is bloody amazing!

Stone Bridge, Cumbria
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Copyright 2009 Paul R Davey. All rights reserved

In the last few weeks I have been fortunate enough to have had two short holidays both in spectacular locations. I went to Pembrokeshire in Wales and I've just returned from the Lake District in Cumbria. Both places are fascinating and absolutely stunning in terms of the scenery. As a photographer, I can honestly say that I was spoiled for choices of where next to point my camera. Its easy to take great photographs (if I say so myself) in these places. The light angle is low-ish all day and its quality is superb - it gives everything a slightly too-saturated look, but when it comes to processing the images, only the very slightest of tweaks are necessary to make the photographs really sing.

Martindale Stream, Cumbria
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Copyright 2009 Paul R Davey. All rights reserved

And then there's the people. They are fantastic! Let me tell you about parking in Tenby in Wales: Me and my lovely Anna needed to go shopping so we pulled into a parking garage. I got out the car to do the pay and display ritual and Anna decided to ask the car park attendant lady for directions to the shops. Well, the car park attendant lady was just beginning to write out a ticket for a car that had overstayed its welcome. She told Anna that she "felt a bit guilty" because she didn't like issuing tickets to people who were there on holiday - "they might not return"!!! The overstayer by the way, had been given an hour's grace! For a Londoner, for that is what I am these days, this was madness! Unbelievable.! Hell, in London the parking attendants would happily stand in the middle of the M25 in fast flowing traffic (okay, fast flowing is somewhat unlikely, but stay with me on this one) if they thought they could slap a ticket on a windscreen.

Post Box and Daffodils, Cumbria
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Copyright 2009 Paul R Davey. All rights reserved

Yes, outside of London - the Cotswolds, Wales or Cumbria, the people are warm, kind and welcoming. And the beauty of it all is that those who aren't warm, kind and welcoming are usually plastered to a bar stool, getting dribbling-drunk in the Red Lion in Torremolinos, in the company of others of similar stripe. Bargain!

Living here in the UK we tend to forget that we live in one of the world's great tourist attractions. Our Islands are in fact one giant and spectacular natural theme park where stupendous scenery makes up the backdrop against which architecture, art and cultural diversity are harmoniously blended with wonderful, sometimes mystifying traditions and colourful, kind, interesting people. If people from all over the world fly in here every day, there must be something worth seeing. And there is. I spoke to so many people in Cumbria (we were at a wedding) who said that they'd never been there before. Many of them my age or even older and had lived all their lives in the UK.

Ullswater and the Road to Martindale, Cumbria
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Copyright 2009 Paul R Davey. All rights reserved

People here complain about the prices of holidaying in the UK. But how can you complain about the prices of the priceless? Britain is accessible. There is something for all budgets, but I'd like that to be kept secret. You see, I want Ms Halitosis and Mr Tattoo to keep going to Spine. That is where they belong, not here in this beautiful, lyrical place that so effortlessly coaxes out the poet in your soul; that so cleverly steals your heart and makes you at least for a few days, hers and hers alone!

Kirkstone Pass, Cumbria
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Copyright 2009 Paul R Davey. All rights reserved

I feel I may have made some generalisations about people. Oh dear!

Copyright © 2009 Paul R Davey. All photographs, text and artworks in this portfolio are copyrighted and owned by the artist, Paul R Davey unless otherwise stated. Any reproduction, modification, publication, transmission, transfer, or exploitation of any of the content, for personal or commercial use, whether in whole or in part, without written permission from the artist is strictly prohibited. All rights reserved.

Please Note: I actively pursue those who steal my work . If you want to use any of my images or writing for any purpose, please ask first and thus avoid any massive lawsuits that will beggar you, your children, their children and their childrens' as yet unborn children. If I can't get rich selling my work, I sure as hell can by suing those who chose to steal it!

Ahem...ummmmm errrr...

This blog post is a little shameless self promotion before I disappear tomorrow to the Lake District, on a shoot. Well, to a wedding (that I am not photographing) that will be one afternoon and an evening. The rest will be a mixture of photography and exploring the area with Anna. I've never been to the lakes before, but have always wanted to go. I don't care what weather we have, because I bet it will be photogenic anyway!

Over the last couple of weeks I've been uploading some of the photographs made on my trip to Pembrokeshire. I think I've cherry-picked the best out of 1,000 images - there are lots of others, but like a wine collection, its nice to let them mellow and maybe in a few months or years' time I'll see them in a different light and put some more up. For now, there are about 20-25 new images, which for a week's shooting, ain't too shabby!

So what Have I posted? More to the point, what have I put up for sale on my website? Lets take a look.

There's this photograph of St Ann's Head at the entrance to Pembroke Harbour. It was shot perhaps half a mile from the lighthouse on the coastal path. There's nothing to give it scale, but had I slipped and fallen into the sea, I'd have been able to have a long and leisurely panic with my life playing in slow motion before my eyes...

On the one day, my lovely Anna and I went for a drive to the Preseli Hills near Fishguard. On the way back, having passed through St Davids we stopped off to investigate Druidston Haven and the hotel there for future reference. The sun was shining on the sea and yielded me several very dramatic images, including God's Spotlight.

One thing I never expected to do was any sports photography. Well, I should have, because I did. Early one freezing morning near Tenby there were a handful of kitesurfers preparing to face the FREEZING water. I was convinced my 200mm lens wouldn't cut it, but fortunately they seemed to like blaying on the inshore waves. Shooting into the sun is never easy, but I did manage to get a few keepers in the twenty or so minutes I was there. Take a look at this one.

Those who know my work will know that I am very fond of creating stripped-down images. When nature is the subject, it is too easy to fill the view with scenery and you miss the big picture. I photographed these cows as they grazed on a hillside near Dale at the mouth of Pembrokeshire harbor. Here's a different shot of the same crew. Let me know which one you prefer (by buying it???) :-)

Low angle sunlight can be a real pain, especially with my wide angle lens. Fortunately, I had my long lens on when I saw this view.

Finally, having been back to the earlier pages of my gallery, I just have to ask you to look at this photograph, which is, I think, my favourite of all my work.

If you have any comments or questions, please contact me. :-)

Copyright © 2009 Paul R Davey. All photographs, text and artworks in this portfolio are copyrighted and owned by the artist, Paul R Davey unless otherwise stated. Any reproduction, modification, publication, transmission, transfer, or exploitation of any of the content, for personal or commercial use, whether in whole or in part, without written permission from the artist is strictly prohibited. All rights reserved.

A little catch-up

I really do need to make more effort with this blog, but at the same time, I'm trying not to write just for the sake of writing something; this is not about quantity, its about quality.

Kensal Green Night Shoot

First off, a brief report on my efforts to spook myself. On the full moon before Easter, I decided it would be clever and energetic to get off my backside and do some night shots in the Kensal Green Cemetery. It never ceases to amaze me how good I feel when I make the effort to go and take photographs instead of "doing the usual".

Cross and Moon
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Copyright 2009 Paul Davey

Unfortunately, by the time I'd cooked dinner and eaten, the moon was quite high in the sky, so I had to write it off as one of the subjects for the shoot. There is a broken fence that has replaced the cemetery wall that collapsed (how clever is it to have hundreds of graves, all subsiding right next to a 16ft wall?). I snuck in through the gap in the fence and started wandering around the various graves and monuments that I know are good subject matter.

I have not done much night photography and was quite disappointed by the very urban, very bright sodium glare from streetlighting, coupled with the fact that the Heathrow approach path was running west to east, right through the darkest bit of sky. I set up a few 30 second time exposures and ran around various monuments illuminating them with a small LED light, with mixed results. I also did a few shots over 30 seconds with my flashgun hand-held, flashing once at the beginning of the exposure and once (after re-charging) at the end, dashing between two different positions so as to give two light sources per exposure. Again, varying degrees of success.

Sentenel 3
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Copyright 2009 Paul Davey

Note to self: Get some portable battery-powered studio lights, get permission to shoot in the graveyard so guerilla tactics can be avoided. In other words, make the shoot a proper, planned production.

One shot I wanted involved a musoleum. I wanted to flood the inside of it with light and have it illuminate the ivy-clad tombstones outside. I set up my tripod and composed the shot (note to self: bring a powerful torch to enable acccurate manual focusing on the subject) then st the exposure to 30 seconds then hoped, skipped and jumped over the jumbled graves into the mausoleum with my flashgun, firing it twice at various walls. I repeated this a number of times at various aperture settings. Results? Medicre. Spook factor: Medium-high.

One of those shoots I was glad I had done, despite results that were below my expectations. Over the next few months I want to master night photography. Plenty more trips to the cemetery!

Easter in Wales

St Brides
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St Brides is a lovely bay in Pembrokeshire, Wales, west of Milford Haven
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Copyright 2009 Paul Davey

Over Easter me, my lovely lady and my splendid daughter went to Wales. To Pembrokeshire, in fact to enjoy a week with the bulk of my family at a place called Saundersfoot, near Tenby. Which is near Pembroke. Which Is near Milford Haven. In Wales. Got it?

Obviously, I considered it a clever idea to take my camera gear and use the week essentially as a long landscape shoot. In the end, I shot over 1,000 raw images which will probably shake down to no more than 20-30 "keepers" - not that I ever throw any photographs away.

The Church Doors
Skrinkle Bay, Pembrokeshire
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Copyright 2009 Paul Davey

The last week has seen Lightroom and Photoshop sweating as I clean up and manipulate the images, and my RedBubble account has seen a lot of action as I upload said images and then 'farm' them - posting them to various groups, plus Stumbling them etc.

Kite Surfer, Tenby
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Copyright 2009 Paul Davey

Perhaps the biggest lesson learned on this trip was to be more grateful of the opportunity to shoot in such a stunning location . I thought I was being a good, diligent photographer by getting to Saundersfoot harbour 10 minutes before sunrise. In truth, I wasn't. I should have been at a previously recce'd location at least an hour before sun-up. I should have pursued just one photograph instead of machine-gunning the entire area with my camera and every lens I possess. The results were inevitable: a couple of okay shots standing head and shoulders above a hundred or so entirely mediocre pics.

That said, I did come away at the end of the week feeling quite satisfied with several photographs, some of which are now for sale.

Sister and Niece
Wisemans Bridge, Pembrokeshire
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Copyright 2009 Paul Davey

I'll be going back, possibly in the summer with my son and his girlfriend and I promise to be up and shooting at least an hour before dawn, and will also shoot at sundown and for at least an hour after.

Nab Head, St Brides Bay, Pembrokeshire
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Copyright 2009 Paul Davey

With my 28-200mm lens out of action, I was unable to use my 72mm polariser on my, essential for photographing landscapes at this time of year when the sun is low and there is a bit of haze from the sea. I missed it an awful lot, even holding it over the 58mm front element of my 50-200mm zoom. But what I also missed and MUST get were a range of neutral density filters to help tame the low-sun glare.

Dawn Patrol
Photographed as the mist cleared in Pembrke Dock, just after sunrise
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Copyright 2009 Paul Davey

On top of this, the sea mist - invisible most of the time - coats the front lens element and on my wide angle, this created havoc with sunspots. A lens shade that I can mount onto the hot shoe is another "must". Oh, and image stabilised lenses. Did I mention a new camera? I need one. NEED, not want.

Copyright © 2009 Paul R Davey. All photographs, text and artworks in this portfolio are copyrighted and owned by the artist, Paul R Davey unless otherwise stated. Any reproduction, modification, publication, transmission, transfer, or exploitation of any of the content, for personal or commercial use, whether in whole or in part, without written permission from the artist is strictly prohibited. All rights reserved.

Sunday in the Countryside

Having attended a swanky engagement party for my very good friends Ian and Heather on Saturday night, and having had my equally good friends Sue and Fernando staying with us overnight, I was unsurprised to wake up on Sunday morning with Hangover Vulgaris.

Despite having gone to bed late and quite bladdered, I was still awake early, fighting to fall asleep again. Then I remembered that Mr Button and his friends had some work do do so I staggered through to the sitting room ("lounge" is almost a banned word in our house. Chavvish, apprently) to watch the Aussie Grand Prix. Yay for Jenson!

Eventually my lovely lady got up and so did my splendid house guests. Teas and coffees all round, accompanied by bacon sandwiches. Yum.

Roots.
Click to enlarge.
Copyright 2009 Paul Davey.

Post Bacon sarnie, S & F had to go back home and reunite themselves with their daughters and I decided to go on a photo shoot.

Recently, I've felt as though my photography is getting into a bit of a rut. I'm not seeing properly. I'm just looking and there's a difference. My forays into the urban underbelly have been to be frank, a little underwhelming. I've returned with images, yes, but nothing that gets my heart racing. Nothing that I can look at and think, "I wish I'd shot that! Oh, wait, I did!".

On Saturday afternoon I had done yet another shoot at Kensal Green Cemetery - a rich feeding ground for my camera, but having spent many hours there in the past, It was all a bit samey. I have yet to process the 200-odd frames I shot there.

For a change, I decided that I would use my car for the first time in about four weeks and head out into the country, swapping urban grit for the countryside. Good decision! I drove west along the M40 into Buckinghamshire, exiting the motorway at Stokenchurch and then winding along some of the lovely narrow country lanes, eventually stopping for a walk up what I think is called Chinnor Hill. It was so good just to be out of the London area, watching some type of Kite sweeping across the sky, seeing people out with their dogs (Labradors have such proud faces when they are carrying a very large stick). I climbed the hill and took a few photographs - nothing staggeringly clever or anything, but worthwhile just for the pleasure of being outdoors in the countryside.

Spring View From Chinnor Hill
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Copyright 2009 Paul Davey

I decided to move on and spent an hour or so just getting lost, avoiding anything as vulgar as a road capable of two way traffic. I eventually found my self in a place called Lee Common where I got out of the car, grabbed my tripod and gear and took a large number of exposures of a little cottage and its surrounds on what I think might be the Lee Common. This cottage has no driveway, no road passsing its front gate, nothing. It was just there in the middle of this lovely parkland with an avenue of trees leading up to it.

Avenue
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Copyright 2009 Paul Davey

The light was fantastic - a warm golden quality and the sun was still low enough in the sky as to make shooting a pleasure; long strokes of sunlight painted onto the lush spring grass. Total feelgood!

Lee Common Cottage 2
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Copyright 2009 Paul Davey

Eventually I moved on wanting to find somewhere to shoot the sunset, but ended up getting trapped into a whole "A" road and then Motorway situation and before I knew it, I was London-bound on the M1, Sylosis blasting out LOUD on the stereo.

Perhaps the best news of the weekend though is that the clocks have gone forward again: Summer has been switched back on!

The dangers of a sunny weekend

I am somewhat alarmed to note that the weather this weekend will be what meteorologists describe as "lovely".

Now, there was a time when I was delighted to hear that the weather would be lovely, especially in early spring. I'd get my beloved sea kayak onto the roof rack and head for the Thames and have a lovely, long paddle about 15km upstream and then drift back down nice and leisurely like. Sadly, I no longer have a sea kayak. It was too big for London and my ex secretary type lady grew tired of having it cluttering her garden so I sold it. Bah.

I also used to delight in going cycling on a lovely sunny weekend. I'd get my mountain bike out and go for miles, exploring the countryside or the city. Sadly, my bike is, to use technical jargon, fecked. I need a new rear suspension bearing kit which is as expensive as a decent 50mm lens. Lenses are more important right now. But not as important as my overdraft and my desperately agitated bank manager.

This weekend, whilst the weather is sunny and photographic conditions are bound to be perfect all day, I have to stay at home. My other half's parents are coming. Now, don't get me wrong, I am glad they are coming. I like them. and having done a lot of shoots recently, don't need to go out on yet another one. A nice, salady lunch will be perfect. An inspection of the garden will will feature on the programme and I'm likely to see some post-prandial dozing which I find amusing.

So what is it about a lovely sunny spring day that fills me with dismay? I will tell you:

It is the neighbours. The bloody, bastarding neighbours.

I am still not used to having other people living so close to me and frankly, I do not like their "ways". I try to be tolerant as I have been reminded several times that "this Is London".

I have never been a fan of the Beatles (Much as I'd like to divert into a rant about them, I won't) which means that I'm not necessarily well disposed to their fans either. We have one neighbour, to whom it has quite obviously never occured, that I don't in fact want to hear his stereo belting out beatles songs all afternoon. Nor do I want to hear him singing along. It doesnt make me think of him as a happy, summery soul. It makes me think of him as a legitimate target. He lives about three houses away.

Our next door neighbours upstairs are Jamaican. They like nothing better on a nice day than to throw open their kitchen window and blast a simultaneous mix of the Eastenders Omnibus on their TV-for-the-deaf alongside seventies soul and reggae. Because this aural chaos isn't enough, the lady of the house embellishes it with whistling that is so tuneless that all the creatures of the forest who inhabit our garden run away terrified. When the noise reaches its peak, the man of the house then decides its time to call his buddies in Jamaica. He has a deep and booming voice and a number of forthright opinions that he shares with all of us as well as his friend in Kingston.

Then there is "Little Brazil". I have a number of potato sized rocks - cobbles - if you will, that are gaining enormous value for me. They have been elevated from humble potato sized rocks to the status of (semi)guided missile. Little Brazil likes to treat us to samba/rhumba whatever played at size 11 on the stereo. Little Brazil is a good six houses away. My (semi) guided missiles have the range.

We also have a church 3 houses away that rents its hall out to various small congregations. Now, this hall that they use is not big and the congregations number a maximum of about thirty - I have counted them. Why then, do the preachers need to use a microphone and a PA system to deliver their fire and brimstone messages? I can guarantee you normal conversational pitch would do. Why does the 'band' (and I use the term loosely) need such amplification? The worst thing is, they have band practice on Saturdays and then a succession of services on Sunday afternoons. A never ending stream of incompetent music and unsolicited "ALLAYLOOLYAH! PRAIZALOD!" (in some accents it sounds like "PRAY SALAD") Sometimes, in moments of particular Christian fervour, the drummer will punctuate appropriate milestones in the preacher's message with a ba-da-boom-tish! There are a lot of appropriate milestones, apparently.

Clearly this vexes me. And, after three years of being forbidden to retaliate by my lovely lady, I have sworn that this year I will teach my neighbours a lesson. You see, if they want to assault my eardrums and shatter my peace, I will do the same unto them. Thricefold. I happen to have a son who is a musician. He's in a band whose musical style is in the genre of "Death Metal". He and his bandmates are always looking for somewhere to practice and I have just the place: my garden. I've paced it out and there is enough space for a 20KW concert PA with just enough room left over for the 5 members of the band.

I've seen this band live and they unleash a truly withering thunderstorm of obscene noise. Trees will shed their leaves. Babies several miles away will spontaneously combust. Windows will shatter and the ground will quake. That first Pimms of the season? Forget it. It will explode and sever Mr Summertime Beatles' head.

Of course, I know that death metal is not to everyone's tastes, but neither is the work of messers Lenon and McCartney or Mr Teddy Pendergrass. I also realise that the gentleman in my son's band who does the 'singing' may cause some minor offence when he volunteers to dine upon a living person's liver or to clothe his body in the entrails of someone's daughter, but I'm sure most of my neighbours will understand, after all, "This is London!"

Rudderless on Sunday

Today, after staying in bed till NINE THIRTY, I decided to go and shoot in the Elephant and Castle area of London and then head west-ish to the Brixton/Clapham in search of urban grit.

Well, I got to Elephant and Castle, but when I came out from the underground I was navigationally discombobulated. I couldn't tell my north from my south-south-east. Elephant and Castle is basically a huge traffic roundabout (gyratory for the Americans) and pedestrians get to cross this roundabout by a series of tunnels where no doubt, they keep muggers. Fortunately it was Sunday today so all muggers were off duty.

Weathered
Detail from a derelict shop front, Elephant and Castle
Copyright 2009 Paul Davey. Buy this image here.
Click to enlarge.

After wiggling my way round the roundabout in a roundabout fashion, I ended up roundabout where I thgought would be the best place to proceed west or thereabouts. Don't ask me the name of the road, but I can assure you that it was still a London Road and I had not stepped via the tunnels into a nether world. I think.

I proceeded in a westerly direction, guided by the aeroplanes on their approach to Heathrow. I zigged and zagged through the quiet Sunday streets looking - hunting - for photographic opportunities until I found myself by the arches supporting the railway line into Waterloo.

Stacked Boxes.
An interesting piece of architecture, Lambeth
Copyright 2009 Paul Davey. Buy this and other images here.
Click to enlarge.

I love railway arches but sadly it appears so do many other people and the once grunky arches are now all boringly refurbished with neat roller shutter doors. My quest for urban grit was quashed. Whenever I did find a smidgen of ghetto grime, I attempted to photograph it. Alas, my efforts were not spectacular. And it started raining. I'd left home not ninety minutes before with just a few well art-directed fluffy white clouds in the sky. Now my camera's almost non-existant weather sealing was being challenged by H20 droplets. Yep, its not waterproof. Or showerproof. And neither is my camera bag.

Old Pipes
Detail from a railway arch, Lambeth
Copyright 2009 Paul Davey. Buy this and other images here.
Click to enlarge.

Now, I do love London but: Why, when for many, many centuries it has rained every second day or thereabouts have they not yet passed into law that commercial buildings must have a canopy that covers the pavement? I come from Zimbabwe where senior government officials happily drive through police roadblocks carrying headless torsos. Where stealing a man's hard-built business is considered not to be a problem and where child molesters are looked upon fondly as loveable rogues. But design a building that does not offer the pedestrian shelter from the rain and all hell will break loose. And It only rains for three or four months in Zimbabwe - and even then it has the decency to rain from 4pm sharp till about 4.32pm - and that is it!

Locked
Detail from a railway arch, Lambeth
Copyright 2009 Paul Davey. Buy this and other images here.
Click to enlarge.

I got wet.

Eventually I made my way to Waterloo and got on the tube to go home.

Naturally, by the time I got home, Noah had beeen stood down and the sky was once gain blue with cute, fluffy white clouds. I had a brief look for action on Redbubble but there was not much to be had, so I decided to go on a second shoot, just walking from my house through the Mitre Bridge Industrial Estate and then back along the canal. Not very inspiring, but s usual, I did manage to find a few half opportunities, so I took them.

Linear Security
Mitre Bridge Industrial Estate
Copyright 2009 Paul Davey. Buy this and other images here.
Click to enlarge.

One shot I didn't take was of some "yout's" in silhouette crossing a bridge. They saw me and subjected me to a bit of verbal abuse. "Stop fuckin' abusing my fuckin' human rights!" one of them yelled. "Please God, give me the chance to show that kid what abusing his human rights actually is", I wished. I'll say no more, lest I end up in jail for the crime of wishing kids these days would have some mannners.

Derelict Office Block
A 1970s office block that's been abandoned by the Grand Union Canal in Harlesden
Copyright 2009 Paul Davey. Buy this and other images here.
Click to enlarge.

I had a wander around the grounds of the derelict office block I have visited before, amazed at the amount of shoes left lying around... I took a few more broken window pics and yet again chickened out of actualy entering the building. Its spooky.

Mast
Willesden, London
Copyright 2009 Paul Davey. Buy this and other images here.
Click to enlarge.

Well, as happens in this modern world, the sun lowered in the sky and I walked slowly along the canal, stopping to see whether what I thought might make a shot actually would (it seldom did). Unfortunately there wasn't much by way of quality in the evening light, thanks to a distant bank of clouds weakening the sun's rays, but the stroll along the canal towpath was good anyway as I calmed down from being yelled at by the "yout's".

Not my best day's shooting, but there are a couple of 'interesting' images...