It’s been a while. Here goes with another incoherent ramble that could or possibly not be photography based, more or less whatever is swilling around my mind at this moment. Therapeutic for me perhaps, insanely annoying for you. Guaranteed at least that there’ll be plenty of photos taken since my last post. Start typing.
There’s an awful lot of politics in the air currently, flag waving, sabre rattling and so forth. It’s hard not to get sucked in, for the most part it’s vacuous. I walked around Sir James Dyson’s land the other day, clearly something was hoovered (he wouldn’t like that!) into my subconscious judging by those two previous sentences. Anyhow, when I read the latest news I’m often reminded of a quote from Douglas Adams (Hitchhikers Guide) and one of my favourite authors: “It is a well known fact, that those people who most want to rule people are, ipso facto, those least suited to do it”. And another that’s attributed to many: “Those who don’t study history are doomed to repeat it”. Politicians or emperors (wannabe or otherwise) rarely change your life dramatically, despite what they say, might as well ignore them. Take the huge country of China in the Ming or any previous dynasty for example, you’re a peasant hundreds or thousands of miles away from the then capital Nanjing. Imagine the power struggles, political intrigue and assassinations, nothing would alter in your world and the focus would remain feeding your family and shelter. You’d be more concerned with the weather.
Let’s do our best to get past the spelling of twelfth in the somewhat random title ‘Twelfth Man’ for this post. What that the hell is that ‘f’ doing in there? Surely “twelth” would be perfectly acceptable. English is my first language, hard to believe for readers of this blog I know, but in my defence I only ever admit to a rudimentary grasp. My handwriting is illegible, spellings can be… imaginative* (*ironically just corrected with spellcheck). I’m well known for being ineligible for a multitude of tasks and a command of English comes pretty high up. As with all things, particularly regarding nationality, it’s never simple and instead complicated and nuanced. We know that English has measures of German, Scandinavian, Dutch, French, Greek and Latin thrown into a bowl, whisked up and et voilà a smorgasbord of a language. The same could also be said about the people of this island. We’d need to add our friends from all over the globe that call Britain home and enrich our country to make for a really great recipe.
The Twelfth Man in the very English game of cricket refers to a substitute. I don’t fully understand cricket, part of what is becoming an inexhaustible list. One to remember if you’re ever in a pub quiz and asked: “How many rules are there in cricket?”, the answer is none, there are only the laws of cricket. A team (cricket not pub quiz) has 11 players, should a player get injured the 12th Man (substitute) can join, but can’t bowl, bat, captain or have anything to do with play around the stumps. Apart from a bit of fielding, he’s practically an observer, on the periphery of things. Just like a photographer when you think about it. Of course that presumes you had given some thought to cricket, the 12th Man and photography, which with the best will in the world is highly unlikely. A tenuous link I know, but as a photographer I’m continually observing the world, maintaining a kind of detachment from the main play, a sort of twelfth man. Also I relate to there being no play around my stump!
A few of weeks ago I met my eldest daughter Alex. We began our eight mile walk from her home heading to the High Street in Chipping Sodbury (an Anglo Saxon name) for a coffee, there’s four or five coffee shops to choose from and I thought the English were a nation of tea drinkers. Afterwards we hiked across the fields to Old Sodbury Church which is perched high upon a hill. It’s close to an Iron Age Hill Fort, the far younger at a mere 900 years old church is Norman. Remember the Normans? They were the Viking, sort of French speaking once assimilated, invaders of 1066. As with most English churches Old Sodbury flies the flag of St George, who for interest was born in Syria, essentially Turkish and raised in Palestine. Whilst we’re on it St Patrick was believed to be born in either Scotland or Wales and in any case more or less a Roman. And the Romans were many things, I‘d argue they were occasionally inclusive. Realising over 2000 years ago that to run a huge empire or city the size of Rome you needed immigrants. No European city after Rome would match it’s size until 19th century London. It couldn’t function without them and at some stage they could become Roman Citizens with all the rights that go with that. The very early Emperors were Italian, not long and it didn’t matter much where you came from. Emperors from Spain, Gaul, the Balkans all had a go. You didn’t have to be born there to qualify. Incidentally, the Romans had two emperors before Julius Caesar, the idea being that things would be more balanced and democratic. However, there was a special rule that in times of serious trouble for Rome one could reign supreme for a limited time, they titled this person the “Dictator”. Below, not a dictator - Alex dans l’église.
We walked back through the ‘common’ to Chipping Sodbury Cricket Club where Alex’s partner is Chairman. I like him a lot, such a nice guy, ex-Special Forces, he’s served our country and put his life on the line. You can’t get much more English than either him or cricket, both are polite, tolerant, accepting and friendly. Anything other than that I’m afraid “it’s simply not cricket old chap” as we English say when unfairness, dishonesty or any immoral activity creeps in . The teams stop for lunch and later in the afternoon for tea, sandwiches and cake. It’s awfully civilised and a very relaxing game to watch, spectators can carry on a conversation or have a beer whilst keeping one eye on the match. Cricket doesn't have the same intensity as football and yet can still be gripping. In their current amateur league one professional is allowed in the team, theirs is an ex-Indian international who plays in England during our summer and his break from the Indian league. I did pay attention when he came on to bowl, even if you have very little knowledge of something you can still recognise talent when you see it. We desperately need that imported talent in every walk of life.
As I type I’m listening to a Russian composer, Sergei Rachmaninoff, via a phone designed in the USA, made in China. Everything and everyone is mixed up, how there are any divisions or tribal rivalry baffles me at times, you’d struggle to absolutely define what tribe you belong to begin with in most cases. We’re all brother and sisters right? I don’t say that from a religious standpoint, I’m not that in any way, but we are all essentially the same and I believe very strongly in that . Here’s some snaps of our Ukrainian friends meeting in the very English town near me of Bradford-on-Avon a couple of weeks ago.
There are some wannabe kings around at the moment, they make the news a lot. We used to have one called King Cnut. As I say, those spellings can be tricky. Our King Cnut however brought peace and prosperity. All this nationalism, populism and therefore extremism can only ever lead to trouble. We’ve seen it all before, you’d think lessons would have been learnt. A Nazi dummy (note the insignia) under arrest, as it should be, in a shot taken a few weeks ago at a military history show in a Wiltshire field.
During WWII the city my dad lived in had the absolute crap bombed out of it by the Nazis. Meanwhile in Hythe, Kent on the southeast coast my mother would sit on the beach watching the RAF’s Spitfires and the Luftwaffe’s Messerschmitts dogfighting over the English Channel. When the sirens began no one would bother taking shelter, waves of Nazi bombers flew over on their way to London. We’re talking hundreds of aircraft in the air above them. The next siren though everyone would run for shelter, the Luftwaffe finishing their blitzkrieg would drop any bombs leftover as they flew over the last part of England heading back to their bases. As a child my mum was evacuated at the beginning of WWII, the bombs and impending invasion by the Nazi hoards deemed unsafe for children by the government. She contracted pneumonia and was sent back home to possibly die. She obviously didn’t and was sent off again. When my 10 year old mother was at the crowded train station waiting to be evacuated hundreds of miles away her mother didn’t even give a hug. “See you ducks” was all she got as she boarded the train. Never fails to bring a tear to my eye, I like to think that my grandmother was avoiding making it a big deal. You really didn’t know where or when you’d meet again. It would be wrong to think my mum and dad held any kind of grudge, they should have, but didn’t. The Germans were the same as us, the Nazi’s and Hitler were the problem.
In the early sixties, relatively not long after the war, my dad went to Germany for a week on a wine tasting tour, he was a hotelier and publican. His verdict: ‘What a fantastic country, the Germans are so friendly. Lovely people”. Simple really. Accept and move on. And now I will too because I’m likely to dig myself a hole. Everything I’ve typed so far might be argued. The historical references possibly and no doubt someone will point out that those foreign born emperors of Rome also had huge armies to back up their claim. I’d argue that is the problem with certain people with power and a huge military at their disposal. It’s why we have democracy. Still, it is “Free Speech” and that’s important, though it seems those claiming to promote that are okay with it until someone says something they don’t agree with. A centre needs to found and the moment that centre is lost we lose everything else, division and extremism will rule. I did well, no mention of “Trumpistan” through that!
Where are we with photography? I’ve been less proactive than I should be for sure. I had a brief affair with my old 35mm to change things up a little, some of those shots are included here. I know what you’re thinking…WOW! Changing from 28mm to 35mm! Yes, well I like to live life on the edge. Here is still some happening, I’m not posting so much to social media, not that I ever was prolific. Who posts nowadays in any case? Your timeline is taken up with AI posts, influencers and adverts for something you’ll never buy. Facebook and Instagram are no longer social, now they’re just media. No one is likely to see your post. I predict that Meta’s active customer base will fall off the edge of a cliff very soon. People have had enough, it’s had its day in the sun. In the meantime I’ll be directing anything to my website. On Sunday I’m taking my youngest two children to Ireland. Dublin briefly, then driving over the border to the main event - Belfast. They say never mix politics and religion. Here’s a city that has both in spades. I’ll write it upon my return. Meanwhile to finish here’s some more snaps taken since my last blogpost. Take a look through, you can click on them (much better larger) and if anything takes you as being any good let me know:
Thank you for taking the time to read my blog. All images can be opened by clicking on the thumbnails. Not that it matters they were made using a Leica M with a Summicron 28mm or Summicron 35mm lens fitted. I used an Apple keyboard to type it all out.
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