There is a current trend of looking back to 2016 as some sort of benchmark year.
Was 2016 a genuine wrinkle in time. I do not look back on it with any great fondness. I had an iphone and took some great photos.
But 2016 was a hard year with tough decisions, sadness, badness and unkindness.
Seria Ludo by Mat Collishaw
For large parts of 2016 I felt like I was hanging on to normal life while it swung me round and round on a crazy carousel.
In 2016 I discovered the Japanese word Setsunasa which means,
A tight feeling in the chest. Longing, love, sadness, nostalgia, all compressed into one sharp pain.
So when I think about 2016 that is my overwhelming recollection. But it was such a busy year and there were many positives. Looking through my 2016 photographs I have made myself aware that 2016 was far from all bad.
Time to reshape my recollections a little. Another useful Japanese word.
Wabi-Sabi.
The acceptance that nothing is permanent, and nothing is perfect, nothing is ever complete and yet finding quiet beauty in that reality rather than fighting it.
My post-Christmas tidy up brought me some joy with the rediscovery of my old portable typewriter’s history.
My Olympus SM was manufactured in Germany in 1939 and sold to its first owner W.H Butterworth while he lived at 28, Chiltern Drive, Braddell Heights, Singapore. The original sales document is still in the ginger coloured carrying case, resting on my sofa.
I was in Singapore in November, had I remembered this fact I would almost certainly have taken myself off on a wild goose chase to see my typewriters first home.
Somewhere in this photo from the Marina Bay swimming pool is Braddell Heights. Very far distant but there nevertheless.
Why such a wild goose chase?
I quite like a wild goose chase. Sometimes a seemingly pointless task brings unexpected experiences. So I regret not chasing that particular goose but Singapore had other wildlife.
But we did not meet Otters in the Botanic Gardens, which was a dissapointment
So perhaps we should have chased the odd wild goose.
I always think winter is best endured if observed and endured in bite sized chunks. Getting to mid-January there is always a natural high point when a friend makes marmalade. Something I very much enjoy on a bite sized chunk of bread. A glowing pot of freshly created 2026 marmalade is lurking in my cupboard from today. The pot arrived on the same day as another sign that Winter is loosening her cold boney fingers from our vital parts. My first bunch of Daffodils. Really my favourite flower of all time. Just dont tell the Sunflowers, Roses or Tulips. Dahlias, peonies or Leucospermum.
Winter may have loosened her fingers a bit but there is at least another 6 weeks of mood boosting required . Marmalade , Daffodils and December Leucospermum. Are todays little sunshine coloured pick-me-ups.
December Leucospermum, Mornington Peninsular
Never forgetting another December treat.
Hong Kong Fruit stall. December.
Seeing so much sunshine and vivid colour in December has propelled me through the first half of winter . Marmalade and Daffodils will carry on the good work. I have been so lucky.
Actual English January sunshine captured in the glass of a picture frame. We hopped along the coast to West Bay in Dorset, where the sun gave us a golden glow. There was not a moments temptation to get into the rolling sea however. It was a day for hats gloves and good coats.
This photo landed in my lap yesterday. It was a freezing cold day and cloudless, until it wasn’t. Out of nowhere, two black labradors, brushed past me, off their leads and owners nowhere to be seen. In that moment the clouds gathered around the sun and all colour drained from the scene. Smaller dogs and their owners scattered, alarmed and protective. Moments later the dogs were gone and the bright day was back. As if the two things were linked.
And as if I had imagined the whole thing. Spooky things don’t generally happen in broad daylight. Digitally I popped a full moon behind the trees. It creates a haunting image much more in keeping with the sensation of the day.
Is an ownerless dog as other worldly than a riderless horse?
The dogs were like creatures from another realm. Fast and fleeting. Bearing down on me, lLola and other wary smaller dogs. Black Labs overbearing one minute and gone the next.
Their owners insouciance irritating. Their languid body language, indifferent to the unfolding chaos.
When the sun came out again the men and their dogs were nowhere to be seen. As if the clouds, men and dogs had been a wrinkle in reality, ghost dogs and their masters from a different realm.
Just as I reread this blog before posting I noticed the silhouette of a ghost dog on his hind legs in the first picture. I knew there was something strange going on!
Yesterday was a day of really bright sunlight and a temperature of about 2 degrees Centigrade.
It was a day of dog walking, admin and another painting of Coogee Beach, more sunshine.
Coogee Beach, 27 degrees.
Beyond my day’s domestic plans, there was also some Tennis Club admin that needed to be done with a friend.
Beyond Tennis chat, we talked about Christmas, Grief, an erotic novel, kitchen plans, and our holidays. Mine in the past and hers upcoming. She is heading to Bergen and beyond in Norway. She is expecting to experience sunshine and temperatures of about -30.
The whole conversation blew my mind a little bit. Mostly because travel blows my mind a lot. The ease with which we discuss such things as women in the 21st Century is a delight unknown to most women in the past.
The kitchen that we sat in, nattering away, was built about 175 years ago. A home suitable for professional men and their families . The men would have worked either in a nearby Military base or Dockyard or been involved in the Maritime or Fishing industries. Plymouth was linked to London by train in 1848, making Plymouth an International Travel hub. Travel would not have been an unfamiliar subject even when my kitchen was new.
Travel would have been much more complex. Timescales would be significantly different. Climate adjustment slower and riskier
Sailing to Australia would have taken three to four months, one way. Sailing to Bergen took about two weeks.
Luggage of only 23 kg is more than adequate for either of us to have the right clothing for hugely different climates.
I cannot imagine how much luggage we would have needed to make such journeys 150 years ago. English women of all classes were wearing Bustles.
Just one dress would weigh more than 23kg!
Very few women travelled for pleasure or exploration in 1850. For the most part British women were shipped around the world to service the sexual and dynastic needs of British men abroad who were busy doing British things like Colonisation.
British men being the powerful people. Taking political, economic, and cultural control over other territories and populations. Exploiting resources, labour, people and land for the benefit of Britain.
How lucky are we in 2026 to be able to travel quickly to anywhere in the world and to any temperature with just 23k of luggage. Know with almost 100% certainty that we will return, to natter, at the kitchen table after our travels. Safe in the knowledge that travel will expand our minds and not require us to search for a husband or create children.
My car is iced up. There is frost on the grass . One month ago this was my reality. If the day was not, in itself, hot enough the hot colours of two of these beach huts raises the temperature a little more. ( I am not so sure about the lilac one/)
Just looking at this makes me feel instantly warmer.
Being in hot places in the run up to Christmas presented some delicious conundrums. Images of snow where it could never possibly fall and images of roaring fires in a home that requires near-constant air conditioning.
Returning home to the Northern Hemisphere just on the cusp of Peak Christmas has given me a very casual approach to post-Christmas. Can I be bothered with denuding my house of the festive gaiety I only finished putting up on Christmas Eve.
12th night purists, or Boxing Day, early tree strippers will look on in horror as twinkling lights continue to twinkle in our house well into January.
Christmas is a delightfully social time, there have been several holiday anecdotes to share over a mulled cider and mince pie.
Naked swimming with a StingRay went down well with a Canapé.
Not only the actual and accidental naked swimming with a Sting Ray but also the Origin Story of my small habit of swimming naked on occasions. Just Because.
When I was 17/18/19 and on the cusp of leaving home for college in London, a new hotel was built in Brentwood, Essex that featured an outdoor swimming pool. It had the gloss and pzazz of California and the weather of Essex. People posed around it in long dresses and Dinner suits. The hotel was very popular with Ford executives from nearby Dagenham for parties and dalliances. I had a friend who was regularly booked to DJ at corporate events there. Brentwood was between London home and home home. So if he was doing a gig there I could catch up with him from either direction as an assistant who enjoyed a free to me party for dancing, I also lugged numerous boxes of vinyl as my part of the bargain. Dancing and lugging vinyl was hot work, even in December. Why not have a quick swim in a barely used pool before catching the last train home in whichever direction I was travelling. Long before security cameras I doubt anyone ever knew.
I pretty much gave up naked swimming in my responsible years but since becoming a year round sea swimmer the occasional urge to be at one with cold water and nature in just my skin comes upon me.
Nothing untoward has ever happened until my StingRay moment last month.
I had positioned a large swim towel for fairly instant modesty. A towel which I completely ignored once I realised I was at one with nature that could quite possibly do me harm.
I scampered up this boardwalk butt naked with one name ringing in my mind. Steve Irwin.
A complete over-reaction I am sure, but my early years in the cold water of Brentwood, Essex had only prepared me for grumpy hotel staff. Not creatures with stinging, life harming bits.
About 18 months ago Google offered me the chance to have AI assistance with writing my blog. It was a brief research piece for Google
” Replicating your own unique voice”
I suppose I tried it for about a week, the results were dreadful, they never saw the light of day, and if my voice were unique in their AI way there would be no regular readers.
In art and photography there is a place for AI and digital skills. I use both for image manipulation but then I use tried and trusted analogue skills to replicate my own unique style.
I suppose the previous paragraph was written to reassure myself and all my loyal blog readers that I am not a flat earth dinosaur, AI luddite. But oh how I love the analogue skills I learnt in regular photography dark rooms and medical imaging dark rooms and the print rooms of art colleges. The joy of just writing down my whimsical ponderings is also a much loved skill. I know my haphazard punctuation and grammar slippages can be infuriating. I am analogue through and through wearing a voluminous cape of digital skills.
My two images for this blog are sunrise at Coogee near Sydney and Sunset at Portwrinkle in Cornwall. One month apart.
I asked AI what the connection was between the two and was rather charmed by the answers.
I suppose my connection was somewhat conceptual. I particularly love sunset because just over the horizon somewhere else is getting a sunrise. Conversely sunrise makes me a little guilty almost responsible for stealing someone else’s sun.
AI would never be able to replicate that convoluted thought process.
The conundrum of giving and receiving. One is more virtuous. I strive to be virtuous. But also love gifts. The joy of a paper wrapped surprise is a life affirming activity!
Blog #1378 wallowed in nostalgia and some dog extra sensory perception. I am comforted by nostalgia and a little sadness is easily softened by the reliving of many happy moments in the same place. But familiar places are never dull. Especially on a day when the sunshine quota was high.
Early visits to Fowey in the 70’s and 80’s, were to a seaside town still functioning as a place where normal people lived, and tourism and locals co-existed. Butchers, Bakers, a Fishmongers and Pharmacy all filled Fore Street The physical buildings remain more or less the same but their form and function have changed to service the hoardes of wealthy Airbnbers and luxury hotel visitors who flock to Cornwall every year.
As a visitor myself I am as much a part of the problem as anyone who has travelled further to enjoy the beauty and texture of the place.
In this old Fishing and Pirating Port , tourists have become the catch of the day and buccaneers treasure chest all rolled into one.
Shops and businesses change hands and function almost overnight. We have become loyal customers to specific buildings not so much the business operating within it.
Hot Chocolate @SaltSociety Fowey.
Three generations of family and friends have shared the joy of Fowey on day trips and weekend breaks. The Boom years of tourism. But what comes next.
The tin merchants of 4,000 years ago could not have imagined the Piracy of 400 years ago. Just as I struggle with the changes of 40 years of tourism. Casting forward 40, 400 or even 4,000 years what will be the niche business of Fowey?
Pondering the future during Twixtmas. Round and round , mind meandering at its best.
P.S A glorious shop window viewed from inside. Giant Quality Street Sweets.
This picture is a good representation of how my mind feels pondering all that future Fowey…
I would say my political views have not altered too much over time but my view of politics has changed greatly, and more recently that change involves fear and anger for where the world is heading.
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