Marco Place
Yes, this definitely feels like it’s time.
Strange that such difficult things can also feel so good in a concurrent state. I like that, being suddenly a fan of the middle-ground.
And I will miss this little life but it’s time to start another one; and this earlier setting will always be there somewhere, in a specially marked place, archived but easy to access.
At some points I had worried that perhaps I didn’t have enough to show for it, but now I see I was given more than I could ever know I needed.
Calle Regina
I’d forgotten how much of a fantasy this place really is. Despite all us tourists and chichi shops, centuries later this still (or is it just now again?) feels an enlightened place. I could never miss a car.
It feels best when you see the mundane stuff all in boats too – fire service, construction traffic, postal services. Curiously reassuring.
East Foreshore
Yesterday was a cocoon day but today is definitely not. Today, all you can do is sit back and react.
East Foreshore
Whatever you might hear me say, or hear me think, this is a charmed life.
Oh, and spot the blackbird.
East Foreshore
After all that drama last night, it’s a shock to find a cocoon day. Good for introspection, I suppose.
Hewitt Road
It rained and it thundered and it rained some more. It poured all night long. Like it was never going to stop.
And then, when the morning finally came, the sun crept along with it and all the hard work that the rain had put in was carefully illuminated for all to see.
W 38th Street
Room with a view?
Well every picture does tell a story so I guess so. How about the truth behind living with 97% humidity? Yuk.
Broad St
It’s like returning to the scene of the crime.
But who’s the victim? I can’t tell anymore.
I’ll swim later.
Hewitt Road
And then a day like today you get nothing. No shadow, no movement, no wind against your face. No sounds, really.
You have to do all the work yourself.
And I quite like these cocoon days.
East Foreshore
Everything has shifted. It’s already darker much earlier and the white horses have set in.
We’ll battle down the hatches.
Hewitt Road
The more I photograph this scene the more that’s exactly what it becomes: act 2, scene 3… optimism fills the household as the sun pushes across the neighbouring roof tops, finding its way into dark fungal corners; act 1, scene 2… Mary’s dream sequence – a dramatic but unstable sky dominates, while a rainbow hangs, delicate but consistent. And so on.
I’d like to see this play. Or maybe then again…
Hewitt Road
Ah, this feels like a familiar London again: rain, peeling paint and old net curtains. I’d say these windows are around 4m max away from us.
Oh yes and a nice big grease extract chimney from the Thai restaurant, out the back of Agnes’ new place last night. London’s rear window Victorian / C21st hybrid vernacular is its own animal.
Benham’s Lane
This being open to things thing is quite extraordinary. I’m liking the nu-u, PC. I’m not feeling it stopping.
Meanwhile, you could be forgiven for thinking life along the river never changes. But actually, on closer inspection, some of the strong signs of the future are right here as we prepare for ‘that week’, Henley Royal Regatta, year 175. Advanced technologies, and youth for starters, but coupled with international Olympic athleticism … doesn’t sound that sleepy. I can’t help thinking that just a week of that a year must have quite an effect.
For a change, I’m hearing American accents – rowers, not tourists – in an English setting, and feeling an allegiance. Careful, Culley.
WHEN I WOKE UP 