Category Archives: Photography

Anyone Want to Come for a Walk?

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“Want to come for a walk with us to Cockwood?” I asked, looking first at my seven year old niece Charlotte (alias Sporty).

“No thank you Aunty Sally,” she said after a long and pensive pause.

Likewise John, sixteen, (had a feeling he would have “homework”!) and eleven year old Daniel (also known as Bubba) deliberated long and hard before screwing up their faces and making their excuses. At this juncture Lizzie and Martin came home with little Mary (Fairy), who had just won a silver medal at an athletics competition. She, too, had no yearning to walk with us the five or six miles to Cockwood and back.

“Benji would probably like to go,” said Liz, “he hasn’t been out all day – has he John?”

Chris bridled. As kind and sweet as my husband is, he has never shown any interest in young Benji who is hyperactive and a tad over-affectionate.

“I’d love to,” I smiled and excitable Benji plonked himself on my lap and gave me a kiss (I don’t mind his affections).

“Come on then, let’s go,” I enthused as I was eager to continue with our walk (we live nearly a mile from my niece).

“I’m sure he’ll be good with you,” Liz encouraged with a broad grin and Martin slipped me a bag of goodies for Benji (just in case).

Now I enjoy to stop and take photographs whenever I go out walking so guess who ended up looking after our hyperactive charge?

“You look quite at home with him,” I told Chris.

“Well I’m not really as heartless as you imagined – I grew up with dogs,” said Chris.

And Benji the Cockapoo (not cockatoo) behaved impec(k)ably – except for when he ran across the road to make friends with a horse!

Walk Along our Sea Wall at Dawlish

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In spite of the cold weather, also Chris’s cold and my sore throat, we try to get out for a walk whenever the sun shines. Amongst the photographs of our pretty coast in the winter sunshine is a shot of me looking like Lawrence of Arabia – that was taken after a downpour of icy-cold rain on one of our less successful walks when we had to turn back. Happily, the next day was stunningly beautiful (but not today!).

Cold Comfort

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To think that just a couple of weeks ago I was sweltering in the Tropical Dome at the Botanical Gardens, Brisbane; now there’s a place I would like to be right now – warm damp air on warm, damp, wrinkle-free and silky skin. No goose-bumps, no hunching of shoulders around the ears, no need for socks, trousers, jumpers or coats…

The central heating is on. I’m wearing fleecy track bottoms, a sporty top (you have to look the part to feel the part – all part of my new Slimming World healthy living plan), a soft pink cardigan and a scarf, doubled. You might imagine that I should be warm but, no, my nose and hands are frozen. Little wonder that English people are reputed to have good skin – they spend several months of the year in cryogenic suspension. Cold comfort!

My tiny hand was frozen enough, even before placing it under the cold tap. My hand recoiled, my shoulders went up.

“Better than warm water from the cold tap – no need to keep it in the fridge,” Chris laughed.

I winced at mention of the word “fridge”. Warm water out of the cold tap sounded most appealing, likewise a swimming pool or spa heated by the sun; a sheet covering, or not, at nighttime – such bliss.

Last night I spent another night alone in our bedroom with two heaters turned on; Chris spent another night in an upstairs bedroom – no wish to spread his cold – although I had a sore throat myself. I’m fighting it (not fighting fit).

I lay in bed at four in the morning, fighting it with positive thinking, then thinking about two more stories for the new book, started but not revisited in such a long time. For some reason my subconscious self stirred me to think about Alexei the French Russian with the poet face, who taught French at the Grammar School long ago; who played gypsy guitar music and who could have been “the one”… Why did he hang himself in his forties? Could I have prevented him? No, not “the one” but I still think of him and wonder, and mourn, especially at four in the morning.

In the cold light of day Hurricane Imogen had abated; the rain had stopped but the wind whipped up the spume on the crests of the waves as they rolled in to shore. Imogen wasn’t as aggressive as Hurricane Henry, whom she had followed, but still she had a lashing tongue. Coming inside from the terrace I shivered. I would stay in and nurse my throat – maybe even stop it from progressing. No gym sessions today. There’s plenty of time until Thursday night – Slimming World group night. Do you know that there are hundreds of free foods to eat on the Slimming World Easy Plan? Cold comfort – I don’t want to eat any of them. What I wouldn’t give for a nice piece of deep-fried cod in unctuous crisp batter!

Without Jas

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“Look,” said Mary, “Sasha has come out to greet you. She’s so happy to see you!”

Mum and I had just got out of the car and we were trying to mind the mud. We had come to visit my sister who was farm-sitting down at Rosie’s farm. Sasha reached up her paws on my leg and left muddy marks on my trousers – too late to worry about mud – and I lifted her, like a baby, from under her tiny forelegs and brought her against my chest for a kiss and cuddle. Malachi, who also was part of the welcoming committee, rubbed against our legs and hit our knees with the happy wagging of her tail.

Once inside the farmhouse kitchen I avoided looking at the spot, in the shadows under the side table, where Jas used to lie on her favourite mattress.

“Malachi lies with Sasha now,” Mary informed.

Upon hearing her name, Malachi stood between the two chairs opposite me at the table, where Mum and Mary were sitting, and they petted her.

“Is it alright to let her have part of my hot cross bun?” Mum asked.

We laughed – she had already let Malachi have the last of it.

“Rosie left me this book to read,” began Mary as she lifted a book from the table, “written by Ben Fogle. It’s called ‘Labrador'”.

My sister read aloud the short introduction to the book and finished in a stream of tears; my eyes were pricked and I don’t know about Mum – we were both silent. In a moment the familiar glossy black coat of Malachi was pressing against me, her tail wagged at my touch and her head found its way under my hand. Dear Malachi, dear Jas.

Here are some photos taken at the end of last August when we four girls picked up apples in the orchard at Larkbeare…

 

 

Lay Your Head Upon My Pillow

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I’m in bed listening to the ear-worm in my head – “Lay your head upon my pillow, hold your warm and tender body close to mine…” – which is quite funny really because I am quite alone. I don’t know the time exactly but I’m guessing that it’s about six o’clock. I’ve been awake for a couple of hours, thinking and listening to this ear-worm… over and over. A train passed a while ago, lighting up the darkness behind my bedroom curtains, but not enough to illuminate the chaos at the end of my bed… our bed; I haven’t finished unpacking yet, five days on.

It’s a wonder I can hear the ear-worm over the sound of lashing rain, wind and waves… or maybe it is my subconscious trying to block out the English winter. The fog from long haul flying has cleared, almost, but still I can’t sleep through the night. I’m thinking about my last morning of waking up to sunshine – at five-thirty – and feeling the excitement of going home, also the stress of last minute packing and dread of the long haul ahead.

Chris has a bad cold and is sleeping upstairs, way upstairs at the top of the house (our bedroom is on the ground floor and there are two storeys between – “never twain shall meet”, just the train!). He doesn’t want to give me his cold and I don’t wish to receive it. But I’m all alone in bed, with Elvis Presley in my head (could be worse) and a mental picture of Sterling the cat upon my pillow… Oh, for the good times.

“For The Good Times”

Don’t look so sad, I know it’s over
But life goes on and this old world will keep on turning
Let’s just be glad we had some time to spend together
There’s no need o watch the bridges that we’re burning

Lay your head upon my pillow
Hold your warm and tender body close to mine
Hear the whisper of the raindrops fallin’ soft against the window
And make believe you love me one more time

For the Good times
I’ll get along, you’ll find another
And I’ll be here if you should find you ever need me
Don’t say a word about tomorrow or forever
There’ll be time enough for sadness when you leave me

Lay your head upon my pillow
Hold your warm and tender body close to mine
Hear the whisper of the raindrops fallin’ soft against the window
And make believe you love me one more time

For the good times
For the good times

Love is in the Air on Australia Day

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In spite of the lack of sunshine yesterday it was quite evident that everyone, tourist or local, loved to be at Southbank, Brisbane, on Australia Day.

In the Bag

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“That lady looks jolly attractive in her hat and Australian flag draped around her,” I thought to myself.

I rather wished that I had thought of something special to wear, it being Australia Day, but I hadn’t planned on going out today at all – not until I had a phone call from our friend Roland last evening. And even then I had no idea that we would be going to the West End and South Bank, which is where we were when I saw the cute elderly lady in her patriotic outfit on the seat. As I drew nearer to the lady I noticed something else unusual about her – she had the same white crocheted shoulder bag as I have (and which I had with me at the time).

“I like your bag ,” I said, making her look up. “It’s exactly the same as mine!”

She looked at my bag and smiled.

“Where did you get yours from?” she asked.

“Oh, my Mum gave it to me years ago – maybe twenty years or more – and I think she probably acquired it from a charity shop. It’s my favourite bag. When it gets dirty I just bleach it and wash it and it always comes up as good as new.”

“I do the same,” she said nodding, “and mine came from South Africa over twenty years ago!”

The nice lady with excellent taste let Roland take a photograph or two of us together. I was going to sit beside her on the bench but the seat was wet so she suggested we stand… I hasten to add that I am not over six feet tall and three feet wide – by my reckoning the lady was a petite four feet seven or eight!

Still on the subject of bags, Archer the cat (the elder of my charges here at Charis’s house – I’m house-sitting) joined me while I was painting on the verandah yesterday afternoon. Admittedly, the outside settee had rather a lot of my art equipment resting on it and you might have thought that a furry cat would prefer to lay on the cold concrete on such a hot day… but no, Archer fancied the black shopping bag that normally holds all my paintbrushes! He looked so sweet I had to stop painting and take photos. And there was another coincidence this morning… Whilst waiting for the lights to change at a road crossing in West End, Brisbane, I saw another animal in a bag, this time a darling little dog in a mauve bag suspended from a woman’s neck.

That’s it for now – my blog post is “in the bag”.

 

 

The Sting

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The sun, on its way down, still sparkled on the breaking waves but the shadows from the trees up on the beach path were inching their way across the sand; soon the long shadows would reach the straggler sun-bathers and send them packing home. The fisherfolk had already arrived, and were still coming – we were coming to join them; Roly had come up to the north coast for the surf fishing and he had arranged to meet a kindly old fisherman called Robert, who had promised to bring along a surf rod for my fishing buddy. There was no way I would be able to cast out beyond the breakers so, after the greetings with Robert and Adele, I took a long beach walk with Chris back in England – on my  mobile phone . Chris enjoys to hear the sea, the wind, and the snippets of conversation as I walk along and meet people with a “Hello” or “Isn’t it beautiful this evening?” We feel like we are together, as if we were strolling along the beach at home on a summer evening.

Every so often I said to Chris:

“Will you wait a minute while I take a photograph? I’ll send it to you and call you back…”

In that way my far away husband sees the same as I do, just a bit delayed; we saw our friend, shorts half wet from the surf and rod in hands; we delighted in seeing a little girl as she ran, ahead of her family, with the wind in the gathers of her pretty red dress; we thrilled at the waves tumbling over my feet and Chris could imagine the sand being drawn from underneath them. Maybe he even saw that last wave, the one that brought in the string – seaweed, I thought – that wound itself around my ankle and wouldn’t shake free.

“I’ve been stung by a bluebottle,” I said.

“I hope you’re not allergic,” Chris wondered.

 

I’m not allergic to jellyfish but a bluebottle isn’t a jellyfish; those small clear sacks aren’t filled with jelly – they are bladders of air that help to keep the tentacles of the Portuguese Man-of-War afloat. I am allergic to a Portuguese Man-of-War (millions of micro-organisms working as one to paralyse and kill). The pain from the sting itself was nothing in comparison to the searing agony that began ten minutes or so after the sting – something akin to molten lead in my bloodstream going up into my thigh, then my groin and abdomen…

The paramedics, Jackie and Ken, left only after the Adrenalin and antihistamines had taken effect and I could move my hands and walk around again – perhaps an hour and a half from the time of the sting. By morning even the swelling had all but disappeared – and by lunchtime there was no sign of the ordeal that had caused so much fear and panic. I went to the shops for a cool down and later… no I didn’t go down to the seas again (“To the lonely sea and the sky”) – I started a painting of Bella the wonderful golden retriever in my book, “Beautiful Bella”. Sadly, she died last June. I’ll finish it tomorrow and show you. It’s good to be alive.

Feels Like a Holiday

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Have you ever been to the Sunshine Coast, Queensland? Have you ever been to my friend Lorelle’s house at Buddina? If your answer to those questions is “No” and “No”, then you should and could – it’s beautiful here and Lorelle does Airbnb so you can book online… just not for the next two weeks because I’m here house-sitting with Stefan, another of Lorelle’s friends, while she is away. A lovely German girl called Katrin is with us for a few days and we’re all doing our own thing.

My “thing” is waking early and going for a long walk or cycle ride along the path that runs parallel, but higher than, the beach; of course it gets hot so I come back for a swim in our pool; then after lunch, what could be nicer than an hour or so spent at Kawana Shopping Centre? Shopping? Well, yes, that too, but the main reason most people go to the shopping centre is for a cool down in wonderfully air conditioned surroundings (one step through the door and we all go “Ah”). You get hot again as soon as you step out and go to the car park so the pool is most welcoming after “shopping”. Then it’s time for another walk along the beach before dinner, and I delight in seeing the happy faces of the people coming off the beach – the swimmers, surfers, kite-flyers and sun bathers – or the families on bikes, or the singletons keeping fit. An added pleasure comes from taking Chris with me on my walks – on the phone!

Tomorrow morning you’ll be able to find me on the calmer estuary side of Point Cartwright – fishing! I guess it sounds like a holiday. What about work? Painting? Writing? Yes, yes, yes, I know. All the gear is out on the verandah waiting… just for a few days while I enjoy feeling like being on holiday.

Last Cast

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“Farewell and adieu unto you Spanish ladies, Farewell and adieu to you ladies of Spain…”

I do so feel like singing that old sea shanty now that I have an affinity with Robert Shaw’s character, Quint, from the film “Jaws”. Oh, and I have plenty of scars to show – not shark attack scars of course, but ones acquired honourably  nevertheless (especially the swimming accident one – 45 minutes to clean up and sew at Southport Hospital many years ago!). Talking of shark attack…

My assistant and I were at the rather innocent sounding Pelican Slipway, Redland Bay, for a spot of fishing (my last for a while as tomorrow I shall be heading up to the Sunshine Coast). Roland had all the luck, catching a fine bream within the first half hour, after changing the bait from old squid (refrozen and thawed twice) to a piece of diced steak. I caught only the sun and, for the most part of three hours, I left my rod standing in the crevice of rocks; never willing to just sit and get bored, I scrambled over the rocks with my mobile phone camera.

Time passed happily enough for me, although my casting out was amateurish in the extreme and I had either to admit defeat by calling upon my aide’s strong arm or make do with short casts… with the tide going out. Apart from the once I made do with my own feeble efforts.

“Time to go, I think,” said Roland. (He had already had his prize.)

“Just one last cast?” I implored, not really thinking that it would be any more successful than the previous attempts.

The last cast was equally as short and disappointing as the many before, however, within moments there was an enormous bite on my line and my heart leapt. It was a big one – I could tell.

“Let it out,” yelled my helper, “then bring him in a bit.”

And so, with such sound advice, I brought Jaws onto the rocks and my seafaring friend fought to hold him long enough for me to take a few photographs. Those mighty jaws made short work of the fishing line and the desperate shark was allowed back into the water, albeit with a nasty big hook still in his mouth.

“Oh… Farewell and adieu unto you Spanish ladies, Farewell and adieu to you ladies of Spain…”

 

Quint’s Song – Farewell and adieu. – YouTube

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GVmeeYwEiQw
May 7, 2011 – Uploaded by Mc Fly

Quint’s Song – Farewell and adieu. …. The best parts of the movie are when Brody, Hooper and Quint go ..

And should you like to hear the whole song, there is another version below.

FAREWELL SPANISH LADIES – A SEA SHANTY – YouTube

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=54JSY9uNceY
Jul 16, 2012 – Uploaded by videoblast

HERE’S TO SWIMIN’ WITH BOW LEGGED WOMEN!