Mithraea

2010-08-09T20:49:00.007+01:00

Riverside Festival

On Saturday evening I went to the Riverside Festival in Nottingham, on the banks of the River Trent. Probably 75% of the city's population were crammed into an area the size of a school playing field, intent on spending their hard earned (or signed for) pounds on a variety of rides and street food.

The evening ended with a firework display to dazzle the masses, and was a great way to see how the city fathers have chosen to spend the council tax this year. Here are some snaps of the evening, along with artistic blur to enhance the war/documentary photography feel...

This stall was massively popular - inebriated parents inserted their offspring into huge inflated plastic balls, then launched them across a miniature lake...and roared with laughter as their brats slowly suffocated and staggered and flopped their way to seasickness. This is evidently the culmination of thousands of years of cultural evolution...truly we have come a long way from gladiators in the arena and so on.

This unfortunate fellow was shot in the arm as he enjoyed a ride; one of the hazards of the job when you live in Nottingham...

The gun shop had a stall which was a popular draw...

Fireworks! It was like an artillery bombardment, but more colourful, less deadly and hugely entertaining. So nothing like an artillery bombardment at all.

Alix and Cara had a go on some of the rides...

...walked around some of the stalls...

...and went on some more rides.

So there you go. If you were eagerly anticipating photos of my expedition with Clay to Lunt Roman Fort, then bad luck. I'll stick some pics of that up soon. Or never. Or something.

2010-07-12T14:56:00.007+01:00

Tom in Nottingham

Here are some photos of Tom, in Nottingham.

Some of these turned up on Tumblr, so you have seen half of them already. Nevertheless (or neverthemore) I thought I may as well ram them down your throat some more, because I haven't taken a photo of anything else in a while.

Tom was extremely patient while I fiddled about with the flashes, camera and so forth and generously didn't mind that my directions mainly involved saying things like "Er... ah... turn your erm..." or "Look to the light. No, don't. No, do." etc.

There were two main reasons for this exercise; one to have someone stand there while I snapped away, so I could get more 'practise' (for what, God alone knows) and also because I had a particular shot in mind...

Not this one. I think Tom was waiting while I muttered something like "Just need to check the flashes are working" or whatever, for the millionth time.

Among other things, Tom does some free-running, or Parkour. To my utter surprise, 'parkour' doesn't seem to be a part of a wider lexicon - well, Alex claimed not to know what it means anyway. Parkour is an energetic street sport, in which participants leap and tumble over whatever they can find in their path - ranging from rubbish bins to Big Issue sellers. Apparently it was invented in France, with historic influences from Africa and Indo-China - undoubtedly first practiced by Foreign legion soldiers as part of escape and evasion tactical training.

Since the glory days of Dien Bien Phu and Kolwezi however, parkour has become Starbucksized into a watered down, wishy-washy consumer culture shadow of it's former self. No longer do participants undergo a strenuous jugement par combat by way of initiation, instead DIY guides and t-shirts proliferate on the internet, while an 'Official' Parkour network has been established, along with events sponsored by Red Bull, and probably Audi or something. In fact, you may recall that bit at the beginning of Casino Royale where Daniel Craig sprints around a building site - a scene so far removed from the original spirit of parkour as to be almost parodic. About the only nods to authenticity were the guns and explosions. And the bulldozer. And the Hawaiian shirt. Actually, that scene is about as close as Hollywood or you will ever come to le parkour authentique.

Hang time

If you're going to complain that I've cropped the hands/feet off then it's Tom's fault for not jumping high enough. He only got to about 10 feet off the ground here, which in my view wasn't really trying. I quite like the shot though, so it doesn't matter what you think.

First curtain flash. Dammit, should've gone for the rear curtain.

This is kind of the shot I had in mind. Not really, but sort of.

Anyway, Tom was a great subject and I can put you in touch if you have any parkour that needs doing. Normal programming will resume shortly, ie a blog post every three months.

2010-04-25T22:38:00.032+01:00

Green's Mill, Sneinton

Marcus came round, because he had to go to some kind of Viking conference in Nottingham this weekend. To make up for the sheer boredom that must have entailed, we decided to go to Green's Mill, where Science and Flour collide.

Marcus, having just been told where we're headed, wondering whether it's too late to back out and catch the next train north.

Marcus takes a snap of Green's Mill, while laughing in the face of danger (walking around Sneinton without an armed escort)

Green's Mill was the home of George Green, Nottingham's most famous son and the man who basically invented mathematics. His legacy to the people of Britain is an operational flour mill, which to this day provides most of Nottingham's flour, and science.

Alix thought we were joking when we told her where we were going.

At the heart of the mill is a flux capacitor, which allows the amalgamation of flour and Science using a cold fusion process invented by Green while high on a tincture of lysergic acid.

Marcus takes a closer look, risking genetic mutation and a nasty sunburn.

After wandering around the entirety of the attached museum for thirty seconds, and getting stuck behind bawling toddlers snotting all over the interactive displays we made our way to the windmill! Alix and Marcus got stuck talking to some bloke who looked old enough to have been one of George Green's personal chums, and by the time he'd finished off the bottle of shandy he was clinging onto he probably thought he was. After they finally managed to extricate themselves from his rantings we climbed aboard.

Alix, illuminated by the glow of plutonium graphite rods in the cooling tank at the base of the windmill.

The mechanism has been repaired over the years with bits of Enigma machines.

This chain hoists bags of wheat to the top of the windmill, prior to the grain being converted into Science.

Bagging area, where powdered Science is measured and weighed using avoirdupois measurements

Sacks of raw Science, packaged up and ready for despatch.

After exhausting the photographic possibilities of the windmill (which didn't take long, especially as the miller made good his escape within minutes of us boarding), we set our sights on the churchyard of St Stephen's - minutes walk from the windmill, and burial place of George Green.

His memorial is not well marked, and it took a detailed survey of the graveyard to finally locate his resting place. Exhausted, we paused only to take some portraits, then - as the rain started pelting down - made our way back to the car.

Marcus ponders the achievements of the man to whom we owe so much

Marcus gadding about. Show some respect for George Green!!

Marcus (left) and Alix (right) in the distance behind some dandelions.

As we bade farewell to Green's Mill, a howling wind whipped up dark clouds and driving rain spattered the windscreen...perhaps there is some truth in the local legend that Green stitched corpses together in the basement of the windmill on storm lashed winter evenings

Marcus shows how many thumbs up he gives Green's Mill

2010-04-06T22:36:00.003+01:00

Panic on the streets of London

“A Lacewing Fly Spreads Consternation in Wellington Street.”

There's a great post on Futility Closet reproducing some images from a 1910 edition of the Strand Magazine, in which the editor pondered the likely effects of insects many times larger than their actual size.

I wonder what the Edwardian phrase for LOLZ was...

2010-02-17T18:18:00.006Z

Wee infographic

Alec sent me an email today, containing an earth-shattering revelation:

"I calculated, last night, that in my life so far, I have had a staggering 70,000 wees. (based on 5 wees per 24 hour period)

In other words, if all my weeing was done in one go, this would be a monster piss that streamed for almost 1 month, continually, no stretching off, no breathers, just a long, seemingly endless river of piss, followed by an enormous sigh of relief and a cheeky little fart that slips out as I shake off. Imagine the looks of respect and envy I would get from fellow urinal-users. But then – and I know this from experience of wees (I’ve had a few, I can tell you) – I’d put the old boy away at the end of the aforementioned month only to discover that I’d mistimed it and actually there was still a dribble to come, but just maybe a day or so of in-pants dribbling.

If you assume that on average an entire trip to have a wee takes 5 mins (including checking yourself in the mirror, looking at washbasin afterwards, considering – and rejecting, once we’ve established no-one can see – the idea of washing hands, checking yourself again in the mirror from a different angle, remembering to zip up, etc etc) then we are talking of around 10 months of my life which has been spent going to have a wee.

I mean – that seems quite a lot, doesn’t it?

And – to bring an “Environmental Misogynist” perspective, given that birds use toilet paper to wipe off and we tend not to, that means they use a frightening 140,000 sheets (at least) of bog paper more than we do – that’s nearly 1,500 extra rolls of Andrex! How many trees is that? Lots, I imagine.

Damn."

After I'd finished laughing (I admit I laughed so hard some wee might have come out - skewing the results of the chart), it occurred to me that there is a handy way of disseminating this kind of unpublished data... So I present to you what may be the world's first wee infographic. I extrapolated some data about the Falklands War, to which Alec added:

"This means that if I started weeing as our brave boys left their barracks in Hereford, I would be only just in my flow when the Belgrano bumped off the seabed of the Atlantic Ocean, and I would STILL BE WEEING as our boys yomped over to Goose Green and gave the Argies a good spanking. Now – everybody, together, including Maggie: 'aaaaah, I needed that one' ..."

2010-02-15T00:39:00.009Z

Wha' go on?

It's been a while since I posted anything up here, and I am sure you're agog with anticipation to find out what's been happening. Rather than bore you to tears with every minute detail of my hectic and frankly astonishing life I'll just spray a load of photos across your browser.

In the past few months I have mainly:

Partied hard

Checked out Lincoln Cathedral

Walked round in snow

Took photos of Alix

Walked around Leeds Christmas Market

Took photos of Cara

Walked round in rain

Took photos of tulips

And taken charge of a cat. Which you'll hear about in no doubt excruciating detail later on.

2009-11-26T20:45:00.002Z

I Want a Goat

After the massive success of Lonely Island's all time classic I'm On A Boat (putting the video on the blog drove traffic up by like 300%, so I had 3 people drop by for a change), I'm pleased to present I Want a Goat:

2009-11-24T19:33:00.008Z

Leeds by night

I met up with acclaimed Leeds-based music photographer Giloscope last Friday night, to return a lens which he'd kindly loaned to me. Secretive by nature, in case his legions of fans spot him and mob him, Giles insisted that we meet in notorious Triad watering hole Northbar. Giles is seen above, ordering a pint of absinthe and some beer while a riot kicks off around him.

In breaks in our conversation, Giles used his iPhone to exhort the free world to keep on rocking.

Giles is a proper photographer; he's not comfortable or happy unless he has a camera in his hands, taking photos. Quickly downing our drinks, we hastened across town to his 'office' (a shipping container in a hidden corner of a desolate industrial estate), where he picked up his camera and a 50mm lens. Thus armed, we ventured into the night. The challenge was on! Both shooting with the same kit we were about to blaze a path through the seedy underbelly of a northern town's nightlife. Let the gods sort out the rest.

Our first stop was Leeds' traditional German Christmas market. Leeds has a long-standing connection with Germany, and was the site of a V2 factory in the mid 1940's, as well as being where Arminius's ancestors came from, history fans! Anyway, Leeds Christkindelmarkt seems to be a totally authentic experience, from the Malaysian staff at the chocolate nibble stand (above) to the Teutonic dodgems.

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse were having a bad night. Famine had pissed off to Subway for a Meatball Marinara, and Pestilence had to ride a giant chicken, 'cos his usual horse was being reshoed.

Art, so you can bog off if you don't like it.

This is probably the shot du jour, we didn't really push any boundaries after all. You may as well stop reading now.

A rare shot of Giles. Legendary.

Some leaves. Backlit for your enjoyment.

Big Bite. Food. Fast.

We wound our way down towards the Arches and railway station, the throbbing heart of Leeds nightlife. I reckon there's a heap of documentary photography to be done round this area, and - if you survived - it'd be fine training for a combat photographer.

Gritty, urban Leeds. This is a gay bar, not a strip club.

She'd heard a new club had opened just yards away.

More art. You can buy a limited edition print of this for a thousand bucks.

That night we learned something about what happens if you carry a bunch of SLR around your neck when there are hordes of pissed up people milling around. Instead of smashing a broken beer bottle through your kidneys (as I'd expected), they are more likely to demand that you take their photo, apparently in the misguided belief that you're a photographer for Heat or something. X factor. America's Most Wanted. Whatever the kids are into these days, I don't know. So, we were approached by:

A Welsh woman...

...and her crew.

...er, a cocktail bar (hey I just put these photos up in sequence, take it up with the management if you don't like it)

Someone who demanded chewing gum from Giles, then photos.

..and some others (including a bloke dressed as a whoopee cushion), but the pictures are pretty atrocious, so I won't stick them up here.

So there you go, bra. Leeds by night. Safe.

2009-11-17T00:42:00.005Z

Becky

Becky's Mom asked me to take some photos of her. So I did. Since I'm sure you're fascinated, here are the lighting details: One medium softbox above, containing a speedlight at 1/16th power and a reflector below. All on the Canon 50mm 1.8 Mkii, a truly awesome lens. Click the pics to biggerise and see how cool the lens is...

By now you'll have seen this one on Flickr, yeah? Just in a different flavour.

I learned a lot about taking portraits of kids. They won't stand still for more than a few seconds, and are easily distracted. In Becky's case, the TV was a handy distraction, but so was the softbox, the tripod, the back of the camera and so on...

...and kids get bored quickly. Very quickly. Nevertheless, or alternatively, neverthemore, Becky was trés well behaved and a great time was had by all.

2009-11-10T22:34:00.018Z

Amsterdam

LEC invited Alix and I over to Amsterdam for the weekend. The essential plan he proposed was:

"Saturday: I’ll get you from the airport

In the afternoon I’m off to watch the rugby and see our brave boys in white thump the shit out of those slimy Aussies – you can do what you want

Evening we’re going to Sjouk’s sister for snert (google it – Dutch peasoup, very very nutritious & flatulent) with a few friends and then we're off on museumnacht

Sunday: Not a clue. Maybe take the dog for a walk on the beach"

So that's what we did. I'm just going to stick a few snaps up here, you can fill in the bits in between.

2009-11-03T00:33:00.003Z

The Lord's Resistance Army in Sudan

Moses was abducted by the LRA, and held captive for four months.

'They killed this one family except for one little girl. She was 7 or 8 years old. They ordered me "Kill her!" I said I can't. They said "Kill her or we kill you". I had to. What could I do?'

Moses is 15.

from Enoughproject.org

2009-11-02T02:34:00.003Z

Leeds riots

A ring of steel surrounded Leeds city centre on Saturday afternoon, as thousands of police officers from across the country descended on West Yorkshire's commercial and financial powerhouse. Their mission: to keep apart rival factions as the 'English Defence League' rally against Islamic extremism was countered by a rival protest of Unite against Fascism supporters. I strolled over to grab some shots, just like every other photographer and Flickr member in Leeds. There were more amateur newshounds and gawping bystanders than protesters, and probably several thousands of pounds more in camera and video equipment than police riot gear. And there was a lot of that.

To the journo's and photographers' evident disappointment, things didn't kick off in a massive riot, though the EDF led police and camera-toting Flickrites on a merry dance through the streets when they left the barricaded cordon in City Square under escort then suddenly broke into a run down Bishopgate Street. Apparently five people were arrested, probably for crimes against photography.

Anyway, Alex wanted to see the riot snaps after I called him from the middle of a police scrum (so he could hear what it sounded like). So here you go... I hope you like 'em.

2009-11-01T21:57:00.007Z

Gav and Lisa's Wedding

On Friday I went to Matfen Hall in Northumberland, to Gavin and Lisa's wedding. Rather than muck about writing a load of stuff about each picture I thought I'd stick up a slideshow for you instead. So crack open a cold coke, put some Rammstein on and settle in for 72 seconds of photographic mayhem.

Sorry if the postage stamp sized photos are too small - a tip for Firefox users is to hold down Ctrl and roll your mousewheel to magnify the page. A tip for everyone else is to get Firefox.

2009-10-28T23:46:00.006Z

Cheshunt

Last weekend I went to visit Williams and his missus in Cheshunt, just outside London. Label readers will recognise Cheshunt as the UK headquarters of supermarket giant Tesco, and indeed, the streets of the town are paved with low cost bean tins. Longtime fans of this blog* will remember Williams from an earlier post.

Williams is a virtuoso guitar player, and in fact the film El Mariachi is based on the years he spent in Central America as an itinerant busking hitman. Not only is he a dab hand at plucking a rousing flamenco tune, but he makes a mean Thai Green curry and can stand on his hands for as long as you like.

Ursula (right) asks Darren (left) if it's true that he composed the national anthem of Bulgaria.

So here are some snaps of Williams and his axe. It's rumoured that he's the mysterious sixth member of Manowar, but he denies this vehemently.

I met Williams at a Kreator concert many years ago. It was one of those concerts which you must have read about: multiple casualties and virtually everyone who has ever heard a Kreator lyric has either committed suicide or gone on a killing spree. And then committed suicide.

Camera buffs will be interested to know that the shutter speed on this was approximately 1/8000th of a second. And William's fingers ARE STILL BLURRY!!!

His guitar body is made of titanium impregnated cedar from a 1000 year old tree.

Williams is married to the indefatigable Mrs Williams, who strives to keep him in line. Here are some photos of them being married and stuff.

I was roaring at them to look at the camera. Would they? Not a chance.

Caution: Graphic images ahead.

"I know! White Zombie were ground breaking and genre forming!!"

OK enough of that.

Williams and I sought danger and adventure in the wilds of the Lee Valley Park. This is Williams' personal estate, which he has generously and anonymously opened to the public at large, a mistake in my opinion.

Having just spotted tiger spoor, Williams wonders whether it was a mistake to leave the .303 at the House.

Keeping an eye on the notoriously fickle Hertfordshire weather...

"Let's offroad!"

This picture is out of sequence, here Williams shows me how work is progressing on his private baths.

Investigating a nearby bush in terms of its' utility as a place to have a slash

This is Black Sunshine.

So there you go. A vignette of the whirlwind that is my life. You are not man enough to take it.

* I'm not going to stop you if you start a fan club.

2009-10-16T22:58:00.003+01:00

Battle for Hearts and Minds

This'll take less than two minutes of your life, so stop whinging and start watching:

Battle for Hearts and Minds Trailer from Danfung Dennis on Vimeo.

http://battleforheartsandminds.com/

http://www.danfungdennis.com/

2009-09-07T11:57:00.007+01:00

Bingley Music Festival

Gav came home last week all abuzz: a free music festival was to be held at Bingley!! Well, that's not totally accurate - only the first evening was free, so that's what we went to. Anyway the words 'free', 'music' and 'festival' were enough to overcome the 'Bingley' part of it, and as an added incentive the evening's main draws were reformed Britpop funsters Toploader and Irish rapscallions The Undertones!!

"The Undertones! Are they still alive? OMG I wasn't even born when they first broke up!"

Along with Gavros and Lisa, renowned Leeds-based band photographer Giloscope came along to add some kudos to the event. Giles was good enough to let me make free with his battery of quality fast prime lenses, as well as a naughty Sigma 24-70mm 2.8 - essential kit for low light photography.

"Toplawdah? In Bingleh?"

After a enjoyable tour of the roundabouts of West Yorkshire, we finally found our way to Bingleh (as the locals call it), quietly nestling among green hills dotted with council-estates and burnt out skips. We joined the throngs of eager locals in queueing at the entrance, but things looked like they were taking an early turn for the worse when the gate-lackey opened Giles' camera bag and started hauling out thousands of pounds worth of fragile and valuable camera equipment.

Even Toploader's roadies get cool stage lighting.

Instantly suspicious, he demanded to know Giles' professional status, presumably having an inbred fear of all photographers - no doubt something to do with police line ups and CCTV cameras. Thanks to the G-man's cool nerve and deadly charm, we were allowed in - though not before the bouncer got his meaty paws all over Gav's very expensive 70-200mm 2.8 IS, causing Gav to lose about three pounds in sweat.

"Please sir, I have a question!"

The music kicked off with a welcome and intro by none other than Welsh warbler TOM JONES! Or at least a lookalike impersonator so damn good he would have convinced Cardiffian chanteuse Charlotte Church. If that wasn't enough to overshadow the big name acts, the first band Tom introduced was none other than NEW2!! Possibly the best U2 cover band in the western world, fronted by a faux Bono (Fauxno) who actually utterly believed he was the real deal. To the extent that he referred to "Sunday Bloody Sunday" as "a little tune we wrote in Dublin"... Totally earnest and totally hilarious.

Toploader: "Aright Bradfor- Bingleh! You ready to dance in t' fookin moonlight?"

There was no way I was going to get a killer shot of any of the singers like what Gav and Giles were pulling off, so I concentrated on the crowd, and trying not to get my head smashed in for taking photos of strangers. Most were entranced, Bingley never having been graced by this level of celebrity before...

"Ah thought Kerreh Katoona was t' most femmis person ah'd see in t'me life like"

Most people were hypnotised by the presence of OMGToploader on stage ("In Bingleh! Eeeh!" etc) to notice me jamming a lens in their faces. The real killer was the bitter cold and quagmire of mud. I saw at least two revellers sink without trace in the treacherous muck and a quick assesment of the situation lead to an executive decision by us to abandon Bingley Music Festival to its fate.

Not a moment too soon, as it turned out because the crowd suddenly turned into a snarling ferocious pack - intent on destruction and mayhem. Perhaps the fake Tom Jones had passed out backstage in a stupor, and with his benevolent and calming presence no longer felt an animal berserker urge took over.

The Undertones. We gave up three songs into their set because the mud was threatening to engulf us and the crowd were turning violent.

Leading a charge for the stage.

We may never know, but with the front runners snapping at our heels we made a run for the car, and freedom.

2009-08-19T14:06:00.015+01:00

An evening of golf

I spent yesterday evening wandering around a golf course with Gav, while he practised his golf shots I practised my shots of golfers. Gav is a highly talented golfer, who not only has a set of his own clubs, but also has a handicap.

Gav trying to smack a wasp out of the sky with a 9 iron

I made a major faux pas early on in the evening when Gav sank a 50 foot putt. Astonished, I gave him a round of applause only to have him tell me to shut the hell up in case I disturbed other golfers. You'd think the other golfers would have appreciated a bit of clapping, to get them prepared for tournaments and stuff. Maybe that's Tiger Woods' secret - he can zone out extraneous noise, and be One with the ball.

Anyway, I reckon Gav'd be pretty good at mini golf, so I have swiftly devised a handicap system for putt putt. Basically, your handicap is the item you have to carry around with you for the whole game. So Gav's handicap would be dishwasher, whereas Alex's for example would be a meringue.

Capture the flag, a new way of playing golf

Gav don't need no caddy. Well, I was too busy taking photos to be any good as a caddy.

Having a rough time.

Trees and golfer. A fine art shot.

Taking another 50 yard putt in his stride

Another flag - I seemed to develop a bit of a flag obsession.

You know how when volcanoes erupt skeins of lightning fire across the clouds? Well in a similar way, every time Gav drives a golf ball, the sky turns apocalyptic.

Sorry, I couldn't think of a reasonable club-based pun to put in here. Feel free to make any suggestions.

Gav had to chuck a ball into this bunker so I could get a picture of sunlight hitting the sand. Normally he gets the ball straight onto the green, usually within 3-4 cm of the hole. Though on occasion he'll land it several yards away to practice his putting.

Guns don't kill people, golfers do!

Another super putt. As I recall, Gav had his eyes shut on this one - and he still sunk it.

See? Another flag...

A par 5 hole, Gav probably nailed it in about two shots.

After about 70 attempts I managed to take a photo of the ball as Gav hit it. This has resulted in a picture showing the ball apparently stationary in the grass, yet simultaneously moving through the air (the white streak on the right hand side of the frame). That's how fast Gav hits the balls. His main problem on the golf course is shattering balls through smacking them so hard.

Practicing with a wedge. See the ball? It's just above the flag. Well done that man.

I had a load of silhouetted pictures, but have whittled it down so you only have these two to endure.

See, that wasn't so bad was it?

More bunker practice.

End of the day. Gav's final score was probably something like 30.

A load of balls. OK, just one. Focus was slightly off here.

2009-08-08T23:51:00.008+01:00

Leeds

I've taken a few snaps since getting back from South Africa, so I present them to you here - a veritable smörgåsbord of shots showing the diversity of Leeds in the 21st century. Plus most of them don't make the grade for the Flickr page, so I'm putting them here. If you don't like it, take it up with the management.

The first picture, at the top, is of a titanium occult pyramid in Millenium Square, which has been intriguing conspiracy theorists for as long as 18 months! Perhaps this is Leeds' answer to Adam's Calendar?

Italian style in the grim north. Vespa means 'wasp' in Italian and Latin, linguists!

Urban smokers need instructions.

I think this sign was warning passers by of the general probability of death in Briggate being comparatively high.

Temple Newsam

Gav (below) and I tooled over to Temple Newsam one evening, and took a load of photos of vegetation and stuff. You can see his shots here if you like.

Backlit flower, 'cos I know Alex likes them so much...

Here's a hoverfly, the gardener's friend.

OK, so here are a few photos of plants and things. Garden photography isn't really my forté, I've sort of turned to war photography after the trip to South Africa.

Purple stuff.

A lamppost. I was waiting for the bus one evening and took a few shots. This is a composite of two photos: one had the top of the lamp, plus an unsightly building in the background - the other had the foreground and walls as you see them here. Neither photo was too great on its own, so I combined the best elements of each to produce a photo which still isn't all that.

Maria, who until last week was my colleague - she tolerated me taking a few snaps, as I shouted at her to smile.

Leeds Pride Parade

Finally, last weekend a massive Pride parade trooped through Leeds, hooting, hollering and waving gigantic multicoloured flags to the pulsing beat of Soft Cell trance remixes.

I guess this is the same as wearing your heart on your sleeve...?

2009-08-05T21:57:00.011+01:00

South Africa 2009: "An erection the size of Texas"

Our last couple of days in South Africa. What a trip it had been: we'd altered the course of history, freed a country from the oppression of the Boer, bagged most of the animals in the Kruger Park and been to the centre of the planet. Here's a quick breakdown of some stats for you:

1089 = number of 'keepers' - the photos I've not deleted

34560 = number of minutes we stayed awake during the campaign

200 = crates of pilchards purchased with an infant

1 = new age 'ancient' monument debunked

582.4 = units of alcohol purchased in the Old Rock Café

789.3 = units of alcohol given us in the Old Rock Café by grateful civilians

33 = burgers consumed

3 = tons of gravel panned for gold

0 = Boer Republics left intact

All in all, a resounding success! Having been fêted by the Lord Mayor of Johannesburg, we were informed that our war booty would form part of a memorial display at the South African Museum of Military History, a tribute to our glorious success. Because Alex has a passing interest in things military, we decided to go along to have a look.

Suddenly being surrounded by a vast variety of weaponry caused Alex to momentarily flashback to the Drakensberg, when we were almost overrun by attacking Boer. In a rage, he tore a Messerschmitt from it's stand and kicked it into a crumpled pile of scrap.

Easy, Tiger.

Once he'd got it out of his system though, we were free to explore to our hearts content. Some of the stuff we captured from the Boers had already been installed, and frankly it was chilling to see it up close.

Alex, unperturbed by the massive challenge we'd overcome in utterly destroying the Boer.

As we made our way through the museum, Alex suddenly swooned. He was visibly overcome by the sight of a biplane in the second hall. Since we'd maintained total air superiority over the Boer for the duration of our campaign I hadn't bothered paying any attention to aircraft identification, but once he'd got his breath back Alex reliably informed me that what we were looking at was a rare surviving example of a SE5A, the plane which pretty much won the First World War for us. I think it would be fair to say that Alex had an erection the size of Texas when he saw that baby. And who can blame him.

Some guns and stuff.

We knew it! The Boer had been secretly developing biological weapons! Here's a suicide Springbok, trained to carry ordnance undetected into our lines! Thank god we flattened them before they had the chance to deploy! Note the Union flag behind - this is the one we hoisted over Spioenkop.

Alex, just prior to test firing some sort of cannon.

Montecasino

As a final treat, mere hours before we were airlifted out, we went to Montecasino, billed as "Gauteng's premier entertainment destination". A reconnaissance balloon from our campaign was on site, so we took a ride.

I tell you what, not being fired on by Boer sharpshooters made all the difference, and much fun was had by all.

Montecasino, contrary to our expectations, was not a reconstruction of the famous Italian hill. It was however a reconstruction of a quintessential Italian town - exactly what you'd hope to find on the plains of Africa.

As with authentic Italian villages, you are searched for guns before you enter.

Alex is utterly perplexed by what looks exactly like an Italian town, built in a humongous warehouse and stuffed with designer shops and a casino.

This was more baffling than the Mind Buggering™ bridge at Maropeng!! We took refuge in a nearby bookstore, where Alex found religion again...

...and then caught up with David Icke and Paris Hilton.

Vivian, a gentleman to the end, graciously posed for some snaps - time that OK! South Africa would have paid millions of rands for.

Time to wrap(p) this holiday up.

11,000 metres above Marseille. I hope I remembered to take the elephant tusks out of my baggage...

Finally, on board the military transport on the way home, the pressure lifted, the terror slowly evaporated and I drifted into the first sleep I'd had in three weeks...

If you've reached this point and are thinking "WTFWTF? This is not LOLZ!" you need to go back and do some catching up:

Part 1: South Africa Campaign 2009
Part 2: Kruger National Park, part 1

Part 3: Kruger National Park, part 2

Part 4: The Drakensberg

Part 5: Miniature golf and Battle of Spioenkop
Part 6: Barberton and The Old Rock Café
Part 7: Swazi Black Hawk Down and Adam's Calendar flim-flammery

Part 8: Gold!

Part 9: Soweto lols
Part 10: Sterkfontein, Maropeng and lions

2009-08-03T23:20:00.011+01:00

South Africa 2009: Cradle of Humankind and the Lion shop

After the firefight that was our trip (I mean our high speed pursuit) through Soweto we needed a break from the fear and loathing of downtown Johannesburg. Plus I was down to my last pair of underpants, and couldn't risk soiling myself again. Not until I'd done a load of laundry, anyway.

As I've mentioned before, Alex is an archaeologist and what better place to take an archaeologist on his holiday but to... The Cradle of Humankind™!! It sounded like it'd be full of dinosaurs and gold and whatever else archaeologists look for. Vikings or something.

Our first port of call were the Sterkfontein Caves, fearsome caverns 50 miles deep and believed by the Romans to be the entrance to Hades. In fact 'Sterkfontein' is just another word for Avernus. In the picture above, Alex responds to a sign warning us of the impending horror of the cave tour...

Alex, meeting the ancestors.

Richard Dawkins: You knows it, clart...!

Alex and I hadn't survived this long by acting rashly. So we sent a pack of gormless tourists ahead of us into the caves, to pacify whatever beasts lay ahead.

Even now, almost weeks later, we wake up screaming and drenched in sweat reliving the nightmare of Sterkfontein. We were the only survivors of the party who originally went down. For three long days, we inched forward through the darkness...so dark as to be unable to make out a hand right in front of our faces. Our spirits were momentarily raised on Day Two, when we thought we heard a rescue team calling to us - but they were cruelly dashed when we realised the sounds we heard were our own sobs of terror. We managed to survive by sucking on handfuls of cave gravel, and finally emerged blinking into the light after chancing upon a trail of discarded crisp packets a school party had left in their wake.

Cave guide: "I'd given you up for dead"
Alex: "Yeah, it was pretty dramatic"

Some chap who dared look upon the Gorgon.

Our guide, beaming with relief that she hadn't lost us and therefore wouldn't have to ask Nelson Mandela to apologise to Britain.

Snakes on a plain!!

Maropeng

Maropeng is a $50 billion state of the art construction, designed by NASA's top engineers as a visitor centre to the World Heritage site that is the Cradle of Humankind™. Our tickets to Sterkfontein allowed us entry, and by god we weren't going to let that opportunity go by.

Alex's default expression: PUMPED.

Winding it's way ever downwards from the ticket gate is a pathway to the very centre of the earth, taking you back in time with every step!!

Alex, watching the very meteor strike that took out the dinosaurs.

At the bottom of the path, 4½ million years ago - when the surface of the planet was a boiling mass of boiling stuff - we found ourselves confronted with...

...a little plastic boat. This, apparently, was the next phase of our Journey back in Time, I bet Jules Verne never had it this easy.

SPRING BREAK!!!

Deeper and deeper we went, our little plastic boat bravely braving the rapids, tectonic shifts and boiling magma which were propelling us swiftly along through the darkness. Finally, we ground to a halt, at the centre of the earth. The centre of the earth! Treading deeper than any human has hitherto trod!

We staggered into the gloom, and crossed a rickety bridge. As we did so, the eerily glowing walls began to spin - faster and faster - until we fell to our knees, begging for it to stop. What madness was this!? It was like the bastard child of Ozzy Osbourne's worst nightmare! A passing twelve year old slapped some sense into us... well, glowered at us until we let him have a turn on the Bridge of Madness.

Alex on the Mind Buggerer™.

Frankly the mind buggering bridge was the highlight of Maropeng, so that was about $49,999,999,900 misspent by the government right there. In fact, if they installed the bridges in every town in the land everyone'd be too flipped out to do anything but cower in the dirt.

Alex, calling Elvis.

Replica of some kind of ancestral proto-human skull. I clearly learned a lot from the visitor centre. I'm telling you, the money'd be better spent on mind bending bridges...

You see what I mean? This cost $50 billion??

The lion shop

This was like the only sign we saw on a fence that didn't say "Armed Response".

...and this is why. Man eating lions!!

Alex gave a quick demo on how to control a wild lion. He punched it vigorously several times in the snout, which had the effect of subduing the beast, then he whispered oaths into it's furry little ears, reminding it that he is tha daddy.

Backlit lion.

This one was dead, so we could touch it with impunity.

Anyway, despite seeing a million different types of lion, we couldn't find one that Alex's mum would like so in the end we didn't buy any. I think he eventually got her a print of an elephant stampede, which frankly was a damn sight better than a lion, which would just wee everywhere.

Backlit cloud.

Backlit giraffe.

Oh. Em. Gee. I think this might be the penultimate post. If you need to reminisce, you know where to go:

Part 1: South Africa Campaign 2009

Part 2: Kruger National Park, Part One

Part 3: Kruger National Park, Part Two

Part 4: The Drakensberg

Part 5: Le Putt Putt and Spioenkop
Part 6: Back to Barberton!
Part 7: Swazi Black Hawk Down and Adam's Calendar

Part 8: Gold Fever

Part 9: Soweto and the Apartheid Museum

2009-07-29T13:10:00.014+01:00

South Africa 2009: Soweto and the Apartheid Museum

Johannesburg. Egoli. Some call it the murder capital of the world, and its electric fences, panic buttons and armed response security teams are enough to make the hardiest traveller wary. But it was a relief to get back after our experiences in the hell that is Swaziland, and on the Barberton goldfields. We chartered a private jet (see above) to transport ourselves and the massive pile of ivory, lion skins and looted Boer arms back to civilisation, and landed ourselves on the doorstep of Vivian and Derek, the highest echelons of Gauteng glitterati.

Vivian and Derek live in unimaginable opulence, and think a week is wasted if they haven't managed to trash a Ferrari or fill a hot tub with Cristal Brut. God knows why they agreed to host us, perhaps they needed to do some charity work to write off some tax. Nevertheless, they are two of the finest chaps imaginable who didn't even blink at the foul stench we were emitting after nearly four weeks of non stop campaigning.

Chateau Vivian aux Derek

We had barely had time to have our illegal ivory and diamonds confiscated by the authorities when we were on the road again - to the uncharted territory of Soweto!

Our first stop was the Apartheid Museum, documenting the rise and fall of apartheid and 20th century South African history.

Alex, wondering whether he is about to commit a major faux pas.

Inspired, thinking about the massive museum that will be built to commemorate our huge victory over the Boer.

Vivian and Derek making a casual offer to buy the entire Apartheid Museum, all its contents and the land on which it stands.

Some shots of apartheid stuff.

A solitary confinement cell - not university accommodation, despite similar appearances.

Derek doing time.

Onwards, to Soweto!

Bandit country!

Viv and Derek engaged the services of a shadowy figure to act as our guide. He answered to the name Xobo, but later denied having ever heard the name Xobo before. A large part of the tour involved him driving past sights at speed, often shouting "Get on the floor!" as he slammed his foot on the accelerator, or doing high speed U turns.

Firing a pistol out of the passenger window.

As a result, most of these pictures were taken from the car window, under fire, so I hope you appreciate them.

Get a lawyer? After I have got some body armour, methinks.

Pretty much our only stop was Walter Sisulu Square (billed as "South Africa’s first township entertainment explosion centre"!), site of an impressive monument to the Freedom Charter. Xobo didn't get out of the car himself - instead, he kept the motor running and covered us with his pistol as we ran bent double to the monument.

An eternal flame burns in the heart of the monument - lit by former president Thabo Mbeki, his spokesperson said "The flame will not go out even if it rains". Truly a noble monument to a historic document.

The eternal flame. It has been put out because neighbourhood kids were at risk of getting burned. It's health and safety gone mad!!

The gentleman on the right is the best reason to go to Soweto.

He gives you the lowdown - straight, as it is.

He won't prettify the history, or make it 'family-friendly' or water it down.

He doesn't go mental at kids playing all over his monument...

...and he play's the national anthem...

THROUGH HIS MOTHERHUFFING NOSE!!!

Vivian, calculating how much champagne it would take to fill the monument.

The Regina Mundi church. It's a tip, full of bullet holes and the altar's all smashed up. You'd think they'd fix it up, after all it's a major tourist attraction.

Local lad done good.

Local lads on their way to do good.

So we're tooling around Soweto and who should we bump into but Antoinette Pieterson, Hector Pieterson's sister!

Viv, earning the GDP of Burundi in the time this photo was taken.

Another day, another sunset. Truly it is by the grace of the gods that we survived to see so many!

God Squad, Yeoville. Apparently they're using decommissioned technicals to get around!

OK party people, we're drawing this baby to a close: not many posts left to come. But you can always go back:

Part 1: South Africa campaign 2009

Part 2: Kruger National Park, part 1

Part 3: Kruger National Park, part 2

Part 4: The Drakensberg
Part 5: Putt putt and Spioenkop

Part 6: Back to Barberton

Part 7: Swaziland and Adam's Calendar
Part 8: Gold fever!

2009-07-28T10:27:00.010+01:00

South Africa 2009: Gold fever!

Things were looking bad. We'd smashed up Adam's Calendar in a fit of rage, and were running out of money. We needed a new plan - fast. We were sat in the Old Rock Café, nursing our Windhoek Lagers and passionfruit cordials, when Alex turned to me with a glint in his eye.

"See those hills?" he said, gesturing toward the horizon.

"You mean those 75,000 year old pyramids?" I asked.

"There's gold in them thar hills!" he shouted with a whoop. Spurred into action, we tracked down South African Champion gold panner, Danny Brink - if there was anyone who could turn us into weatherbeaten goldhounds, it was he.

Danny Brink - a man with a pan.

We assembled at the crack of 3 o'clock in the shadow of the armed guard outside Agnes Mine. Danny's vehicle screeched up behind us in a cloud of dust and oaths, and after a swift altercation with the guard we were in! Illegal gold mining was going to be the making of us!

These boots were made for mining.

We were all set to get our hands on the dynamite, but Danny wouldn't have it. "Get your boots on!" he shouted, in a voice that would make a grizzly bear cry. Whimpering, we followed his instructions.

"Please don't hit me sir!" It was like being in the Foreign Legion all over again, but with gumboots.

Danny, showing us his 'Championship pan' - he can pan three tons of gravel an hour with this baby when he's in the zone.

Finally, we made it to the water's edge! After twenty minutes of instruction, Danny let us loose with the words "Any gold you find is yours to keep!" To stack the odds in his favour though, he started firing rounds from his rifle over our heads as we frantically scraped and scratched at the river bed.

Alex showing us how it's done. Danny described his technique as "stylish".

After three hours of freezing cold scuffing about in mud, all I'd found was a load of pebbles and had soiled myself several times. Danny's shots were getting lower, so by the end of the day we were almost prone in the river. Swearing like a sailor with pox, Danny leapt into the river and shouted that we were "a bunch of bleddy pansies!". Sweating furiously, his face turning bright red with the effort, he used his mini pan to whip through twice what we'd managed in three hours.

The gold we missed.

"One day, son, all this will be yours"

One day, all this mountain will be Alex's.

Chastened after a hard day's graft for a few flakes of gold which we spent getting liquored up on gin.

On the drive home we stopped the car a few miles out of Agnes mine. The sun was setting over a scene reminiscent of the Mekong. All that was missing was some Wagner and a load of Hueys. We stood for a while, openly weeping.

Later, we relaxed and unwound the only way we could (in the absence of putt-putt). That's right, Catopoly! It's a strategy game, loosely based on Risk, Go and US tactics in Afghanistan. I won the first round, but then - resting on my laurels - took my eye off the ball. Before I knew it, Alex had dominated the game, owning every species and had a litter box on every inch of the board! Oh noes!

Alex forgets all about the horror, the horror of Agnes Mine.

Full spectrum dominance!!

All this didn't solve the cashflow problem. On the verge of selling body parts, we turned to Mother for advice.

She took us to the Piccadilly Deli, where she is the local capo, and sat us down. I can't divulge what she said to us. But suffice to say we were going gold mining again!!

Alex, taking a moment to ponder the merits of what Mother has proposed to us.

er... some kind of flower.

The fruits of our labour! A mile and a half long tunnel, carved through the living rock, and yielding two ounces a ton of gold!

It had been a hard day's night, and Alex had been working, like a dog.

Finally, heading back to the Old Rock Café, one last time.

Next up: Back to Johannesburg!

Part 1: South Africa Campaign 2009
Part 2: Kruger Park, part 1
Part 3: Kruger Park, part 2

Part 4: Drakensberg

Part 5: Mini golf and Spioenkop

Part 6: Back to Barberton

Part 7: Swaziland and Adam's Calendar

2009-07-27T11:44:00.015+01:00

South Africa 2009: Swaziland and Adam's Calendar

En route to the Kingdom of Swaziland. Hopefully click for bigger, though Blogger seems to treat these photos at random; some you can embiggen, others you can't.

There's only so much partying you can do when you're a dog of war. So one day, Mother, Alex and I reconnoitred the main access route from Barberton to Swaziland. The baSwazi are a fearsome, warlike people hitherto unconquered by any who have encountered them. We trod warily...

The road to Swaziland

The Swazi border post was probably the trickiest that any of us have yet had to deal with. Liberal bribes were required before we could pass...

Alex, making a "donation for a television set". We all know that really means "bribe".

Alex: "Thank god they have tea in Swaziland!"

We were all extremely tense. The Swazi's warlike reputation, and the cursory manner in which we were manhandled at the border post had us all on edge. Mother was a split second from grabbing me in a headlock and snapping my neck when I walked up to take this shot.

Eventually we settled down, and perused the extensive menu. Here, Alex is trying to decide what to have...

The extensive menu.

A Swazi warrior/waitress.

Smiling as Alex recounted how we smashed the Boer at Spioenkop.

Alex writing a note of thanks to the Swazi King, for not having us eviscerated.

Here are a couple of shots which bring something of the vibrancy and culture of Swaziland to your monitor...

Alex found religion, momentarily.

En route back from Swaziland. We'd been in country for maybe an hour and a half. Doesn't sound long, but you try going that long without blinking. Tense doesn't begin to describe it...

Back in Barberton, here's a backlit plant for your enjoyment.

Oh noes! In our absence, Jeremy had tried to oust Morris as Governor of Mpumalanga! Fortunately we were able to broker a peace deal, and they now rule as a duumvirate.

Alex brokering the peace deal. We had seven tonnes of kitty pellets choppered in for the event.

"Aaargh! Apocalypse!!"

Oh - it's OK, only a sunset...

Adam's Calendar

The oldest statue on earth.

Right. Adam's Calendar. A major bone of contention for all of us. High above the de Kaap Valley, or 'Valley of Death', lies Kaapsehoop - an old gold mining town. Some years ago, a bush pilot flying over the area noticed what appeared to be megalithic standing stones, which he and a local crackpot investigated. Today, still wanted by the government, they operate a highly overpriced tour, aimed squarely at Graham Hancock/Erich von Däniken fans. Sadly, the author of Adam's Calendar wasn't able to guide the tour as he usually does, so we were ably led by his protegé, Enosh. Enosh's primary role is as a birdwatching guide, and he is very talented at that. He has also committed to memory the details and theories about Adam's Calendar.

Our first stopping point was a small drystone structure which wouldn't look out of place in a trendy gardening centre. It had a tree growing out of it. "Here", said Enosh, "is the Altar. It is 75,000 years old." Alex wanted to know how one could date the structure, which - to his untrained eye (note for the casual reader, Alex is a professional archaeologist, with over a decade of experience) appeared to be closer to 75 years old. "Ah," said Enosh. Apparently his extensive training had prepared him for this. "The tree growing out of it is very slow growing".

I (always ready to broaden my knowledge of the natural world) enquired the rate of growth of this particular species. Enosh thought for a bit, as he considered the tree. "I would say," he surmised, "that this tree is at least 40 years old".

Well that clears that up then.

Enosh then drew our attention to the valley, far below. "See those two hills over there?" he said. We did. They looked like two hills, standing side by side, but boy were we wrong. "Michael [author of Adam's Calendar] believes that they are pyramids, built 75,000 years ago, by two star-crossed lovers! We still need to investigate, but if you are churlish enough to require 'proof'..." [I paraphrase his words] "...then let it be known that the hills align with every point of Adam's Calendar! And..." by now we were agog "they also align with Orion's Belt!".

Holy shit. If that's not proof of extraterrestrial forces at work then I don't know what is. As an aside, Alex and I spent the hour long drive home identifying pyramidal structures. Since Barberton is surrounded by hills, we saw a lot.

I'll let Alex go into full detail about the wonder that is Adam's Calendar; by this point I had lost interest and started taking some photos.

Ancient tool marks, identified by a pair of modern tools. Apparently the lichen on the stones helps date these bad boys to 75,000 years old!

Alex gives his verdict on Adam's Calendar.

The Calendar stone. Apparently on the solstice, the sunrise aligns [with something]! Sadly we weren't there on the solstice.

Holy shit!! Maybe we were there on the solstice!!

Alex got chatting to a woman who had some ideas. She disputed that the stones could have been moved during 19th century mining operations; "How could those people then have moved these massive stones? They only had donkeys and carts!" Alex, experienced archaeologist who has worked around the world: "Er, what about the Pyramids - they were built by slaves!". Gullible woman: "Well, that's only a theory!". Sorry Alex, the Pyramids were built by superior alien beings from the Orion constellation!

Alex: "You're an idiot"

Woman: "No, you are"

Needless to say, Alex got in a massive rage, and smashed Adam's Calendar into a thousand bits. So this blog entry will save you the bother of going.

Enosh. Doing a difficult job when he'd rather be birdwatching.

Behold, a silver box with wires coming out of it! It must be Kaapsehoop's only...

Alex, disgusted that the book Adam's Calendar costs nearly £20

Some knick knacks on sale at Kaapsehoop. Or ancient stellar alignment measuring devices?

Alex chatted up a hot bird on the way home.

Back in Barberton. The hill we climbed the other day is... an ancient pyramid! Look! It even aligns with the Caltex garage, which proves it!

Yeah boy! Check out the lead up to this point!

Part 1: South Africa Campaign 2009

Part 2: Kruger National Park, part 1

Part 3: Kruger National Park, part 2
Part 4: The Drakensberg

Part 5: Putt putt and Spioenkop

Part 6: Back to Barberton

2009-07-25T16:24:00.012+01:00

South Africa 2009: Barberton again and farewell to Fiona and Mark

Our job was done in the Drakensberg: the Boer resistance had been shattered and an interim government installed in Kwazulu-Natal. It was time to push north, to regroup at HQ in Barberton once more. Across the country, the Boer menace had been stifled so Fiona and Mark decided to return to Australia, leaving control in our capable hands. Of course, we couldn't let them go without a suitable farewell, so we sounded the Party Alarm and went to Barberton's premier nightspot, the Old Rock Café.

Legend has it that the Ministry of Sound and Ibiza's Privilege sent research teams to Barberton to find out what makes the Old Rock Café so unique. Indeed, Alex and I found ourselves drawn back night after night to sample the vibrant local culture. One evening, a massive VSA (Victory in South Africa) celebration was held in our honour. Collaborators were shot, and a thumping party continued long into the night.

The 'Barberton Stud', a lone wolf, not tied down to anyone, this gentleman and his ponytail danced with every woman in the bar, without fail.

A customer complaining to the barman that the Barberton Stud hadn't spun her around the dancefloor yet.

"More lasers than Star Trek!" is how the Old Rock Café should be advertised.

The dancefloor going absolutely mental! There must be what 10? 15? thousand people out there!! This was the evening's second playing of Lady Gaga's Poker Face. Imagine the crowds during the first play! And the third...

Alex, now a local celebrity, after smashing the Boer scourge.

Barberton's youth, larging it.

Another solitary dancer, having less luck than the Barberton Stud.

Barberton miscellany

With the Boer defeated, Alex and I took some time to see the town.

We were the first to scale the south face of Mont Inaccessible; here Alex surveys what is now British territory.

More captured armaments. For a bunch of cowardly rascals, the Boer were certainly well tooled up.

Crikey. I don't think the NHS have taken to advertising on lamp posts just yet...

Mother and Alex reliving some of the campaign's high points.

Morris the cat, installed as Governer of Mpumalanga province.

A war memorial we set up to commemorate our massive victory.

Heh heh... don't bash on the machines....

It's not over yet - not by a long way!! Still to come: Cross-border infiltration and Megalithic conspiracy theories!!

Relive the glory:

Part 1: South Africa Campaign 2009

Part 2: Kruger National Park part 1

Part 3: Kruger National Park part 2

Part 4: The Drakensberg

Part 5: Putt-putt and Spioenkop

2009-07-24T12:45:00.010+01:00

South Africa 2009: Le Crazy Golf and Spioenkop

Waging war is a difficult business. Great generals through the ages have found countless ways of relaxing, in order to refocus the mind, calm nerves and prepare for fresh battles. Churchill did so by becoming prime minister, Caesar wrote his memoirs and fondled young men, Powell lied to the UN Security Council.

Sun Tzu said "Earth comprises distances, great and small; danger and security; open ground and narrow passes; the chances of life and death...". He was clearly referring to what the French know as Le Golf Loufoque: Miniature golf. The best way to destress in a war. How do I know this? The stats prove it: Total number of the team currently suffering from PTSD? None. Bam.

"Your club, sir"

Mother attempting "The Scoop", despite our agreement that we would be playing by Olympic rules.

All is but shadows and dust...

Winding down in the 19th

2009 Cayley Lodge mini golf tournament champion.

Spioenkop

The next day, alarm ran through the camp like a bout of the squirts. The Boers were on the move! They had taken Spioenkop, a steep hill just outside Ladysmith - British territory! Spioenkop was named after a football stadium in Liverpool, itself named after a prominent local Dutch businessman from the Old Dutch 'Spion' meaning bald, and 'Kop' meaning head.

We arrived just in the nick of time, as the scurrilous Boer were setting about putting the land to pasture and organising a boereorkes. In short order however, we organised the local inhabitants of the area into a militia of mounted cavalry, minted coinage to pay them and commenced the attack. Victory was swift, but at terrible cost. We lost two of the chaps, who were laid to rest under the African skies.

The loneliest grave in Africa

The second loneliest grave in Africa

Another day, another battle won.

Not an Asian pose... This is 'The Churchill'.

A true patriot

A true Aussie patriot

Still to come (what, there's more?): Back to Barberton and the Old Rock Café!!

Can't wait that long? Why not go back to:

Part 1: South Africa Campaign 2009
Part 2: Kruger National Park part 1

Part 3: Kruger National Park part 2, and Barberton shenanigans

Part 4: The Drakensberg

2009-07-23T13:07:00.014+01:00

South Africa 2009: The Drakensberg

The Drakensberg: The Dragon Mountains. Ominous and foreboding: this was the mountain hideaway the cowardly Boer were making for. Having tasted the sharp end of our assault, they had turned tail and scurried for the rocky peaks of Southern Africa's highest mountain range. There was no choice: we had to pursue them. But to do so meant traversing the kingdom of the Zulu...

The Kingdom of the Zulu.

Girding our loins, we headed for a new base camp: Cayley Lodge. Surrounded by impassable mountains and water, the Lodge was an excellent strategic location selected by Mother to continue the campaign against the filthy Boer. It was tactically enhanced by the availability of miniature golf, a well-stocked bar and a swimming pool.

View from the Observation Post.

A number of punitive expeditions against the Boer guerillas were undertaken from Cayley Forward HQ. For the first of these we employed the services of a local guide who was able to take us deep into the heart of enemy territory.

Ever resourceful, he was able to show us some pristine examples of ancient Bushman rock art...

Danger was of course ever present, and a sharp look out was maintained at all times.

"Where are those pesky Boers?"

The enemy is sighted!

A tussle ensued, and the men fought bravely. We took our first casualty when a Boer .303 nicked Mark on the hand.

Mark shouting "Why I oughta...!"

Yellow-bellied as they are, the Boer hastily beat a retreat, refusing to stand and fight like soldiers. There was nothing for it but to put their land to the torch.

Scorched earth policy.

Mark and Fiona celebrate our victory, and Alex in a contemplative mood.

To the victors the spoils.

We were running low on supplies. The pilchards we'd purchased in Barberton with the baby had been used to build a defensive structure and most had been damaged or destroyed during the Boer attack. It was time to head for the nearest trading post to stock up!

Food for the lads.

A warning to outsiders? Some kind of cult shrine? We still don't know...

Those damn giraffe! They get pissed up, think they're OK to drive, and see what happens...

Alex arguing with a trader about the price of ivory and glass beads.

Shewing the kind of vegetation we had to hack through to reach civilisation.

This sheep was the strategic mastermind behind the campaign.

A few more shots of the Officers. Fiona was probably busy on an undercover mission or something at this point.

"Boers sir! Thousands of 'em..."

Still to come: Assault on Spioenkop, and Le Crazy Golf!!

Have you missed:

Part 1: South Africa Campaign 2009 and Key players
Part 2: Kruger National Park, part 1

Part 3: Kruger National Park, part 2 and Barberton again

2009-07-22T11:09:00.008+01:00

South Africa 2009: Kruger Park Part 2, Asian poses and Barberton miscellany

OK, this post is basically just another image dump, more or less a visual archive to serve as the historical record of the campaign. Things were going well; we had the Boer on the run and had transformed into a battle-hardened strike force. Heading south from the Kruger National Park we struck out for Barberton once more in preparation to celebrate Granny's 90th birthday and Fiona's 33rd.

Alex rangefinding a mortar attack on Boer positions, just outside Satara camp, KNP.

I ordered a chicken sandwich and this is what I got. It's not chicken, and it's not a sandwich. It's not even dead. I was not pleased.

Fighting the Boers is thirsty business.

Asian Pose #1 - V sign; Sponsored by Ultimate Sports Nutrition

Alex coming down off the Impala Lily high, Pretoriouskop Camp, KNP

Sunset. Or maybe sunrise. We didn't sleep for three weeks straight, so I can't remember which side of daylight this was.

Just out of the Kruger Park the convoy stopped at a local farm to practice some scorch and burn tactics. I was supervising this when suddenly a rabid dog attacked. It was clearly trying to protect its owner or something. As I rapidly assesed the situation, Alex approached...

"I've got something to show you", he said shyly. He held up a small bundle. "Shit!" Fiona shouted. "It's a baby! No more than a few days old by the looks of it!"

The Coco-Pan, Barberton. Commandeered to serve as the Officers Mess, due to its fine menu of toasted sandwiches.

Mogs. Owner of the Coco-Pan, and mad as a bag of spanners.

We'd carried Alex's damn baby for miles, and it was started to whine. Lesson learned: don't take infants to war. They will hamper you. Fortunately Mark's quick thinking saved the day...

The solution to the baby problem. We swapped it for 200 crates of pilchards: rations for the men!

A couple of snaps of Fountain Baths Gentlemen's Club, which accomodated our Command Post for the duration of our stay in Barberton.

To help raise morale, and to show the knavish Boer that our spirits couldn't be dampened, we held a party. By a lucky coincidence, Granny turned 90 that day and Fiona turned 33. Mark entertained everyone with an impromptu display of Asian poses and Barberton's finest turned out to see and be seen.

Don't miss

Part 1: South Africa Campaign 2009

Part 2: Kruger National Park

2009-07-21T15:01:00.018+01:00

South Africa 2009: Kruger National Park Part 1

An Impala Lily. Potentially has aphrodisiac qualities. Alex ate one and went on a week long rampage.

To get a feel for the land, we went on a safari, slaughtering everything in our path. Alex has gone into great detail about the size of the park (Wales), conspiracy theories surrounding the park, and a comprehensive list of the animals we shot and stabbed. I can't really add to it, other than to provide one or two snaps to fill the picture out a bit.

Our transport buggering off into the long grass.

Mother, laying out the campaign strategy

Thatch.

Alex, contemplating the brutality that would follow. So many young lives lost...

A view of the camp at dawn.

Holy crap - Lions! No tigers though: this isn't Kenya

Where does a giraffe go to get his Cadillac filled? Total, of course.

Roll on Meat Week...

Don't miss Part 1, South Africa campaign 2009...

2009-07-21T09:25:00.016+01:00

South Africa Campaign 2009

Africa. The Dark Continent. Situated just south of Spain, Africa is one of the 7 largest continents in the world, and is a place of mystery, war and fear. Few Europeans have traversed its interior, and those who do return touched by madness, with a faraway look in their eyes.

Johannesburg, last week. A guard giraffe watches as a vehicle enters the technical shop.

In late June 2009 a crack squad was assembled to penetrate the Heart of Darkness. (Joseph Conrad apparently set his novella along the Congo River. South Africa - as geography buffs will know - is south of the Congo, and thus is more of a Colon of Darkness). Along the way these hardy adventurers encountered danger, excitement and recalcitrant natives. This is an account, in several parts, of the campaign, en Afrique.

Key Players

Alex

Mark

Fiona

Lynne

Alex, Mark, Fiona and I convened in Johannesburg. Our first task was to rendezvous with Mother at the head of the the First Column at HQ in Barberton. Our route took us over the treacherous Long Tom Pass, on a road we had to hack from the bare rock.

The road we built over Long Tom.

As we progressed, we came under intense enemy fire. Boers! A daring flanking attack led by Sotheran soon put the wind up the cheeky blighters and sent them packing. Final tally of Day One: One gun captured, no casualties. A resounding success!

Alex demanding the surrender of the Boer artillery.

Alex taking measurements of the weapon, which is to be installed in a memorial park in Central Rotherham.

At the going down of the sun, we will remember them.

A Boer devil, shortly before he felt the might of British steel.

2009-06-06T01:17:00.008+01:00

Mike in 'Preset Madness'

Marcus and I met up with Mad Dog S----n earlier today. He's on the run again, apparently the mercenary business in the Congo didn't really work out and he got fed up with selling blood diamonds at a loss. So he's back in York, selling snake-oil and shiny trinkets, and writing a bestselling book.

If you want anything written I can put you in touch with him.

So anyway, after S----n's swearing got us into a brawl, and after our brawl got us chucked out of the bar, I managed to convince him to pose for a few portraits before he grows a full face beard and a Russian accent as a disguise, and disappears for another 4 years. It was kind of dull light, so I had to whack the ISO up to 1600. You know what that means, photo fans... noise central.

Thanks to The Power of Lightroom, however, I was able to chuck a bunch of presets out, hence making the noise appear to be an Artistic effect. Don't be fooled though, it's just a lazy way of jazzing up a picture.

Lightroom presets, for all you non-photo readers (hi Alex), automate actions in Lightroom. Lightroom (for all you non-photo readers) is a piece of software which catalogues your digital photos and lets you do some post production work on them. The presets can be pretty simple (straight black and white conversion) or ridiculously complex (cross-processed LOMO effect vignetter with Velvia effect contrast push).

Some of them worked better than others...

But overall the take home point here is that it's better off to take a quality picture to begin with rather than relying on your postproduction to try to rescue it. Ideally, I'd like that Canon EOS5d Mark II for its low noise/high ISO capabilities, but S----n had run out of blood diamonds so he ain't gonna get it for me.

It's just occurred to me that these have the air of having been shot in a South American prison. Which is exactly what they were. Excuse me while I try to flog these to the Telegraph for a story about British prisoners in foreign jails.

Prisoner 44321, being led back to his cell

2009-05-12T18:05:00.004+01:00

Edinburgh

I walked round for a couple of hours the other day and took some photos. Here they are.

Some steps, and Edinburgh Castle.

Some kind of flower, in Marchmont.

A tree backlit by a street lamp. I'm gonna stick a black and white version of this on Flickr, see which one you prefer.

In other news, I'm thinking of becoming an MP, so I can claim some costly camera gear on expenses. Can I count on your vote?

2009-05-03T17:31:00.015+01:00

BUPA 10k run, Edinburgh

(click for bigger, yeah?)

Yesterday morning I woke up to the sound of a squadron of helicopters buzzing the skies above my house. It was like Black Hawk Down, but with fewer RPG's. When I staggered outside, however, I was gratified not to find Josh Hartnett and Ewan McGregor fast-roping into the streets of Edinburgh, but the leaders in this years BUPA Edinburgh 10km run barrelling past.

A fine art photo entitled 'Shoes'.

Recognising a photo opportunity when I saw one, I grabbed a camera and a 50mm lens and dashed out to get some unique and diverse shots of a major event in my backyard. Unfortunately I failed, because all the pictures are blurred - by panning to follow the motion - so they're not very diverse. I maintain that the blurring was done for artistic effect, and wasn't me being rubbish. Thank you to all the naysayers...

Naysayers, running. As fast as their legs can carry them.

Running 10 kilometres looked like a doddle to me, especially when I tooled up to the finish line an hour and a half after the start and people were still trailing in. Admittedly these were the people dressed as Daleks and camels, or the guy who had done the entire thing carrying a 55lb pack on his back (maybe he couldn't find the cloakroom before the race started?). But then I discovered the bloke who won did it in about 28 minutes. It takes me that long to find my shoes when I go running. Anyway, I reckon that with a bit of training I should be able to knock off next year's 10k in about 32 minutes, so I'm looking for sponsorship.

A dog, Edinburgh, yesterday.

Your money will go to a worthy cause, namely buying me that Canon EF 24-70mm 'L' lens, so you've no excuse not to dig deep.

These people weren't even in the race. The guy on the left was chasing the guy on the right for calling him names.

Another fine art photo, entitled 'Short rotund man, surrounded by taller, leaner men'.

I reckon that with one or two 10k runs under my belt I should be in fine fettle to do a marathon, so start saving 'cos I'll be wanting more sponsorship. Canon 5D Mark II's aren't cheap, you know.

2009-04-24T17:43:00.009+01:00

York and Scarborough

Last weekend I went to York, and met up with Alix and Marcus.

Alix, looking totally unflappable

Alix undertook an epic drive from Nottingham to York, and then didn't even bat an eyelid when I insisted that we took a road trip. So we went over to Scarborough, to look at the chavs.

It was a gloriously sunny day, so the promenade was heaving with hairy bikers and their equally hairy husbands, day trippers from the council estates of Yorkshire and beyond, and one or two bewildered foreign tourists wearing baffled expressions and trying to find Scarborough Fair.

A daisy, Scarborough.

To escape the throng, we climbed up to the castle, where Alix proceeded to demonstrate the ancient art of daisy-chaining. She is a total pro at this kind of thing, so while I smashed up a mound of flowers, Alix calmly linked up a bunch of them in record time.

I had to clone out a couple of damn tourists in the background here, because they spoiled the flow of my photograph.

About five seconds in, and Alix has already made a fantastic chain. By this point I had realised my own incompetence, and wasn't even going to try and compete.

Shortly after the above photo, a giant dog bounded over, slavering and drooling, it's great eyes flashing with menace. Apart from clearly being rabid, it was the size of a horse. For all I know it was a rabid horse. Quick as a flash, I grabbed Alix's daisy chain and made ready to lasso the beast and subdue it, hence saving the day. Fortunately though, the hound noticed a toddler and chased after it, howling like a pack of Siberian wolves. Sadly I didn't get any shots of it, because I was busy trying to hide the wet patch in my jeans.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Marcus and I had a good time too, though to everyone's relief it didn't involve daisy chains. Since York was experiencing winds rating between 8 and 9 on the Beaufort Scale, we got his Patang fighting kite out.

OK, I don't know if it is actually a Patang fighting kite, but whatever it is, Marcus did some deft flying and managed to cut a squirrel in two with the munja lines.

Flushed with success, I convinced him to pose for some woodland based portraits, which follow:

The chilled shot

The corporate headshot

Rocking some rimlight action

The 'Betty Page'

The 'Van Halen'

The 'Che Guevara', sans cigar

The 'Samuel L Jackson'

So there we go. A great time was had by all, and both Alix and Marcus proved to be brilliant subjects... when these shots are published in Time magazine I'll split the proceeds 50/50 with you guys.

2009-04-14T18:26:00.008+01:00

Zoriah Miller

Zoriah Miller is a freelance photojournalist who takes real pictures, of real things - not the kind of guff you get on Flickr, like flowers and trees. He specialises in documentary humanitarian and conflict photography around the world, and strives to highlight issues which are under-reported or simply not publicised:

"I started this blog nearly a year ago with the idea was that it would allow me to make truly independent reports on important subject matter without influence from corporate media, who often choose photographer's assignments based on what stories they think will sell magazines and not what is actually important. I thought I could use it to not only give my stories a voice beyond print media but help me raise funds to report on subject matter that is avoided by large publications." (from his blog).

I'd strongly urge you to have a look at his website and get his blog into your feedreader pronto, instead of wasting your time here.

Before you do, I want to point you towards the post which prompted this entry, in which GMB Akash guest blogs about child labour in Bangladesh. Awesome photos, and something to think about as you lounge around in your cheap knock-off Gucci or Gap or whatever.

This is what photography should be about.

2009-04-05T11:56:00.008+01:00

Judy Cabbages
(This post has some technical details about cameras and stuff, so you can just look at the pictures, Alex)

On saturday I met up with Edinburgh photographer extraordinaire, Judy Cabbages, whose blog I mentioned recently. JC was heading for the National Portrait Gallery, because last weekend was the last possible chance to get in before they shut down for two solid years of renovations. So if you didn't go, you've missed out. Anyway, they'll need every day of the next two years to clear up after we got finished in there.

Some off-camera flash, using a Nikon SB-600 via the supremely nifty commander mode on a Nikon D80. In fact, this applies to all the snaps below.

JC was incredibly good enough to bring along a spare camera and pro-spec lens for me to try out, in conjunction with Nikon's sweet Creative Lighting System - which basically lets you fire off camera flash(es) while controlling them from the camera. This is all a far cry from my current system, which relies on cheap flash triggers from eBay and lots of swearing when the flash shuts down after 90 seconds of inactivity.

This meant that when one of Judy's groupies came storming down the Royal Mile shrieking like an injured harpie, I was able to fire off the above shot without even thinking about it, which is basically how I like to take photos... without even thinking about it. Incidentally, Judy usually has to adopt an elaborate disguise when out and about in the town, otherwise he spends most of his time fending off the attentions of his fan club...

Ever patient, JC posed for photo after photo - even though he is more used to collaring random passers by and sweet talking them into posing for him. I suspect that if I tried that approach I'd get a smashed lens and possibly nose, but JC is adamant that this won't happen. All I need to do, therefore, is take the step of asking total strangers if they'd fancy posing for some photos and remember not to back away hurriedly in case they lash out.

On the one hand, approaching strangers would mean that I could work on my behind-camera banter (at the moment this mainly consists of me saying "Try to look like you're bloody enjoying it" or "Smile. Smile. SMILE you bugger!"), which can only be a good thing. On the other hand, my preferred approach to taking portraits is to cornering my subject into posing and then spending upwards of an hour saying "Nearly there...just one more...smile...smile..." etc. You can only really do this with friends though.

Anyway, in the meantime I'm wondering how JC will take it if I flog his lens on eBay so that I can buy a Canon EF 24-70mm L lens. Probably not very well...

2009-03-31T16:38:00.011+01:00

York Un

I went to York this weekend and stayed at Chateau Clay. He is staying in a massive house which has its own library, multiple bedrooms and - rumour has it - a dungeon. Clay's primary task is to keep the house cat well fed, something he failed to do on Sunday. Fortunately I was on hand to soothe the savage beast, who was pacing up and down the hallway growling, hissing and generally looking furious. Apparently it starts every day by trying to claw Clay's eyes out until he gives it food - this particular morning however, he cowered under the duvet so the cat came to torment me.

I scooped half a tin of salmon-flavoured horsemeat into a bowl, and as if by magic the cat was transformed from wild-eyed predator to purring ball of fluff. I reckon Steve Irwin could have picked up a tip or two from me about taming the beast.

Once Clay had surfaced from his pit, we took a walk round York's city walls. The daffodils were out in force, so needless to say we took half a million pictures of flowers. All very exciting, I'm sure.

York's walls were built a thousand years ago to defend against the threat of foreign attack. Today, foreigners are drawn to the walls, to gasp and coo at the daffodils and generally get in the way. What would the Romans or Vikings have made of it all? Nothing - they would have torched the lot and put the populace to the sword.

York Deux

Later on, Marcus came round. Clay had better things to do than hang out with the likes of us, so while he went off to a barbecue, Marcus and I went to try out some informal portraiture. We started off in Wentworth College at the University of York.

While I readied myself for an intense photographic session with some combat meditation, Marcus stole some paper for me to use as a snoot on the flash. This helped narrow the light into a beam, see above.

In the corridor just behind Marcus is the entrance to Wentworth computer room. This is usually a hive of activity, and means that the corridor is normally crammed with panicking students who are trying to finish assignments. I don't know what Marcus did when he got my snoot, but no one came out of the computer room after his visit. Presumably he blocked the exit with the bodies of the dead.

The pictures above and below were taken at Clay's mansion, while he showed us some combat footage from some sort of computer game. Hence Marcus' suitably impressed expression.

I haven't got any pictures of Clay's cat just yet, partly because it moves like lightning, and is therefore almost impossible to photograph.

2009-03-08T20:29:00.006Z

Les Crevettes

Bronach made the mistake of leaving me at home alone this weekend, so I had to entertain myself. I started by speaking to Marcus, and we talked about taking photos of cutlery, inter alia.

Well, it's harder than it looks. Knives and forks reflect every damn thing in the neighbourhood, and keep getting shadows where they shouldn't and so on. To jazz the photos up a bit, I added a visual device known in French as a 'crevette'. The good thing about a crevette is that it distracts from the cutlery. The bad thing is that after trying for an hour or so to get a decent photo they start to stink a bit, and have to be chucked away.

Neither of these photos are particularly good, but I told Alex that I was going to photograph a prawn and he wanted to see the results. So if you're not Alex, don't look at the photos.

If for some reason you want to buy a print, I will refuse you because you are obviously some sort of pervert. They're going for $967.50, though.

Eagle-eyed readers will have noticed that I've added a new link to my highly selective list of links on the right. Judy Cabbages is an Edinburgh based photographer who actually knows what he's doing, and I'd recommend that you tootle over there now for a read.

Finally, based on the overwhelming success of the video in the last post I'm going to post another video from The Lonely Island. Apparently it's getting radio airtime in Australia. What I want to know is why it's not getting played wall-to-wall 24/7 on Radio 4. If I can get enough support we're gonna go down to London and have a riot outside the BBC until they play it.

2009-02-23T20:24:00.005Z

St Cuthbert's, Edinburgh

Today I went to Brook Street, to see if they could get me a mutha huffing job. I had a camera with me, so on the way back home I stopped in to have a look at the churchyard of St Cuthbert's. It's probably the oldest kirk (that's Scottish for 'church') in Edinburgh, it looks like it was built in 1970.

I took a load of photos of some old gravestones, and a robin:

This is Elizabeth Bellfradg's grave, apparently it's from 1730 or something. The important thing on it is the phrase 'Memento Mori': Be Mindful of Death. When a Roman general had a triumph, a slave would ride in the chariot with him, and whisper 'memento mori' in his ear to remind him that although things were going pretty well considering he was having a triumph, he was still going to die. Anyway, having it on her gravestone proves that Elizabeth Bellfradg was probably a Roman general.

I don't know who's grave this is, but it's got a good view of Edinburgh Castle, or it would do if it faced the other way.

Here's another picture of the same grave. It's not Roman, so you can move along now.

This is yet another grave, apparently this guy was a ropemaker.

While I was taking a photo of the ropemaker's grave this robin showed up and just sat there looking at me, cheeping. It showed no fear, not even when I jammed a lens in its face. Either it was very brave, or very stupid. Or it thought I'd feed it.

I swear it said "Hey sucka - gimme some god damn grain!" just as I took this photo.

This was taken from about 40cm away, I couldn't get any closer because my lens wouldn't focus any closer. Maybe the bird was thinking about robbing me?

There was also a monkey puzzle tree in the graveyard, it certainly didn't puzzle me.

You're in for a double treat today, because I'm going to give you a link to the best video you'll see all week. It's about boats. It features T-Pain and Poseidon and helicopters. Just don't play it in a primary school.

God damn.

-FIN-

2009-02-16T15:59:00.016Z

Portraits in a forest

Bronach and I went walking in the hills around Drumnadrochit, overlooking Loch Ness. Needless to say, we didn't spot any plesiosaurs, probably because it was damnably cold and any self-respecting giant lizard would have bogged off to warmer climes.

After wading through knee deep snow for several miles, we decided to cut our planned route short, and make for civilisation. I have no pictures of the walking section of the trip, because - far from being a pleasant stroll - it turned into a death march, a race against time and battle against the elements. Our objective was to scale the Falls of Divach, but when we reached Craigmonie Crag we realised that our rendezvous at the extraction point was imminent and we would have to make for the landing zone to await the arrival of our transport (bus). We arrived in theatre late due to an unplanned diversion to Primark; had we missed the rendezvous I would have been able to fashion a small, but cosy, shelter out of the Primark packet. The key in a survival situation is to keep your wits about you and to think laterally.

As it happened, my superior navigation skills got us off the mountain in record time, so there was plenty of time to spare before the bus came. So I took the opportunity to bully Bronach into standing there while I took some portraits. Her calm appearance belies the fact that mere minutes before, we had been in a life or death situation.

Duke of Edinburgh candidates would probably have tried to fashion a lens out of a chunk of ice, to start a fire, built an igloo or burst into tears. Waste of time. Decisive action saved the day, and no amount of mucking about with a Swiss army knife would have helped.

Anyway, here are a load of pictures I took after the march, while we waited for the bus. I've been trying to get away from taking portraits that are just a headshot, sometimes with more success than others.

Anyway, there you go. For a more witty blog, go read Alex's.

2009-02-03T18:27:00.004Z

British

Today, the fortunes of this United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland took a turn for the better. That's right, I have been formally naturalised as a British citizen, conferring upon me the right to vote, stand for Parliament and box foreigners about the ears. In addition, I can wear a top hat, hail a taxi and be awarded an Order of the British Empire. I intend to do all of these things.

Pundits are already proclaiming today as "a great day, one which will go down in history", and foreseeing the reversal of the economic decline.

The ceremony took place in the Lothian Chambers, a masterpiece of late Victorian/Edwardian architecture, and was a tour de force of pomp and ceremony. After signing in and having our document's scrutinised for the final time, we were admitted to the ceremonial suite, decked out with Union flags, saltires and a portrait of the Queen. Several minutes ensued while the Lord Provost of Edinburgh was tracked down, during which the kids who were being citizenised rapidly got very bored. In the seat immediately in front of mine, a 9 year old investigated the contents of his nose, turned the shattered remnants of his sunglasses into a pair of fangs and was about to start shredding his Oath of Allegiance prompt card, when the Lord Provost hurried in.

After a couple of speeches about how privileged we, as well as Edinburgh and indeed the whole country are, we stood and pledged allegiance to Her Majesty. The national anthem then belted out from a cheap stereo for about 30 seconds, before stopping abruptly and we were told we were done.

All that remained was to grab the certificate, shake the Lord Provost's hand and avail ourselves of as much free tea, coffee and biscuits as possible. The first thing everyone did was to prove how extremely British we all were by forming a queue. No one really stuck around - no doubt they were all hightailing it down to the Post Office to apply for a passport in case the Home Office changed their minds.

Bronach and I then went to celebrate with a traditional British tea of Coca cola and some lemon tart. I nearly had my eye out with the thistle boutonniere which Edinburgh Council generously provided with the naturalisation certificate (see top picture), so we called it a day and came home.

2009-01-28T18:41:00.006Z

Cairngorms

Bronach and I went to the Cairngorms this weekend. We stayed at Boat of Garten, which is famed for it's collection of wild osprey. Needless to say, we didn't see any osprey, but chanced upon a herd of rabid horses:

Apparently this shifty looking equine is a highland pony, and if you aren't careful he'll have your wallet and belt without you realising it. They're canny beasts, or as a passing Highlander said "Och aye, thirr cannae wee beesties, arr".

The Cairngorms are Scotland's snowy playground, and Aviemore - just south of Boat of Garten - is a motley collection of ski resorts, alpine-themed Indian restaurants and dejected looking Japanese tourists. On the train to and from Aviemore we passed through a winter wonderland, snow as far as the eye could see, and great herds of deer and bison roaming the prairie. Unfortunately something seems to have gone wrong with this year's snow distribution, because there was hardly any at Aviemore, making a mockery of it's status as the nation's ski and snowboarding capital. It was still nut-achingly cold, though, and the local lochs (that's Scottish for 'lakes', language fans!) were frozen over.

A frozen lake, with trees.

I tried out the Pan-O-Rama software that came with the 1000D, and this is what it turned out. You can still see the joins, and I could spend hours tinkering with each individual frame to match the colour balance etc, but it's a pretty dull shot, so I won't. It's just to give you an idea of what the Cairngorms are all about. To maximise your viewing experience, I suggest you sit inside a freezer while looking at it:

Bronach took a load of pictures of me that turned out far better than the ones I took of her. Either this is testament to the Canon 1000D in 'P' mode, or she's a better photographer than me. Anyway, I'm not going to stick them up here for you to ridicule.

So, although lacking in Roman antiquities, and face-slicingly cold, the Cairngorms are heartily recommended.