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-

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.

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.

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.

Head to head: Canon 1000D vs Canon Eos 5


Here's a picture of a tulip or something. I could say that it represents the futility of life, that all things must come to an end, it is the yin and the yang, the alpha and the omega. Or I could just tell you that it's a flower that I photographed, and charge you £90 for a print.

Anyway, this is another shot from the legendary 1000D, and the image below demonstrates why it's a damn sight handier than a film camera. I spent an evening pissing about to get the picture above, and would have cranked through an entire roll of film to get one keeper:


Having said that, the film cameras do have a few advantages. Firstly, because they're full frame, my zoom lens actually goes wideangle. The 24mm prime doesn't even work on the digital camera, a fault of Sigma, not Canon. Second, the film bodies are Canon Eos 5's, which were designed as a weapon first and a camera body second. Each body was carved by hand from a block of magnesium alloy, before being individually field tested by the Marines under actual combat conditions. With a lens and external flash unit attached, the camera weighs about 30lb's, or at least it seems to after you've hiked more than 100 yards with it. Add to this the VG10 grip, which essentially converts testosterone into power, and you have a camera which defines manliness. More than one Reuters correspondent deflected a Scud missile with an Eos 5 during the first Gulf War.

The Eos 1000D is a somewhat different beast. As discussed, I no longer have to pay to get film scanned and developed. On a good day, a single 35mm frame would be scanned at 1232x1840 pixels, compared to the 1000D, which routinely produces images of 3888x2592, like 5 times the size. Which means bigger prints, which means that when you buggers start buying my prints you get more wall covered for your cash. It's also got more focus points than the Eos 5 (7 vs 5), on the other hand the Eos 5's AF points are eye controlled. This means you can focus on something just by looking at it through the viewfinder. This technology was subsequently used on the F117A Nighthawk. Mind you, I generally use the central focus point, then recompose, which explains why my wide aperture shots tend to be faintly out of focus.

Other things that are probably important: The Eos 5 has spot metering, while the 1000D doesn't. However, the Eos 1000D has 16 years of extra technological development behind it's metering system. Besides, if you shoot Raw you can pretty much not bother with exposure and fix it in post production.

So in summary:

Canon Eos 5

Pros:

• manly
• stealth technology

Cons:

• cost of processing, developing and scanning
• waiting weeks or months to finish a roll because you have to value every shot

Canon Eos 1000D

Pros:

• instant digital feedback
• Raw processing

Cons:

• limited applicability as a tool of war
• no stealth technology (but still 16 years more R&D than the Eos 5 had)

Clearly, the only solution is to carry both cameras, all the time. I believe this is what real photographers, like Rankin, do.

Swan


Bronach went and got me what is possibly the coolest present ever. No, not a swan, though that would be pretty handy, especially in a fight. I'd get it to break my opponent's arms and peck his eyes out.

Instead, she got me a Canon 1000D, which photography fans will recognise is a digital SLR, meaning that I can take more pictures while spending less money! A typical roll of film costs £4 a roll (Kodak 160VC, my standard colour film of choice) for 36 shots. Processing and scanning to cd is around £7 a roll, so you're looking at £11 a roll at least. Considering that 95% of shots are duds (on a good day), it makes for an expensive pastime (unless you're Alex, where every shot's a keeper).

Being able to see your picture straight away is awesome, because it means you can keep your subject standing there for ages, while you shout "Just one more, and smile more this time!" etc. I reckon when news of this gets out, Annie Leibowitz'll probably retire.

All in all it adds up to being the Best Present Ever, and I present to you a picture of a swan I cracked off this morning. It's an Art photo, hence it's blurry. I'll flog you a one-off limited edition print of this for £775, which should be about enough for me to pick up a Canon L series 24-70 2.8 lens.

Catherine and Joe

I went to Oxford Island, on Lough Neagh, with Catherine and her homme du jour, Joe, the day before christmas. An astonishing amount of merriment followed.

None of this was recorded on film, instead you'll have to make do with these snaps from the day. All were taken on Kodak Portra 160NC, a delightful film, though I prefer the 160VC. Mind you, it doesn't really matter, these days you can just whack up the saturation with the Gimp.

Joe (left) and Catherine (right) patiently tolerating an onslaught of photography. You'd better get used to that 'sun behind the hair' look, because that's almost all I took.

Catherine in a birdwatching hide. Apparently this particular hide was the scene of some scandal when a local councillor was busted for cottaging there. This was explained to us by an elderly Daily Mail wielding couple we encountered later on in the day, who warned us not to go in the 'gay' hide.

Catherine has either just sighted some kind of rare waterbird or a deviant councillor. She still won't say which it was.

Catherine outside the gay hide, contemplating her lucky escape.

Joe, deciding whether the noise he can hear is a rare warbler rustling in the bushes, or whether it's the sound of his car being burnt out by local hoodlums.

Joe (left) and Catherine (right) looking at something in a bush.

Everyone (except me) was looking at a god damn robin, tweeting away in a shrub. All was well until it decided to attack Bronach, probably because she didn't have any bread for it or something. The situation ended well for Bronach, because Catherine dispatched the robin with two shots to the back of the head, execution style. It's ok, she's a nature warden, and is trained for exactly this kind of thing.

Catherine getting her breath back after shouting "Freeze, sucker!" at the robin, while she pinned it to the ground.

We were lucky enough to see a thermonuclear test. Here Bronach and Catherine demonstrate how not to look directly at the blast.

While Joe shows us how to take a photo of the explosion.

Bronach keeping a lookout for more rogue birds.

Eagle-eyed readers will have spotted the mist in the background, advancing menacingly towards Catherine (l) and Joe (r) - it was like something out of a Stephen King novel. Even more eagle-eyed readers will have noticed that this was taken on a Canon 28-105mm USM Mk II lens, and is slightly less sharp than the nifty 50mm 1.8 Mk II lens. What I would like is a Canon 24-70mm 2.8L lens. So if I can get 775 of you to each pledge £1 towards it I'll set up a Paypal site to get the ball rolling.

All in all, it was a grand day out. Oxford Island has something for everyone, unless you like tanks or Romans.

Darren

I stayed round Darren's gaff last weekend when I went to London. Here are some pictures.

The light in the kitchen in the morning was awesome. It was coming in indirectly through a window on the right, and bouncing back on the left off some white tiles, wrapping round his face nicely. Then the back wall was lit through a glass door, giving a nice separation effect. Unfortunately Darren was eating a load of toast as if his life depended on it, so this is the shot I got. I bet this kind of thing happens to Annie Liebowitz all the time.

In the kitchen again. You can recreate this effect at home by stuffing a flash in a mug of tea, or by waiting for the sun to backlight the steam.

Darren plays guitar like Tiger Woods plays golf. With a club, har har. Anyway, here are some photos with an off camera flash. Not much to say, really.





Clay has rather selfishly taken his digital SLR back. This means that I have to wait 4 months to finish a film and process it, so you'll be damn lucky to see anything on this blog in a hurry. In the meantime, go and read Pertinax.

The Chronicles of Pertinax

Some say it is the greatest work of literature ever conceived.


Some say it doesn't actually exist, that something of such power and awesomeness could never be written.


It has caused grown men to weep, and babies to detonate.


It will never be published as an audio book, because not even James Earl Jones has the vocal power to carry it.


All I can say is.....

Judge for yourself.

Edinburgh


Bronach and I spent a week in Edinburgh looking for a flat. Here are some pictures. If you want a funny blog, go to Alex's, if you want an intellectual post go to John's.

Clay was good enough to lend me his Canon EOS300D, in return we let him stay at ours for a few days. That was a mistake because the place was trashed when we got back. I can't believe one person could have smeared that much excrement; he must have had teams of illegal immigrants working round the clock while we were gone.

It was autumn when we arrived, and ball-freezingly cold. If Scotland could export bitter weather they'd make a fortune.

Bronach in black and white

Here are some pictures of Bronach on they way to Dean village, as we walked along the Water of Leith. It's possibly the most scenic part of Edinburgh, helped by the fact that you're down in a valley, out of the wind so your eyelids haven't frozen shut. Photo fans will note that these pictures were taken with the awesome Canon 50mm 1.8 MkII, truly the Razor's edge when it comes to sharpness.





Back at the flat I tried using a flash to artistically light the background. I asked Bronach to sit there and ignore me, so she did.



We bumped into Steve, who recommended a Mexican restaurant to us. Steve was heading to York to see his fiancé Kate, another Phd student and a friend of Bronach's. We were starving by the time we got to the Mexican restaurant, and salivating at the prospect of fajitas and quesadillas. But it was shut. Nice going, Steve.



Easyjet internet café was our only link to civilisation. But it came at a price. The place was generally rammed with farting, swearing Scots and swearing, farting exchange students, who were either trying to make contact with their relatives on the other side of the world, or huddling in the warmth and trying to coax circulation into their frost bitten extremities.


Stelios is watching.....

-FIN-