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.

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.

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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.

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.

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...

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.

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.

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.