“Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that low’r'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.”

Richard III by William Shakespeare.

One of the few Shakespearean phrases I remember from English literature at school; the others all coming from Romeo and Juliet (I’m a soppy romantic at heart!)

The snow is continuing — we’re up to about 10cm! The most snow we’ve had in 20 years! Those old biddies that are always saying ‘they don’t make winters like they used to!’ have finally been silenced. Probably because they’re dying of hypothermia, but I digress. As always, as soon as any kind of immoderate weather hits the United Kingdom, we collapse and stay at home. An inch of snow, and the buses stop. Two inches, and the trains stop. Three inches, and no one even bothers to go into work. Retailers are hanging signs apologising for the long lines of people trying to pay, because their staff haven’t bothered to come in — and people wonder why us Brits have a bad reputation as workers… union action, strikes… calling in sick/otherwise indisposed if the weather creeps up above 30, or below zero.

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Anyway, here in Sussex, we have about 3 acres of fields and gardens visible from my bedroom window, so when it’s snows the vast amount of reflected light always wakes me up early (I took to leaving my curtains open so that it’s more likely I wake up before noon than Hell freezing over… although it’s probably pretty nippy down there at the moment.) Anyway, not to be deterred by being woken up at Godless hour of 11am, I sat on my windowsill and tried to catch animals bouncing around in the snow, looking for food. I guess the fantastic hush that swamps the senses during a large snowfall also amplifies even the tiniest of noises; the animals weren’t coming close enough to photograph. So I headed out onto the estate, seeing what I could find…

I found a tiny rabbit, about 500 meters away, but it just wasn’t all that photogenic at that distance.

I ended up taking some pretty pictures of plants covered in snow; plants don’t sprint away at the slightest rustling, which is great for a photographer like me — I’m not the most agile person, being 6′5″ and all (although I can get both legs behind my head — ask to see my party trick one day, if you ever catch me partying…), so sneaking up on rabbits and ravens is pretty taxing. I’m happy with this photo though:

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It’s like one of those photos from a glossy magazine — the cooking section — but that isn’t actually icing sugar. It’s snow!! Perhaps I should do some more macro photography!

I have no idea if these photo-filled entries are actually well received, or if people just scroll past the pictures. Perhaps if I interleave photo posts with penis monologue posts, I should be able to cover most of my bases. So if we call this a ‘photo post’, I can sneak in this cute photo that my sister took of me in the snow.

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Yes, that’s my largest ‘penis extension’ as my father calls it. No, my hair isn’t dyed red and blue.

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<Insert all sorts of poetic stuff about how life is cyclic, and how the seasons perfectly represent human life, etc., etc.>

Once Spring hits England, all hell breaks loose and everything goes a truly fantastic, citrusy shade of green for a few months. The winter months (basically, October through April…) on the other hand are rather dull. As you’ve seen from my photos of Sussex, the most excitement we see is the occasional frost or, if we’re very lucky, some snow. The sunsets are OK too I guess, but really all we have (down South at least) are a few hills, some fields, some trees… and that’s about it really.

So, not to be defeated by the grey drizzle of England, I reached for my uber lens of telephoto doom (as featured in this photo) and wandered around underneath some of our lovely oak trees taking photos. Macro photos. Everyone loves macro photos, right?

Well I hope you enjoy these two; I like them! (Truth be told, I don’t do a lot of macro stuff but I’ve been told I should do more…)

(They’re large, but you should make space in your browser window to look at them in full-size, they’re quite pretty!)

If you don’t like pretty photos, just scroll on by.

If you DO like pretty photos, well, you just might like these photos taken of some daffodils on our estate. I skillfully waited until that ‘golden hour’, as the sun was making its final descent towards the horizon and then… I STRUCK! Like a velociraptor, or some other rapidly-descending creature that brutally captures its prey. Only my prey was daffodils, and I don’t move very quickly — but you get the point…

I know they look almost surreal: it’s because the sun is so low that it’s only hitting some flowers, and not others (there are obstacles that you can’t see in the photo, like fences/trees). If you’ve ever driven or walked through some woods in the autumn (fall) and marvelled at how just the tops of the trees are set alight by the golden rays of sun, then you’ll know what I mean.

Anyway, these are the last daffodil photos I’ll be taking, so… enjoy them! Next up… um… bluebells?

There’s one more which is nice, but I couldn’t quite get the right crop on it. I’ll just leave it as a link here, if you really dig daffodils. Or my photos. Or both!

I think I like this one. It’s not an AMAZING photo, but it’s interesting. I’m not quite sure why the depth of field is quite so shallow… might be because there was a lot of reflected light into the camera.

Anyway, if you know your foliage, you’ll be able to identify this is a honeysuckle plant! It’s a long way off budding though, as they don’t usually flower for another few months. The leaves are usually a rather dull red, but you can see here that when you let a low sun shine through their leaves you get some startling oranges and pinks and yellows!

Oh, and the spider web was an added bonus — note the sun glinting off it in the far bottom left!

I really hope the sun continues into the weekend. It actually feels like Spring is finally here!

Upon regaining consciousness, a few specific thoughts always rush hastily along my neurons and across synapses:

‘Did I forget to use protection?’

‘She told me she was on the pill!”

and old faithful: ‘The guide said two bricks was enough…’

… and then, with clarity returning, and the nagging feeling that I’m not, and never have been a father, I realise it’s just a Jelly Baby. It’s just a Jelly baby trying, in vain, to be heard as it leaves my stomach on its final journey towards the indeterminate fate of my small intestine.

Yesterday, after my Pink Jellybaby photo, I was inspired and encouraged by some wonderful artists on Etsy to do some more Jelly Baby photos — photos that might work on postcards, or greeting cards, or … I don’t know — perhaps there are Jelly Baby fetishists out there! Fetishists that, until now, haven’t been able to find a suitable ‘fix’. Don’t mock me, don’t hate me; I’m just filling a gaping chasm in the  Soft Candy Macro Photography market!!

Without further ado, a couple of romantic Jelly Baby photos!

And then, as a proof of concept, I tried adding a caption to the third image, just so you get the idea of the (possible) comic value:

I am interested in your opinions — do you like them? Are they obnoxious, cute, romantic? Would you buy one to give to a loved one, or as some kind of … humourous greeting card?

On the off-chance that you are suddenly struck with the urge to buy 1000 (or more) for distribution purposes, please contact me, and I’m sure we can come to an arrangement — an arrangement that’s good for me, you, and the Jelly Babies I am holding hostage downstairs, under a bright studio light, melting. Excruciatingly slowly, but surely, melting.

Think of the children. Buy in bulk today!

Obviously, you can only fiddle around with tiny, sticky, smelly sweets (candy) for so long.

Eventually, something’s gotta give; that something was my sanity.

No, I don’t know why I was making a peace sign with my fingers. Or why I was punching myself in the head…

That’s quite enough macro photography for now I think.

Evidence Admission A

Description: Four healthy-looking tomato plants, a bit leafy, but nevertheless well-watered and left in a sunny place with plenty of air circulation. They even have a lovely view of the garden.

Evidence Admission B

Description: One sad, lonely and forlorn tomato. The only tomato. Many flowers… but only one tomato. It better taste good.

If anyone has any tips on how best to make them pollinate… or perhaps just how best to enjoy my singular cherry tomato when it finally ripens… let me know. Oh, and I do shake them around a bit to make sure the pollen is loosened, and I talk to them, and play a variety of music to suit all vegetabular needs. I’ve even… and I don’t feel good about this… pinched off a few of the lower shoots that didn’t look very healthy.

Any horticulturalists out there? Champion tomato growers, hippy tree-huggers? Have I watered them too much? Not enough? Was my sugar water formulation a bad idea?

I woke up this morning to the best kind of surprise — well, the best surprise a single man can wake up to, anyway. Er, apart from that.

You’ll be glad to hear that after my woeful plea for help last week I did, um, nothing. I watered the tomato plants a little more, and I pulled off some of the poorly lower shoots, but I still haven’t pinched them out. So there. And, get this, I was rewarded with… ONE MORE TOMATO. That’s a one hundred percent improvement over last week! I’m not ashamed to say that today I am a stupendously proud tomato grower. A tomato aficionado.

I like to think, if I were a parent, I’d be the kind to throw my newborn child into the woods and see how they do. Minimal interference, 1970s-style parenting. Live and let live. If they manage to haul themselves back to civilisation by their sixth birthday, they’re acknowledged as my offspring and written into the will. If not, well… I hope someone finds them in the woods and pinches them out to ensure good, bushy growth.

…

Anyway, two tomatoes means we’re now into salad territory. I should’ve grown some lettuces or something — they’re much easier than tomatoes, right? No mean, barbaric pinching out required at all either…

Made you look!

But no, really, this bad boy, a Poplar Hawk Moth (I did my research), has a wingspan of about 6 centimeters. He’s huge and I had no idea such things even existed in England, let alone flew around in boring ol’ Sussex. It’s like when I found out, at the age of 10, that England actually has snakes (in fact, the adder is the only poisonous native animal that we have — except for hornets and wasps, I guess). Dangerous animals are for other countries. Like Australia, where you can come home to find a rattlesnake in your bathtub. Or be paralysed and killed in 6 seconds flat by a venomous sea snake.

Meanwhile… over in England… we just have large moths that make young and old alike scarper behind the nearest sofa for protection.

Does anyone know if moths ’sleep’ at all? I don’t know if this particular hawk moth was ‘odd’ but for all intents and purposes, he just  clung to my shirt all day, refusing to be budged. I tried to scoop him into a cup, I nudged him with my finger — nothing. I left him by my window, wondering if, weirdly, he would only fly away at night — I assume moths are nocturnal — and sure enough midnight came, he started fluttering his wings, warming up. A few minutes later off he flew!

Moths do sleep then, but what do they dream of? Wardrobes of delicious, tasty clothing? (Do moths even still eat through clothes, or is that some turn-of-the-20th-century thing that my grandmother always tells me stories about?)

Wow, I didn’t mean to ask quite so many questions… that’s the inquisitive child leaking into the foreground again. Anyway, PRETTY MOTH. Enjoy your Sunday — I hope it’s just as sunny where you are!

As you know, I like to slack on weekends. It’s the only real way I have of preventing RSI in my fingers.

Instead of writing, I usually resort to something else I rather enjoy: taking photos!

So without further ado I give you the tomato update.

I now have three tomatoes! THREE! And the first one (John, after the disciple) is now ORANGE! Which is odd, considering this variety is meant to be yellow when ripe — but maybe I’m just so awesome at growing tomatoes that it has turned orange?

(Click it for a larger view, or continue scrolling down to see what I’m pointing out with a proud snarl playing upon my lips…)

I should also remind you to head over to the Ask Me Anything form and submit some kind of question. A query, a pondering of such preponderancy that you feel compelled to ask me for the solution. I’d like a few geeky questions this week, which I think some of you can provide — or ask a friend if they have an issue they need resolving.

I spent this afternoon in the presence of about 15 young mothers at a tea party. There were about 5 single girls there, which my mother was of course trying to set me up with. But I fear, without a trail of drool down my chin and a litany of incomprehensible monosyllabic words I went unnoticed. And it’s quite hard for a hairy guy in a cowboy hat to go unnoticed, let me tell you.

I trust you are having a nice weekend and that it’s sunnier where you are… the British summer is over.