Tag: photographer

This is what I call a missed opportunity. Standing at the highest point around, stuck behind trees. No way out, no clear view of the fjord. A soft, tangerine glow reflecting off the water and filling the air. Stuck behind trees. Evening birds tweeting, my friend gently tugging at my arm, leading us towards our destination. ‘But the fjord’s over theeere!’ I swear, I can stick out my bottom lip like a frackin’ petulant heroine when necessary. To put this…

Oh come on, it’s almost as if they were named for the sole purpose of creating mirth and uncontrollable bouts of the giggles. Why oh why are they called TITS? The derivation would suggest it comes from some old meaning of ‘tit’ that means small, or perhaps similar to ‘tip for tap’ (tit for tat). Anyway, here in Sussex, we have lots of tits. Every year we seem to have more, probably because they tell tales of our house during…

[In the olden days I used to always have punchy, interesting titles on my blog entries. Funny how that's kind of died down. I wonder if more people would read if I try to be sensational...] Yesterday I began an epic journey of introspection self-actualisation. I’m trying to digest 2009 by labelling the major milestones or stand-out points as good, bad or ugly. I actually made a list on paper (I was in the car), and I couldn’t actually come…

I think this week I’ve taken more photos than any other period in my life — other than when I’m travelling of course, but it’s not really comparative. When I travel, my camera’s nearly always out — this week was my first taste of what being a working photographer might actually feel like. The whole ooh-I’ll-just-grab-my-camera thing was obviously aided in the most part by the snow we’re currently experiencing. And the winter sun… my God, the winter sun. I…

Hail and well met, fellow¬†Thespians. Did you know that I’ve acted on stage since I was about two? I was (un)fortunate enough to belong to one of those schools where, once a year, everyone slips into a costume made from old curtains, pipe cleaners and aluminium foil and prances around a stage for a couple of hours. In my formative years I just had to look cute. Later on I had to wear wigs (and affect a female voice), wear…

[Lots of pretty photos if you scroll down. If you fancy some ranting on photography, read on...!] As I write this it’s 4am… so, again, excuse any mistakes I might make. I feel fairly coherent, but it’s just the silence before the storm. The sleep deprivation will catch up with me in a moment and I’ll start jibber-jabbering about useless bollocks. Oh, I might start writing chiefly in British-English too, but that won’t be a problem, a’ight? It actually takes…