… but meanwhile, while the lazy bloggers are wrapped up in bed, most likely nursing a hangover, Sebastian is scarpering around outdoors and driving to the tops of nearby hills to take photos of the snow we had today. Following on from my little ‘Global Cooling’ rant, it seems we’re now due a massive snowstorm — with up to 15cm of snow in some places! FIFTEEN CENTIMETERS! Madness. The picture I took last year, in April, was only about 5 or 6cm, and I thought that was a lot.

Anyway, I’ve been a busy-bee this week — I photographed a show — Stepping Out — which was fantastically lit by friend Gabriel. It’s not the most exciting show in the world (Can you say ‘it only has one location’?), but the lighting can really make or break a show. As a photographer, the lighting is almost the only thing I am interested in, assuming the actors actually know how to act.

(Some more can be found in the ‘People‘ album)

I actually found it quite hard to work with the Sigma 10-20mm when I was taking the Stepping Out photos. It has such a vast field of view that it really is hard to make the entire frame interesting. Not to mention that you need a LOT of ambient light to make it work indoors — it’s very rare for an entire room/stage to be well-lit, and so you end up having to under-expose heavily, or the few well-lit elements are way over-exposed — the photos tended to come out quite dreary and low-contrast. I guess it really is an outdoor landscape lens!

I also took a bunch of photos today, a few of which you can find in the Sussex album, and I took a rather fun self-portrait when we had yet another power cut. Really, you’d think that living in England would entitle me to Western World benefits, like stable electricity… but alas. But it’s not all bad to be forced away from my computers occasionally; a lot of things have been invented or discovered when necessity strikes, or people are taken away from their comfort zone. I doubt we’d have harnessed electricity quite so quickly and efficiently if the Americans hadn’t required a ‘good’ way to execute people at the time.

Anyway, I digress. Today was meant to be a post of photos, as people probably don’t want to focus on anything too meaty on a Sunday. So here’s a lovely captioned image, quite accurately portraying the current success and affluence of black people (and almost-black people):

(You could click it for a full-size version, if you can’t make out the writing…)

I’m working feverishly on my Pakistani accent, but I’m really concerned it might be slightly offensive to anyone of somewhat Eastern origin; and it might also just be plain offensive on the ears of everyone else. I may just wimp-out and do some Russian/Slavic thing. They’re so incredibly misogynistic there that  it was quite awesome (and awful) to observe male/female interactions while I was there. They have the whole patriarchial thing going on in the household too. It wasn’t always overt domination, but there was always those little, questioning looks from the woman to the man, to see if he approved, or if he was about to blow his top.

But man, their women were beautiful…

Oh, and I caught a fox in my garden this morning — are its eyes shut?!

“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.

[SinglePic not found](Click it for a larger version)

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.

Hail, comrades!

The Russian Monologue:  
(If you can’t see the player, you’ll have to visit my blog)

All of this bleak, cold and snowy thing got me thinking of my friends over in Serbia, Czech Republic and the other Eastern Bloc states. When I was in Serbia a couple of years ago, there was an unseasonable warmth, 20C in October! Then in the last 6 hours of my stay, it dropped to -5C, and the entirity of Belgrade was covered in about 6 inches of snow. My friends told me that the -5C was a far more normal temperature for them… and it often goes lower, to -10 or -15. It’s that continental cold though — no humidity, so you just wrap up warm, drink a little vodka, and everything’s OK.

So, the point I was trying to get across was that while it’s kinda snowy here, in most of the northern hemisphere it’s a lot colder. These guys have also been through an awful amount of strife in the past 100 years. Sure, we’ve had 2 world wars; but so have they. They’ve also had the rise and fall of communism, and the Cold War. Then, in recent years the NATO bombing and the disintegration of Yugoslavia into seperate states that followed was also very harrowing.

Seb: ‘Did you want to be split up?
Serbian Friend: ‘No… we still consider each country our brothers. It was very odd to have NATO come in and tell us we are now different countries.’

Slobodan Milosevic is also a bit of a national hero in Serbia — another thing that was oddly reported by the media. But the discrepancy might come from the fact that the Serbians backed his genocide… while most of us think he was a bit of a monster. If anything, it’s just proof that the reported truth should always be analysed before taken as fact.

Oh, another fun thing — in Belgrade, the capital of Serbia, the bombed governmental buildings are still there, as bombed-out wrecks. ‘Why didn’t you pull them down?’ I ask. ‘We leave them for the tourists to see,’ my guide quickly responds, with a big grin. I’m amazed they welcomed me with such open arms…

Anyway! I was inspired to do a semi-serious penis monologue in an attempt to describe the current state of the former USSR: the Commonwealth of Independent States. Life is hard, miserable and misogyny is rife. At least in Serbia, women seemed to get a little more respect — but really, it’s a bad thing when a nation has so many women that they are exported as ‘mailorder brides’, or trafficked to other countries for prostitution.

I don’t want to rant on about it for too long, so I’m just going to give you a fantastic link: A High-Heels Running Contest in St. Petersburg. The following picture says it all:

(And for any men out there, check these cheerleaders)

I haven’t got that site favourited… honest.

Sledding is meant to be fun, a flight of reckless fancy down an icy or snowy hill.

Unfortunately, a 16 year old from Yorkshire in England decided it would be a wise idea to slide merrily down a slippery incline… with a barbed wire fence at the bottom. Unfortunately, she died shortly afterward — luckily her 3 other friends that also joined her in this stupid spectacle survived with serious injuries.

Apparently they used the roof of a car, turned upside down. Pretty clever, when you think about it, for a bunch of 16 year olds. Shame really that the fence that sliced her into little itty pieces at the bottom has probably guaranteed her a Darwin Award.

Anyway, the idea of make-shift sledges reminded me of a time in my first year at university. The campus itself was built into the basin of some kind of valley, so there were pretty large hills all around the campus. One of these hills was particuarly steep — man made, when they had to level out some ground. One week in winter, it snowed rather heavily.

‘Wouldn’t it be great if all 16 of us could sled down the hill together?’ someone asked, aware that the answer was certainly ‘no’.

‘Well… we do have that huge ‘COMPUTER SALE NOW ON’ laminated banner that we stole from PC World last week…’

Yeah, we had a 10-meter banner that once adorned a big superstore in town. And it was lovely and plasticised — perfect for sliding down a hill at high-speed! (Something like this, only about 3 times as long.)

So, there we are at the top of the hill, banner on the ground, and each of us trying put as many meat shields as possible between the front and us. No one wanted to be at the front (duh), so in the end our brave, American transfer student called Josh offered to sit at the front. How American (he got all the girls, too). Proof that you can have brains, or brawn, not both.

The sad thing is, there was a wall at the bottom of the hill, so we knew it was going to be a painful landing. We figured the fun would far out-weigh the pain that awaited us at the bottom.

Luckily Josh took the brunt of the landing, so the rest of us escaped unhurt and having just had one of the best moments of our lives. I just wish I had more photos from that time at university… I am so sad that I didn’t scan in all the photos that my friends took before I left university. Now I may never see them again… damn.

This continues on from my brief introduction to Poland, which actually turned into a bit of a history lesson, oops. I’d been invited to Poland for a weekend of excess: food, women, alcohol and video games. It would soon be apparent though that Polish food is a bit shit, and their women are veritable cesspits of disease and damnation.  At least the video games and alcohol were OK. I’ve scattered a few random photos of mine from Poland throughout this entry, don’t try to make sense of them — they’re completely unrelated, but pretty!

When I’d boarded the plane in England it had been sunny, warm, breezy. I’d been promised lovely weather — continential Europe, when it gets warm, gets really warm. I’d been promised a lot of things actually and the weather was going to be the first of many broken promises. The door to the plane opened with a hiss as the pressure dropped instantly. Snow. Frackin’ snow blew into the cabin and into our faces. We’d been promised sun and warmth! If we wanted precipitation, we’d have stayed in England.

Mike met me after I’d collected my bags. ‘I thought you’d sound more British.’

Seriously, do I really not sound British? 24 years — a quarter century, next week — of speaking English. The Queen’s English. And a Canadian, a fellow member of my Queen’s Commonwealth said I don’t sound British?! Not one to punch my host in the face — always better to do that on the way back to the airport, after they’ve kept a roof over your head — I let it lie. Britishness is in the heart anyway, right? In the crumpet-shaped heart…

We headed outside to his car, trudging through a few inches of sludgy grey snow. After slighting my accent, I made sure he carried my bag — it’s good to remind the colonials who still rules the Commonwealth roost. His car was a race-tuned BMW M3 (a really fast car). My face cracked into a grin. ‘I haven’t got around to putting winter tires on the car yet, Seb… so it might be quite a wild ride back to my place.’

‘We hadn’t anticipated quite so much snow…’ REALLY?

So we skidded and careened our way along the crappy Polish highways in an automotive example of Brownian motion. Mike’s car was pretty crappy too. The dash kept falling to pieces, and the rubber seals around the doors ‘needed to be fixed, but last time I sent it to the mechanic, they kept the car for 8 weeks without fixing it.’ Poland is not a highly functional country. It’s drab and grey. Driving through the slippery streets of Gdansk, we turned onto the road leading to Mike’s flat. Street after street of poorly-maintained concrete apartment blocks. They had been painted once, just after being built, back in the 60s — there were traces of pinks and greens and baby blues — but since then they’d just been left to dilapidate and wallow in their own crappiness. Gdansk was probably quite pretty once, but not today.

Fortunately, Gdansk belongs to the Tricity of Gdansk, Gdynia and Sopot — the latter two being both a lot more charming then Gdansk and not quite so… drab. Sopot is where we would spend most of our time: eating, drinking and carousing. Sopot is where we spent hundreds of pounds on sushi and saki, where we entertained the company of beautiful, chisel-cheeked Slavic beauties and where I threw up for only the third time in my life.

It started, as these things do, with an idea. In a group of guys, that idea isn’t usually very intelligent or sensible: ‘Let’s get naked and run around campus!’ or ‘Let’s inject our testicles with fish paste and dangle them in a hungry pool of piranhas!’ — men are not the most deep and meaningful creatures at the best of times, but when you get 2 or more of them trying to agree a course of action by consensus, there are only so many possible outcomes.

‘Let’s get DRUNK!!!’

When the English, Irish and French settlers headed over to North America, did all of the enthusiastic people go with? Put an American, Canadian and Brit in the same room and it’s hard to believe they all came from the same common genetic line.

‘Sure… let’s get drunk…!’ That was me, trying to echo Mike’s enthusiasm. The last time I’d got properly drunk was on my 20th birthday, at university, 3 years ago. That was also the last time I’d been sick, and I’d avoided alcohol abuse since.

As an aside, what gives with having to drink everything that’s bought and placed in front of you?

‘I’ve had at least half a litre of spirits and a bottle of wine… I’ve swilled and gargled 5 shots of Aftershock… I’m on my last legs. When you’re tall like me, you have a long way to fall if your legs give way… ‘ (Read the linked Aftershock Challenge — alcohol and the membranes in your cheeks/under tongue =  nasty)

‘But… I’ve just paid money for this drink!’

I knew that a night in Sopot would be the same deal, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. Apathetical drunkenness. Drunkenness Induced By Benevolent And Generous Host.

‘Can we at least get some food in our stomachs first? There was that nice sushi place…’ Forever the Jew, I can spot a good restaurant from well over 200 yards.

That nice sushi place turned out to be awesome. A tiny little exclusive restaurant with 15 stools placed in a circle around a central food preparation area. In the middle stood 3 proper Japanese sushi chefs — I have no idea what they were doing in Poland, so don’t ask. Perhaps some Poles had kidnapped their families, who knows. Each one served whoever was sitting in front of them — you pointed at an item on the menu, and they prepared it, right under your nose.

But, it gets better! There’s a moat of of water between you and the chefs, with little boats in it, each one carrying some kind of side-dish. I sat and watched in awe as the little boats made their way around the restaurant. You don’t want to know how much it cost for that single, appetite-whetting mouthwateringly delicious tiger king prawn that floated by on a little bamboo raft. Or the next one. And the next.  In fact, after I’d taken 4, the couple sitting to our right started to get a little angry when no prawns had made it past me for 10 minutes…

Anyway, this story is about when I got drunk, not how I spent way too much of my host’s money in a snobby sashimi sushi saloon. We finished up our food, polished off the large bottle of aged red wine and headed down to the club.

The club was… cosy. It was only about 20 feet across — 5 meters — but it was deep, and on 3 floors. The ground floor was just a bar, the middle floor had some heavier rock music and the top floor was the dance-like-a-spastic cheesy-euro-disco zone. It was April, off-season, but this place was obviously the most popular club in town: shoulder to shoulder, nut-to-butt, gropefestingly jam-packed — FULL. Really damn full. We shouldered our way through the busy ground floor, hoping to find more space upstairs and guess what? It had a spiral staircase.

I guess fire regulations don’t exist in Poland — or at least, they’re not enforced. A 3-storey club, with perhaps 1000 or more wild, passionate Poles, all ascending and descending a tiny, wrought-iron spiral staircase. One thousand drunk and angry Polish people (and even a few Mafioso-looking types that everyone made way for). Making my way down that staircase at the end of the night, drunk out of my mind, struggling to put one foot in front of another — not even sure which feet were mine — is not something I want to repeat… ever.

A drunken stumble across town (cobbles are really not the best friend of the woefully inebriated) and a 5 minute drive later (Mike wasn’t drunk, I swear…) we arrive at the flat, me considerably worse for wear than him. He’d been giving me his drinks, instead of drinking them himself. Bastard.

‘I think I’m going to be sick, Mike…’

He just grinned at me. The cretinous Canadian cockmongler just grinned at me. ‘The bathroom’s over there.’

If you’ve ever seen the toilet in student accommodation, you’ll know that they’re dirty enough to cultivate at least three bacterial conurbations.

‘I think you’re getting close to recreating the conditions required for the genesis of multi-cellular organisms, Mike. This is pretty primordial down here!’ My voice was muffled and slurred, what with my head being almost fully in the bowl of the toilet. [I wanted to work in a joke about being pissed out of my head here, but I couldn't quite make it fit...]

‘What?’ I’m obviously more intelligent than backward backwater Canadians, even when drunk.

‘Never mind, come and hold back my hair…’

Sushi really doesn’t taste great the second time around, even the posh stuff. Mike and I came out of the weekend worse for wear, but closer friends than before.

The Thing & Footsteps will guide you home

Seb: If you didn’t know already: it snowed in England this week! Not just a couple of centimetres either — PROPER snow. Like as much as TEN centimetres in some parts!

We only got about 5cm here, but in other parts of the country (Abi’s?) I think they had a lot more. Either way, more than 1cm of snow in England always immediately triggers two things a) the shutting down of all offices, schools and amenities — the entire country shuts down, basically — and b) it’s time to PLAY!

We Brits don’t play as much as other people. I don’t know why. I guess we’re a bit boring… But snow is one of the few universal times when almost everyone (other than the oldies) goes out to play.

Of course, me being me, I grabbed my camera and avoided the kiddies that might damage my lens.

What you see here is part of our garden, at around 1am. It’s pretty damn creepy. I’ll talk more about it tomorrow on my blog — it’s straight out of the camera, believe it or not.

* * *

Abi: We never used to get snow at this time of year at all. I remember wishing for it year after year as a child but growing up by the sea, hard frost was as wintry as it got. I took this a day or two before I left my friend’s house, on the same day I took most of the other snow shots in my stream and found that this rather quiet image was by far my favourite. Snowfall exposes the paths we tread and I love seeing vast carpets of virgin snow over the fields. Even though it reminds me of that tragic scene at the end of The Snowman.

Incidentally Seb’s view on this one involved something poetic about my new start. He feels ‘the hopefulness of the footprints in week 17, representative of Neil Armstrong’s footsteps… represent the turning point…’ — he actually said that, I lifted it right out of the MSN chat window. I suppose when you look at it like that it’s kind of fitting.

* * *

You can click either image to see what the lovely folks over on Flickr think of our photos.

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 assume the spectacle of the low-angle sun has something to do with our latitude — we’re fairly far north here, so in the winter, when it’s late, the sun hits the sky at a very slight angle. The colours, the pastel hue, the glorious gorgeousness that results… well, just wait and see.

Then, after that, we have the pretty girl that I’ve mentioned a couple of times. I finally turned my hand to available light portraiture, and God it’s fun, and really, really hard. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to try it! (Photography’s a bit easy, y’see, so I yearn for anything that can spice it up a little!) I’ve taken a few photos of people in situ over the years, mostly family and very close friends, but never a proper session — just me, my camera, and her. When I arrived she hadn’t even got dressed, or done her make-up. So we chatted. I had some idea of how the patter would go. I’m good with people; charismatic, good at instilling reassurance, safety. But this was my first time, so I really had no idea what the frack to do. I kind of knew what was expected of me, a bit like sex in that regard, but I had no idea what she would do, or how it would actually play out. How about this? ‘Er, yeah! More of that!’ How about if I do something like…? <click> Props? Shall we try props? Smoking? <snap> Change of outfit? ‘Sure, I’ll just make some tea…’

And so it went. If I was using my film camera, I would’ve churned through quite a few reels. 2 hours passed way too quickly; and not once did I say ‘yeah baby, yeah!’ despite the temptation. I think I got very lucky with the model; I’ve been thinking about making her my muse. Every artist needs a muse, right?

An eclectic mix of photos follows, but I believe you will find every single one of them both delicious and easy on the eye. Each image has some notes attached; just hover over them.

(Yes, the pink you see on the horizon was even more beautiful in real life. Are you jealous?)

(I’ve been working on my black/white conversion, as you can see.)

* * *

This is just a small sample — I surprised myself with just how many good photos there were from just two hours of chatting, faffing and photographing. There’s a couple more (my favourites) up on Facebook, and I’ll probably throw some up on Flickr over the rest of the week.

I guess the obvious question is: who wants to pay me for a PHOTO SESSION?! In the comfort of your own home! You make the pretty (?) while I make the tea!

[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 up with much bad stuff. Is it really too crazy to suggest that not a single bad thing happened to me in the span of a year? Hm…

Anyway, first, a couple of photos from the archives that never made it to Flickr or this blog.

(This is about 10 minutes before the ‘pond sunset’ photos that I showed you last week. I can’t begin to describe how much I love low-angled winter sun. Look at the shadow cast by the little mounds of snow on the ground! And gawd… the colour. THE COLOUR.)

(This is an odd one, taken at around 1am, just as the snow had finished falling last week. Broken bird table in the foreground, dining room window in the background. I like it; it makes it look like we live in a castle — but it’s a bit odd.)

The Good of 2009 (#2): The Arts & Critical Analysis

This is a good, meaty one. With my daily grind shifted away from website design, my mind seems to have opened up. Perhaps it’s the equivalent of travelling to another country, but mentally. I find myself contemplating the intricacies of concepts and ideas that simply didn’t occur to me last year. It’s not like these are new thoughts either: almost all of what I write here is old ideas, with a new spin.

I’m just infinitely more capable of turning an idea over in my head to analyse all of its facets.

I want to believe that my elevated ability of critical analysis comes from reading and writing, but it might simply be the culmination of travel and life experience. Writing here certainly helps — it’s no good having revolutionary, world-agitating ideas if you can’t put them into words.

It’s definitely led me into some dark and oppressive trains of thought too. I’d never really got the whole ‘epiphany’ thing until recently, when I was sitting outside, looking up into the cosmos and trying to catch shooting stars. Woah. This thing is… big.

The Bad of 2009 (#2): Intentionally Left Blank

I told you I was really struggling to find bad things in 2009. I guess we’ll have to leave it as simply ‘no girlfriend’ then. Let’s hope this no-bad thing is a trend I can continue into 2010!

The Ugly of 2009 (#3): Photography

Now this might be a little contentious, and I might simply be worrying about nothing much at all but… the photography isn’t doing as well as I’d like. I mean, technically, I am getting better with every frame I shoot. My digital darkroom process is, in my opinion, one of the best out there. It sounds big-headed, but it’s rare that I see a photo that impresses me more than my own. It does happen of course — but… I am not as amazed by commercial, successful photographers as I ought to be.

I look at magazine covers and shrug. Editorial photos… hit and miss. Even the old standard, the music magazine front covers… mediocre. There are still some stand-out photos of course, but they are rare. Why don’t I have their job instead?

But then I consider how lucky I was to get my writing job. Many people struggle for years or decades before they get a big break. I think photography (as fine art) is the same. It’s not like I am taking commercial/paparazzi photos. It’s not like I am taking portraits of figureheads or celebrities.

And then I look at a frickin’ copy of the National Geographic. I think, in total, over 10 years of reading NG, I’ve seen about five bad photos.

I’m lumping this one under ‘ugly’ because I’m simply not sure if I’m doing well or not. I have an optimistic feeling that my photographic efforts will pay off in 2010, but there’s a chance it won’t happen for years and years… and that’s something I should be prepared for!

I didn’t pick up a camera to be famous or successful though. I picked up a camera eight years ago because I wanted an excuse to push me outside, away from my computers. If I was still only measuring myself by that meter, it’s been a resounding success. Unfortunately, I’ve now had a taste of just how good I could be as a photographer… and now I want to be BIG.

* * *

I think I’m done here. But something might pop up on Thursday, we’ll see!

(You can click either to get a larger, zoomed-in view… if you really want that…)

First, I just wanted to clear up some issues. Yesterday, when I ‘leaked’ (sorry) the first picture on Twitter, I had a lot of responses questioning the colour (and consistency?) of my urine. No, I do not have anything wrong with my kidneys. I’m not taking any vitamin supplements. I did not drink a lot of orange juice. That’s just the natural, slightly-radioactive hue of my urine. Sorry. That’s just how it is.  [And if you want more too-much-information, hit up Lilu's blog. Can girls write with yellow snow as well as boys...?]

Would it make it any better if I said my entire family were out and about enjoying the snow on our estate today, as I defaced our lawn? I think my sister’s off to the left somewhere, making a snowman. Also, after I had done up my fly, we made snow angels. My mother’s up the drive, shaking snow from the trees. I think my dad was off in the other field making a ramp to practice his snowboarding.

Anyway, it’s still snowing here in the UK. It’s really, really crazy. It’s easily the most snow I’ve ever seen — apparently it’s the most we’ve had in 50 years! The first half of it fell during the Christmas holiday, but this latest batch has effectively shut down the country. Really, really crazy.

Ta’da & Snow Drama

Seb: Believe it or not, it’s 4:15am in this photo. That’s not dawn either — that’s light from a city about 10 miles away. The colour itself is light pollution I think (though remember, this is long-exposure, so it wasn’t THAT orange, but definitely a bit orange). Look how still I held my arms for 30 seconds! (I’ve had a lot of practice over the years…)

I’ve been waiting all week for the perfect conditions for this photo. I bet you’ve never seen a landscape like this before… and neither have I!

The snow continued after this photo, and we’re currently under about a foot (30cm) of snow. There’s been snow on the ground for two weeks now — the coldest and snowiest winter in history I think, or certainly since I was born. And get this, our heating is broken because oil doesn’t flow well when it’s cold. Wonderful.

* * *

Abi: Whenever I look at this I am forcibly reminded of one of those Greenpeace ads involving a clubbed baby seal. Maybe it is the Panda hat, it gets a fair bit of attention and not in a good way.

Anyway, as you may have gathered, the UK is experiencing conditions which we as a nation are simply not equipped to deal with. Our transatlantic chums must bear in mind that when it snows, or excessively rains, or gets a bit warmer than we were expecting, our entire country grinds to a halt.

We simply don’t get much practice in dealing with any extreme weather and so, when it does happen, we either pretend it is not happening or battle on with the kind of camaraderie last seen during the war years. That’s what we Brits do, we queue and PANIC BUY.

The original concept for this shot did not involve me at all. Put simply, my friend flatly refused to lie in the snow for any length of time which is why I ended up doing it. This project may just kill me yet.

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For smaller versions, but with the addition of usually-hilarious comments on Flickr, click the photos.