Grey Matter

Things, they say, are neither black or white, but shades of grey.

Actually, I think this in-between space is more rainbow-like. And even if it did appear grey, it is never truly, through and through grey. You find yourself looking at small accents of colour and noticing a subtle warmth in the light, or the leftover evidence of someone's presence perhaps.

Apply this theory – that there is colour between black and white – to your liberal, compassionate mind and you'll discover it's alright, you can pin down those ideas and stand up to a raving fundamentalist after all.

By the way, happy birthday to the man I met in a coffee bar this morning who was trying to forget it was his birthday. You are lovely and deserve to be made a fuss of.


{Today's soundtrack: Hem - Half Acre.}

Weston Supermare Pier R.I.P.

Weston Pier burned down this morning.

With regards to a recent visit (see news) I'm wondering if the giant plastic ice-cream has melted (probably) and whether or not the large lady-in-striped-swimsuit-with-hole-cutout-for-face has turned to ashes (almost definitely), and if I will ever get to see the glittery pink, fibre-glass vulture again (certainly not). I already miss the donut counter. Is it tasteless to enjoy our nonsense snaps from the day out, or is it 'what she would have wanted'?

Reality is that the day we three went to Weston, we wandered around a deserted beach resort, lights flashing to attract no one and beach-front trains trundling empty up and down the pier. 'clang, clang, clang!' I can't help thinking we were making the best of a situation - it can be so bleak and sad, like those clichéd echoes of voices in a room long since vacated.

I'm probably drawn to this pier because it reminds me of those I genuinely like - Brighton's West Pier, or Clevedon. And then only because they are old, and stretch out to sea looking fragile but are full of stories. I was a student in Brighton before the West Pier burnt up and fell over and always loved it more than the Grand.

Do you think you can tell a person by the piers they like? and if you were a pier, what pier would you be?

It's a very sad day for lots of people who make their living and find a great, familiar comfort in this structure and all it offers.

Weston Pier R.I.P.


{Today's soundtrack: Steve Lamacq}

Secret

{Today's soundtrack: PJ Harvey - Stories from... }

Flamenco Lesson

This lady is learning how to dance flamenco.

Tapping, stamping, strutting on the heads of nails; rhythmic persistance and tenacious pursuit of expression. Nails in the souls (typo, but I decide not to correct it) of her shoes hammering out their message, and I ask myself–because I know it's there–what have the nails in my own shoes got to say?



A man stopped me yesterday to film me chatting – quick, go! – in response to his question, "What do you think of Banksy?"

I don't happen to love the style of Banksy's work, though appreciate his messages, his work in Palestine, for example. Unfortunately, probably, the majority of his audience will be attracted to the style rather than content, and therefore I wonder how the following question, "What do you think his work does for us?" can be answered in any way except to say "I'm not sure many people who rave about his work are politically articulate enough to know what he's really on about or what their response might helpfully be to affect real change."

Having said this, I have friends with Bansky prints on their walls and have very lovely chats with them about all sorts of things, so take what I say in modest measure. It was a vox pop, I didn't think that hard about it.

And there's me thinking I had nothing to say. You just see, this will come back to haunt me...

Now, where did I leave my dancing shoes?





{Today's soundtrack: Coldcut - Sound Mirrors}

Writer's Block

So many thousands of photographs, yet unable to think of a single thing to write... shocked to realise it has, again, been months.

It is proof (if this was needed) that words are not the only way. It is also a season of learning to apply an endurance mentality. In it for the long haul? Then be prepared for these times when you can't explain and don't know why, and have nothing to say about that. I don't think this means there's nothing going on backstage, just that, like flowerbuds, all the growth is happening in secret.

'See how patiently the farmer waits for the land to yield its valuable crop...'

Tea, anyone?


{Today's soundtrack: Feist - The Reminder}