America
Okay, so I've been back from America for a few days now and I've only barely scratched the surface of going through the photos taken. Jet lag and general catching up with life are combining to make this a long-winded process but I thought it might be nice to make it clear that the TSA didn't detain me, I didn't suffer a fatal reaction to Black Friday-related pepper-spraying, and the lure of life as an illegal alien in the land of big cars, big distances, and big fascination with texting people while driving (seriously, everyone did that; stop it!) wasn't overpowering enough to prevent me leaving. But I'm looking forward to heading back next year. You've got a pretty nice country over there. Google+: View post on...
Northwest Tour, Part 3: Blackpool
"We’ll be visiting Blackpool," we told relatives. "Oh, we went to Blackpool," they said. "You’ll either love it or you’ll hate it." Great, I thought, picturing Blackpool as the Marmite of cities. I detest Marmite. "We’re stopping in Blackpool on our way back," we told the woman at the hotel in Scotland before we left. "Oh, I love Blackpool!" she enthused enthusiastically. We smiled. "Some people hate it though." Ah. Okay. Blackpool Tower Ballroom. It’s like stepping back in time to when Blackpool wasn’t dreadful. Back in time and across to a parallel dimension too, I imagine. So we went to Blackpool with a smidgeon of trepidation. You see, we’d heard things about the place. Our relatives had mentioned the people and the nightlife, both of which were interesting. Interesting – especially when said in italics – is widely understood to mean different, also in italics, and that’s universally known to mean bizarre with a hint of odd. But I’d been looking forward to interesting Blackpool. I’ve been accused of being interesting myself on occassions. Blackpool: Speed Cameras The first thing we noticed about Blackpool was that speed cameras are very much the fashion. Every street appears to have one. I have been unable to decide whether this is due to the prevailing air of "we must take your money!" present throughout the city (the cynical look) or whether this is really out of sense of protecting the tottering old biddies from too severe a car-impact-related hip injury that it prevents them from coming back and spending their pensions on tat (the alternative cynical look). Blackpool: Guesthouses And Tat Guesthouses and shops selling tat make up approximately 105% of all businesses in Blackpool (margin of error: 1% (percentage comprehension of percentages: three fifths)). The general rule of thumb for any business premise in Blackpool is: if it’s not a guesthouse then it’s a shop selling tat or a guesthouse selling tat or a tatty guesthouse. It’s quite often a tatty guesthouse. And it’s quite often selling tat. The proliferation of guesthouses and shops selling tat does mean that market forces come into play. Do you know the Klingon proverb "guesthouses are a dish that are best eaten cheaply?" It is very cheap in Blackpool. You may also have heard of the non Star Trek universe-related saying "you get what you pay for" (although I wouldn’t rule out a Ferengi Rule of Acquisition here). This applies to Blackpool like you wouldn’t believe. The guesthouses are not great. The tat is not even good quality tat priced competitively. Blackpool Tower We enjoyed Blackpool Tower. In a city that otherwise excelled in...
Northwest Tour, Part 2: Scotland
We left Liverpool sans fishcakes and headed further north (insert scary music here), destination: Scotland! That’s, like, a whole other country man! The Lake District And Environs Before we reached Scotland I decided to give my wife a rest from my swearing at truck drivers who think overtaking manoeuvres can only be performed uphill at a fraction under one percent greater speed than the vehicle they’re trying to pass in order to maximise the amount of time they’re blocking motorway lanes and so we took a left and went for a leisurely bimble through England’s Lake District. If you like hills and valleys and winding roads and rocks and lakes then you’ll like the Lake District. We do like those things so we did. The Lake District offered up its chance to wander along the edge of Lake Windermere and its Grasmere gingerbread and we gratefully took them. Maryport. Not in Scotland. But you can see Scotland from it. So that’s something. Afterwards I drove straight on towards Maryport in order that we should continue on to Scotland via the scenic coastal route rather than the mothertrucking motorway route. We were only in Maryport briefly; just long enough to realise pebbledashing of houses was probably invented in the place and to be taken in by the desolate beauty of its windswept beach and view across the Solway Firth to Scotland. Not taken in enough to want to live there though. Carlisle The last city before Scotland is Carlisle, a city with history apparently. Hadrian’s Wall is there, apparently. And an isle of Carls, possibly. We had planned to stop there and check out the apparent history until we actually reached it and glanced out of the windows. Then we carried straight on and across the border. Look! Loch! Galloway Our base for the two days we were to spend in England’s subjugated northern neighbour was the smallest Royal Burgh in Scotland, New Galloway in Dumfries and Galloway (probably in the Galloway bit, although I’ve not checked). The decision wasn’t completely random – we’re not part of that crazy random location holidaying cult you’ve read about on toilet walls any more – as we currently live in a city that permits a grand total of seven stars to be seen with the naked eye on the darkest night (light pollution smothering anything beyond that) and wished to experience a little more of what the universe had to display. New Galloway sits at the eastern edge of the Galloway National Forest Park which was recently awarded Dark Sky status. This means its sky is dark. This is good for stargazing. Scotland:...
Northwest Tour, Part 1: Liverpool
We recently took a week off and went on a tour of the northwest of England and Scotland. Our primary intention was to go to Galloway in Scotland to look at the dark skies but since that’s a long trip it was decided – an executive decision by me, the driver – to break it up by going to Liverpool on the way up and Blackpool on the way back. Now, if the title doesn’t make things obvious let me clarify: this is part one and it’s about Liverpool. The Albert Dock. It’s a dock. Named Albert. Why Liverpool? In the early 1990s I went to university at Liverpool and studied computer science. Part of the reason for going back was to check out a few of the old haunts and show them off to the wife who had suffered enough tales of my far-distant youth and deserved some visual aid to the vivid, crisp descriptions I had painted from my photographic memory of the city and its denizens. The main reason, however, was to show her fishcakes. Liverpool: Quest For Fishcakes Fishcakes – such as those you might buy in a fish and chips shop when asking for "two fishcakes and a portion of chips please" or such as those you might buy in a supermarket in a packet in the freezer section marked "Fishcakes" – down here in the mighty south of the country are universally disc-shaped, about two-thirds of an inch deep, and coated in orange breadcrumbs. Fishcakes in Liverpool – such as those I recall buying in Liverpool in the early 1990s when entering a fish and chips shop and asking for "two fishcakes and a portion of chips please" – were also disc-shaped but were thicker (an inch and a quarter or even more) and battered. They also tasted lighter, fluffier, different. In a good way. My wife… well, I’m not convinced she ever believed me about the fishcakes. I had to show her the fishcakes. The Cavern Club. You don’t want to use the toilets. Trust me. Liverpool: Kensington When I lived in Liverpool during my second year at university I shared a house with three other students in the Kensington area of Liverpool. There’s a Kensington in London that is rather up-market, appealing to the well-off. The people dress well. The people smell well (I imagine (assuming the all-pervasive atmospheric tar of London hasn’t clogged your nasal passages with its gunk)). It all just feels a little bit better than you. The Kensington in Liverpool is just like the one in London except for everything. We drove through Kensington on the way...
Acid Princess
I know this isn’t a photoblog and I know that I don’t normally blow my own trumpet (not in public, anyway (and rarely in private since I felt that sharp twinge along my spine)) but I’m pretty damn proud of this photo I took and the subsequent Photoshopping treatment I gave it, and so, reluctantly yet egotistically peacocky, I’ve decided to force upon you – the world – my "art". Those of you who subscribe to my Flickr account (hi you two!) may have already ignored this picture so this gives me a better chance to feel ever so slightly more appreciated (or, at least, slightly less not appreciated) during this yule period. Of yule. The picture is of the aft deck of the Diamond Princess with a number of post processing tweaks thrown in – Urban Acid colour wash, color dodging, linear burning, vignetting, and borderisification. If you know a better word that means "I added a black border" then feel free to tell me. Look how I almost on purposely made use of the rule of thirds for the composition! Click the image for hugenormous goodness. Also, to raise the number of views it has had on Flickr. But mostly for the goodness. But really for the...
Nha Trang, Vietnam
What can I say? I like what I did with this picture so I’m publishing it on my own site. It’s the sort of thing I’d do. Nha Trang, Vietnam A photoshopped photo from my recent trip to the Far East.
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