New Choo Shoes
I still haven't picked up my camera in anger in over two weeks so I've not got anything super special to share but since it is #ShoesMonday (as curated by (deep breath) +Laura Harding +Terry Fabre +Bernd Schaefers +Paul van de Loo +Pablo Luis Gonzalez +Olga Kafka +Mee Ming Wong) I thought I'd put up a snap taken on my phone last week of the new shoes I felt obliged to purchase for my wife while in the Jimmy Choo store in Chevy Chase when in the states. I really must stop popping in there. That's twice in twelve months and it's cost me both times.What’s that thing we do in Chevy Chase at Jimmy Choo? Oh yes, we buy my wife some new shoes. Google+: View post on...
High Screams
Maybe they knew what they were doing. They had to know. Is it possible that they simply didn't know? It seems inconceivable the more I think about it but could they have forgotten? They were old, after all. Perhaps they saw the wafer cones, the cold white filling, the brown stem sticking out looking for all the world like chocolate and they were transported back to a more youthful time when devouring such things was common. Memories of seaside trips? Yes, perhaps. But I think they knew. I think they'd had enough. For me, I think I'd still prefer pills and alcohol and a bed. I can respect their decision, though, even if in the moments that followed they regretted the choice they'd made. It certainly sounded like they regretted their choice. At least I can say that I know this for certain: I won't end my days tucking into a young ice cream while its mother looks on; I don't want my final impression on this world to be a bloody smear on the window of a café. Google+: View post on...
A Dangerous Question
It was an old building, a theatre built in the 18th century but taken over for the evening for purposes other than performing. In the crowded, noisy room the man in the dark shirt sidled up to the blonde by the fireplace and leaned in close to her ear. "Tongue?" he asked. By way of reply he received a look of ice. The man edged away slightly, his eyes darting around to see if anyone had noticed. Nobody had. Conversations continued; laughter rolled across the sea of heads from one corner. "It says here that it's a blonde, crisp ale with citrus notes," the man pressed, leaning in again. The blonde's shoulders relaxed a little and her face softened. "How about a Gobble?" he asked with a smile. She slapped like she'd practiced slapping before. The crack across his face was loud and a few heads turned in the vicinity. The man pressed a hand to his reddening cheek and waved the brochure in his hand like someone surrendering. "From the Great Oakley brewery in Northants," he sputtered. "A straw-coloured beer with a large smack of hops at the end." He grimaced as the word "smack" came out of his mouth, aware of the irony in what he'd described. "I'm sorry," said the blonde. "I'm on edge tonight. All these people here. The noise. I don't cope well in these situations. I hope I didn't hurt you." She tried a smile but it was thin, forced, and cool. The shirted man shook his head, rubbing his face gingerly. "I've had worse," he said. "Look, I didn't mean to offend you or anything. Hey, if you're on edge why not try a Public Rubbing?" The blonde's fist clenched and her nostrils flared for one second before she caught herself. Taking a deep breath she closed her eyes and steadied herself. She looked at the man again. He'd flinched. She couldn't blame him. The blonde relaxed. "Why don't you describe that to me?" she asked. The man let out the breath he'd been holding too and laughed. "Oh, it's not a beer," he said. "I'm just a ridiculously rude person seeking cheap thrills at other people's expense." He turned and darted through the crowd, lost almost instantly in the wake of bodies of shoved out of the way and angry heads flipping around. * Yes, I was at a beer festival last night. Google+: View post on...
Wild Oats
Wild oats: some people like to sow them. Some people like to sew them and sell them on Etsy as something organic and odd. Some people like to be them. These two buskers fall into that lattermost category. It's the name under which they perform in case that's not clear. I didn't catch much in the way of their music yesterday as I spent more time listening to a jazz quartet busking one road over covering tunes from Toy Story and Star Wars; this, however, proved to be a slightly better (i.e. not ruined by pedestrians wandering through the shot) picture. #StreetPhotography Google+: View post on...
Chairs and Tables and Leaves
Oh my. I often pass this sandwich place at lunchtime where my colleague grabs something upon which to munch; I, of course, stuff myself at my desk (it is the only proper way for a software developer to eat), dropping crumbs all over and between the keys of the keyboard, making sure that the consumption of my lunch actually takes place during what are technically working hours rather than wasting any of the time out of the office when I might possibly miss an interesting shot because I'm picking corned beef off my chin. This isn't a particularly interesting shot but it was unusual to see it empty of diners. I liked the leaves on the floor (slightly less so when I slipped on some on the approach) and the reflections in the shop window also appealed to me. I'd have submitted it for the Window Wednesday theme but the swine are all on holiday this month. So I shan't. Google+: View post on...
Dining Outdoors
I don't see the appeal in eating a meal outside. Not ever, and especially not in October in England. Outdoors can be very noisy. Why would anyone want to eat where it's noisy? I know it can be noisy indoors too but it's a different type of noise; there are often fewer pneumatic drills, buses rolling past, or people asking if you want to buy the Big Issue. And it's cold outside in October in England. The sun might be out but it's a weaker sun than just a few weeks ago with less radiation getting through the increased depth of atmosphere. And the wind has an edge to it as it blows across the food and strips it of its microwaved heat. A cold meal? How dreadful! And outdoors has insects; things that walk and slither but most often fly and either land on the food or hover in front of the face as part of an elite insect distraction team while covert crawlies swipe tasty morsels from the ends of forks or stand in gravy and stick two antennae up at you from the plate. There's less protection from meteorites when you're outside. Indoors you've usually got at least one roof over your head but it's typically two or more. There's tiles and insulation and floorboards and plaster to slow down those meteorites to survivable levels, plus there's a better chance that the lump of rock will shatter before it gets to your table. That means you get to finish your meal. Outdoors? Not a hope! Cutlery everywhere, a smashed plate spinning to the ground, and your dinner partner nursing a horrible case of missing-half-a-head. Why, people? Why would you want to eat outside? Outdoors dining? Two words: airborne plague. One word: door. Airborne plague has not mutated to the stage where it can open a door so performing a little mental arithmetic quickly tells you that you're better off eating indoors unless you're the sort of weirdo who enjoys dinner conversations along the lines of: "How's the meat?""It's a little tough and I'm not keen on the sauce.""Your nose has fallen off and there's a steady stream of blood and mucus running down your face onto your plate.""Well that explains why the garlic paté doesn't smell so overpowering." You're not one of those weirdos, are you? No! Outdoors dining? I don't think so! For #StreetPhotography curated by +Tatiana Parmeeva +Thorsten von Eyb +Maria Roco and for #StreetPics #StreetSaturday Google+: View post on...
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