Lo Fi

dry heads
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This week I ‘ave mostly been playin’ with my toy camera.

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Having been amazed by how well a low end digital camera can perform I went all perverse and acquired a plastic pancake lens for it, a Loreo lens-in-a-cap from Hong Kong, and turned it into a toy.

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So just a bit of an image dump to clear my head before getting back to work.

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N says it’s just decadent and she’s right but we had polenta last night and peasants in northern Italy used to die of malnutrition eating that stuff in winters gone by.
Decadence is everywhere …
I have no hipstery interest in any sort of self-righteous, grand-standing faux-authenticity it’s just good to get away from the tyranny of ever-receding techno targets.
Everything can be better … at a price.

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And there’s always someone richer, younger and prettier having more fun than me.
Ho hum … it was fun.

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Thinking by doing

Bit of an image dump again today … in the best sense. Clearing out things that aren’t moving things forward sort of thing.

From the most powerfully muscular …

hairy legs
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… to the most delicately fragile …

lichen hair
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Everything is in some sort of symbiosis, mutually dependent if you like, caught, or cradled, in Indra’s net.

water 2
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Formless but bloody forceful when you step into the stream …

water 1
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… and deeper than it looks.

h ram
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The valleys here are full of abandoned hydraulic rams which used to pump water up to the houses using nothing more than the pressure behind it’s flow and were built like … well … brick shit houses. I know there’s a lot to be said for clean water an’ all (not that that’s something we can take for granted unfortunately) but we almost seem to be in danger of forgetting how to walk.

Just wondering …

big cheese
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… about the amount of information that’s hiding inside a digital image file.
Why is the luminosity and three dimensionality of film even possible to approach with a low end digital camera? And why do we accept such dreary results most of the time?

mick mount
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As you might have noticed, I was finding it hard to concentrate this afternoon.

My photos never look like the beautiful silky things I see online or in books and magazines. They’re always a bit hard and grimy.
So the additional graininess doesn’t worry me.
But Jeez … looking up how much serious B&W printers, and their inks, cost is chastening.


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Make Haylage , etc.

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Can hardly hear myself think … sounds, and smells, like a bloody airport … as they work their way relentlessly across almost every field around this side of the valley.

They got five cuts in last year which must have had a huge impact on their feed bill … add in the home grown maize and barley and that’s a lot less soya beans per burger. And to think we grow up thinking cows eat grass.


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On its last legs now, N calls this our little Tarantino.

WordPress seems to be working again at last … so no excuses anymore.


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Four hours travelling isn’t unusual and getting up at ten to five is a hell of a lot easier at this time of the year but still … oh well, peeps have to go where the jobs are.

Pretty it ain’t but it’s cheap and functional and indispensable. And millions just like it cry out in the dark everywhere.

I was wondering just how mundane can the subject be, how plain the execution, before …


hms bulwark
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HMS Bulwark lives up to her name and turns her back on migrants dying in the Mediterranean … after all it was only a temporary assignment … until the public outcry had evaporated.
After all the ship was built to put marines ashore to kill people we don’t like. That’s what they do. Though like a school art show or poor inner city kids dancing at a civic opening it looks good plucking desperate people from the sea.
And the weird thing of living somewhere other than London, is that we know people serving on Bulwark and Ocean — they’re not just blocks on a map.

That we might live II

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The phase-to-phase transformer mounted on a pole next to our house … he said, like he understood a word of it.
But you don’t take power totally for granted when you’re at the end of the line.
Sounds almost like a rule to live by …

Also a bit of peace and focus in a very confusing, scary world at the moment … retreat, regroup …

More Ed Ruscha than Patrick Caulfield perhaps.

Come Home to a Real Fire

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Planet Earth — Fossil Fire — it all has to stay in the ground and yet … our future (pensions et al) is invested in the paper value of the untapped assets of fossil fuel extractors and processors … and yet almost no-one will just say so.

The odds are, if you’re reading this you’re like me — in the privileged position of being fairly insulated from climate change, whether by geography or infrastructure capacity and adaptability.
We won’t suffer too much and neither will our children but it will devastate other parts of the world and kill people we’ve never met and their children … and eventually, at some point (“but not yet!”), the chickens will come home to roost.

At least The Guardian is talking about it I suppose.