I am against the exploitation of Halloween when it comes to the selling of vast amounts of ephemeral plastic tat. But we had an invite to a party tonight, the costumes we wore had been worn before and will be worn again — though maybe not that V mask which I found terribly uncomfortable and which, all evening, was worn purely for the photo opportunities. C’s ‘Corpse Bride’ wedding dress was definitely getting another outing, though. Preparations are, here, still in train (pun intended).
I used to smoke tobacco, but quit in 2008 (it remains the only one of my addictions which I can claim to have truly quit). Still, I couldn’t care less whether others still want to use the stuff, and it does sometimes look good. This is, of course, an optical illusion, but an effective one.
This is not particularly Toronto-specific. There are at least three, and probably more, blatant electrical wires running across the shot in various directions. There are all sorts of reflections intruding and the head resides above what appears to be a fusebox. Nevertheless this is certainly my most interesting shot of the day, it feels to me like a collage. (The food in this place had similar characteristics — that is, random and possibly incompatible things nevertheless pushed together into the same space — but that’s another story.)
The only thing that most people can recall about St Helena is that it was where Napoleon Bonaparte was exiled for the last five and a half years of his life. I have a lot of sympathy for the guy; after defeat at Waterloo, certain that the Prussians, at least, were going to kill him the second they caught up with him, he surrendered to the British, only to find himself — without trial or conviction for any crime — packed off to the middle of the South Atlantic, and put under house arrest in Longwood House. These days that building would be desirable real estate I’m sure, but, riddled with damp and rats at the time, I wouldn’t want to spend all that time here against my will, particularly not if I’d been in charge of much of Europe in the previous couple of decades.
This isn’t Napoleon’s original death mask, created as he lay in this room in May 1821, having died (conspiracy theories notwithstanding) of stomach cancer, aged 51, younger than me. Apparently, for some bizarre reason, that mask currently resides in the University of North Carolina. But, copy of a copy though this one may be, here the erstwhile Emperor’s face sits in the very room of Longwood House in which Napoleon’s body lay in state 202 years ago. Officially I was not supposed to take photos inside the house, so this is firmly an unofficial shot. Don’t tell anyone.
Ten full days have passed without a single human appearing on this blog, in any form. Here are two — one frozen in time, idealised, commercialised. The other mobile, but faceless, distant, dehumanised. I can interact with neither. And the trouble is, I’m not evern sure what is better, any more.
For the first time since the 6th March, face-to-face contact with actual University of Manchester students. And even then I should apparently not have been doing this. However, I’ve kinda stopped caring. I like this picture because it was just the shot I wanted to take when I pressed the shutter, and I got it on the first attempt. Mug, mask, maze of wires and all.
I’m not a ‘mask shamer’. There are plenty of people out there who for one reason or another can’t wear one, particularly not for any length of time, and everyone else just needs to live with that fact. But all the same, this signage did make me laugh.
It is five years to the day since I took probably my favourite picture of this blog, and certainly the one I worked hardest to get — the one of the summit of Kilimanjaro. In 2020, such expeditions have become pipe dreams, although being fair about it, there have just been nine pictures in a row that were not taken on home turf. But I am back here in Hebden Bridge for a few days at least, and there’s work to get back to. Here, there at least remain toyshop owners with a sense of wry humour.
It’s student video-making season: Sissi (bottom left) becomes the latest to come to my office and point a camera at me for sundry purposes. While she reviewed her footage, I became intrigued by her tripod. This is an inanimate object with a secret inner life if ever there was one. People go to certain clubs dressed like this.
Being 42 