Balls to Black Friday!

I know, I know I've used this title before, but it still stands.  I'm studiously ignoring the consumer madness of Black Friday.  It's not even confined to one day anymore; it rumbles on until Christmas and beyond, with people scooping up yet more home decor and fast fashion, the latter doubtless coming to a charity shop near you in February, stocking fillers no one wants and electrical gadgets that will stay in their drawers, unloved and unused for the remainder of time.  

I qualify this by adding that I have purchased items in sales in the past, so I get the temptation.  However, I've also shopped second hand since my teenage years and it didn't take me long to learn that the thrill of a good quality second hand find (an item that may have commanded £££ new - not to mention discovering something that no one else will be wearing), is a) way more of a rush and b) a little more responsible.  

I rarely visit high street stores these days and when I do, I'm shocked at the mountains of mass produced discounted clothing that will very soon be added to the real clothes mountain in a Chilean desert.  Do you know that this is growing by 39,000 tonnes per year?  Our addiction to fast fashion is now visible from space. 

Image:  Skyfi

So, my wardrobe, or clothing rail, is pretty small.  I try to keep it that way to maintain balance and perspective.  I love clothes, but also have an ongoing internal dialogue about them.  Fashion is fun but also superficial.  

I dress for myself and mood and practicality very much dictate what I wear.  If I'm going on a 10 mile hike for example, I want to be comfortable.  I'm going to wear trousers thick enough to withstand the brambles I'll have to contend with, boots that won't rub my feet and are mud proof and a coat that is waterproof.  If they happen to look good together, it's a bonus, but if those practical outfits don't always express who I am at my core, I'm at peace with that.  There's always time to dress up.  In stark contrast, on another random Tuesday, I may well be found wearing a flowing kaftan or some crazy patterned vintage maxi skirt for a working day indoors when I don't see another soul outside of my family.  

I have friends who adore putting together an outfit and friends who are more about other forms of creative expression and couldn't care less what I'm wearing; they just want to hang out.  It's all about balance.  Everything we buy, whether or not it's thoughtfully produced, will, in all likelihood, one day end up in on a mountain in a desert in Chile - and I try to keep that in mind.  

So my recent second hand purchases are items that suit my style, are variously vintage and/or of great quality and will stay with me for the duration.

1.  Wrangler Leather Cowboy boots; timeless coolness.

2.  Monsoon Embroidered Tabard.  This livens up a pair of jeans and works well belted over a roll neck and maxi skirt.

3.  Breton Top

Classic black and white Breton with scalloped bib in the thickest cotton by Joanie.

3.  Vintage Welsh Wool Waistcoat...

...teamed here with vintage velvet.  Never mind Black Friday, it's vintage brown vibes here.

In other news, I've been listening to a lot of podcasts this year.  I'm late to the party, but there are some corkers.  I confess, they've slightly overtaken books for me this year.  I quite like drifting off to sleep at night with a familiar voice in my ear.  

Here are some recommendations:

1.  Miss Me?

Singer/actress Lily Allen and her childhood friend, Broadcaster Miquita Oliver, discuss an agreed topic.  It's an entertaining listen; funny, poignant, thought provoking and outrageous in equal measures and the two communicate in an honest, authentic way that only the oldest friends can.  I swear they forget that the world is listening.

2.  Uncanny

My friend Sarah and I were discussing this at length in the pub on Friday night.  It's all about people's paranormal experiences but is very balanced, with input from sceptics and a team of researchers on each and every case.  Trust me when I say that many of the stories are hair raising and quite often it's the sceptics' rational explanations that seem the most implausible.

3.  Where There's a Will There's a Wake.

London actress and comedian Kathy Burke invites a new celebrity guest each week to plan their perfect death from last supper to funeral arrangements and who gets what.  I recently listened to the Danny Dyer episode.  Danny Dyer is a foul mouthed cockney actor, who can also be incredibly funny.  He was very clear in his instructions which was to be buried "stark b*!!**k naked, but for a pair of pink cowboy boots."  

So here's a question for you.  What would you like to be buried in?

Last week, we also caught the opening night of Fontaines DC's UK Romance Tour in Wolverhampton.  If you're unfamiliar with the band, they are an Irish post punk band formed in Dublin in 2014.  Grian Chatten, the lead singer, is a poet and in my humble opinion, Shane MacGowan's natural successor.  He's a different character to Shane, but an amazing lyricist.  We feel lucky to have seen them at Wolverhampton Civic, a relatively intimate venue.  Their next tour, I suspect, will be an arena tour.

Here he is in action; a darkly poetic soul.

Talking of darkly poetic, I'll leave you with my latest photos from the garden.  I'll probably be loitering here for a while, given that our car is now a write off thanks to a disagreement with a service station pothole close to Manchester.  See you soon!

Fern fronds

Decaying leaves

Mahonia berries

First Snow

Surprise!  Snow was in the forecast, but we weren't expecting it as far south as the Midlands.  This is the first time we've had snow in November since 2010, but after weeks of gloom, I was happy that something was happening!  

I grabbed my camera, layered up, laced up my boots and headed into the garden and beyond.

Hydrangea is the gift that keeps on giving; beautiful in every season and especially now, with its transitioning blooms encrusted with ice crystals.

Further up the garden, the pine needles were glistening and bejewelled.

With Christmas closing in, the holly was on point.

Through the garden gate, the dying foliage clung to life under the virgin snow.  I didn't see another soul; the silence only broken by the muffled sounds of my footsteps and chunks of snow falling onto the ground around me (and a little down the back of my neck), disturbed by racing squirrels and landing birds.

I headed up onto the ridge.  Usually, by the time the snow arrives, it's January and the leaves have long since lost their autumn colours, leaving behind smudgy pathways blackened by mud and decay.  Today it looked magical!   

I barely noticed the cold.  Nature's awesome.  These photos were taken less than 3 minutes' walk from my garden gate and to seemingly have it all to myself made me feel very thankful and helped soften the blow of being forced to cancel plans to meet up with a friend today. 

On the way back down, I paused to capture the snow falling against suburban backdrops.

Leaving you with a short highlights video.  Stay cosy!  

First Snow of 2024

My Own Version Of Dylan

Photo by Jerry Schatzberg

"Bob Dylan in Wolverhampton?  Really?"  That was most people's reaction to the news that Dylan's Rough and Rowdy Ways tour was coming to the Black Country.  But, as my window of opportunity suddenly appeared in the ticket queue and the seating plan spots before my eyes started rapidly disappearing, it all became very real.  This was definitely one of those never to be repeated gigs.  I hurriedly clicked on a random two seats and held my breath.  Within a heartbeat, they were mine.

Before I go any further, we all know that Bob Dylan is like marmite.  People either love his uncompromising attitude, his unique vocal style and are willing to devote the time into appreciating and deciphering his lyrical content, or they think he sounds like a strangled cat and is way too pleased with himself.  But there's no disputing he's a cultural icon.  His protest songs formed part of a social movement and are probably more relevant than ever right now.  One of my favourite lines from Dylan's Subterranean Homesick Blues is "Don't follow leaders and watch your parking meters!"  Sound advice.  I'd love to know what he makes of the world right now.  

Still, I knew as soon as those tickets appeared on my phone, that I would learn very little about the man himself and my excitement was tempered by all of the stories I've heard over the years.  His concert reviews have always been a big old mixed bag to put it mildly.  His timekeeping has been questionable, for example, and he rarely gives the audience what they want.  Those expecting wall to wall greatest hits are usually disappointed.  He's not a big talker on stage and there are those who claim he lost what voice he had in the nineties.  

In short, I was already conditioned to expect the unexpected.  Friends of mine told me in no uncertain terms that they would rather listen to cover versions of his songs or look at his artwork than pay good money to see the real deal.  But, and it's a big but - because I paid more for these concert tickets than I have ever paid before, though still not as much as most people are paying to see our generation's Status Quo, sorry, Oasis - but he's Bob Dylan!  There's not enough space here to list his achievements and just how important and far reaching they are.  He remains an enigma to this day.  He took the essence of Woody Guthrie and infused it with his own stream of consciousness, raw talent, self belief and fuck you attitude, continues to inspire countless artists and has been the subject of numerous award winning films and documentaries. 

So let's get to the gig.  The temperature was hovering around 7 degrees.  We could see our breath in the air or was it post Bonfire Night smoke?  Either way, as you can see from this photo, taken upon leaving our pre-gig drinking haunt - The Lych Gate Tavern - it's safe to say it was atmospheric.

I have myself been known to be late to important events.  I've done the whole bursting into the registry office venue of a friend's wedding at the point those gathered were asked the "if anyone knows of any lawful impediment" part.  Why break the habit of a lifetime?  For this one, I'm blaming my friend Guy, who won the doors open/start time debate.  As we were shuffling past numerous disgruntled Dylan fans to get to our seats halfway through the first song, I think I saw Bob's eyes flick upwards.  I'd like to think he would approve.

Dylan has banned mobile phones from his gigs.  We got to keep them, but they were securely sealed inside reusable pouches and released afterwards outside the venue.  No one complained about this.  In fact, we embraced the fact that we were all grounded and present in the moment and it was totally refreshing to watch a performance without trying to see through hundreds of people mindlessly holding their arms aloft and taking videos that they will never watch again.  We're all guilty as charged.  

As I'd read in other reviews, the lighting was elegant and understated; a couple of retro spot lights and what appeared to be tea lights on the piano.  Dressed entirely in black, the man himself was seated at the piano with only his signature shock of curly hair initially visible.  However, curiosity soon got the better of him and he started to stand - back to the audience - straighten and move gingerly towards the back of the stage before coming forward and singing, hand on hip for a few moments.  Then, he would rest one elbow defiantly on the piano, chin in hand, which to me looked like a killer rebel pose for a man of his years, before returning to his seat.  This sequence of movements was repeated throughout.

As for losing his voice in the nineties, well I can't comment on that, but let me tell you, that man was in fine voice.  He had all of the instantly recognisable enunciation, power shifts and gruffness you might expect and he definitely sings to his own rhythm (as evidenced by I've Made Up My Mind To Give Myself to You), but he is also capable of nuanced, melodic vocals.  On multiple occasions, the audience were on their feet, applauding.  

We were told not to expect him to play the harmonica.  He played the harmonica.  We were told not to expect him to sing any old hits.  He delivered Desolation Row, It's All Over Now Baby Blue, Watching The River Flow, It Ain't Me Babe.  We were told he wouldn't address the audience.  Well, he certainly introduced at least one of his band members and I did hear him speak briefly here and there, but sadly those words were lost to the ether, drowned out by the cheers and applause of the audience.  The band was incredible; a beautiful well oiled machine working intuitively with Dylan.  They included the legendary session drummer Jim Keltner, who has played with three of the four Beatles, on Lennon's Imagine album and first worked with Dylan on Watching The River Flow.  

Jim Keltner, Photo by Bob Gruen

All too soon (after around 90 minutes or so), it became apparent that we had just been treated to the closing song.  Is it awful to say that I can't actually remember what that last song was?  I was just swept along on a tide of pinch me moments and suddenly the band members were forming a line with Dylan and the lights went down.  There were no parting words.  For a few moments, I overheard some fans asking each other if they thought he would come back on, but I was already reaching for my coat and when the venue lights came on, their hopes of an encore were extinguished.  Disappointing?  Nah.  He's Bob Dylan.  He dances to his own tune.  

Yes I bought a tshirt.

Outside, the music played on into the night.

Bob Dylan Tribute, Wolverhampton, November 2024.

You might think these are the words of a die hard fan.  That may be true, but it wasn't always the case.  I grew up in a  household where his music was played frequently.  I had a love hate relationship with some of it.  Because it was my parents music, I took against it for the longest time, although secretly, I couldn't deny the man's genius and always loved a rebel.  My sixth form tutor got me back on board.  He was one of those inspiring tutors who treated his students as friends and would discuss music during lesson breaks and brought me mix tapes.  Put quite simply, Bob Dylan has just always been there, working, prolifically writing and just creating throughout my life.  He's Bob Dylan. He's contrary, complex, icon, muse.  And last night, with 3,000 other people, I finally got to see what all the fuss is about.

Back to Black

My blogs have become more sporadic lately, but blogging should be a pleasure, not a chore, and life has a knack of reminding you to get on with things.  Some of my friends are dealing with loss right now and such events always make me reflective.  My photos are effectively my journal anyway, so I've had to scroll back through October to see which bits to share with cyberspace for the month of October?

Well, it's spooky season, so here goes!  These days we don't make such a big deal of Halloween (although some might think that three carved pumpkins say otherwise).  But, I have been indulging in some seasonally appropriate, mystical and downright spooky activities.  

I've been sticking to a regular exercise regime of nordic walking three times a week.  I usually get a few looks and comments, but the benefits are good enough for me not to care.  Maybe it's the fact that my DNA results show I'm approximately one third Scandinavian!

Determined to capture the recent Hunter's Moon, we headed to Enville Church (home of three and counting Knights Templar graves), believing it to be a good vantage point for the moon rise.  We were not mistaken.  As we walked around the ancient grave yard, the moon emerged without warning, from behind a cloud.  I quickly set up my tripod, a timer on the shutter release and my lens to infinity.  Whilst it might not win any awards, I was pleased to have captured this magical moment.

This one was less successful technically, but I still like the result.

At this time of year, I usually create a concept for a Halloween self portrait.  This year, I've been otherwise engaged.  However, after the disappointment of having to cancel a planned styled shoot using a vintage late 60s wedding dress (thanks Vix), I decided to play dress up.  It was, as is often the case with me, a spur of the moment decision and therefore there's no hair styling or make up.  However, the dress is too beautiful not to be seen and the results are maybe a little spooky.  

My own sartorial choices are undergoing something of a transformation.  My style is still eclectic and my appreciation of vintage and interesting second hand finds remain, but I'm falling back in love with black.  It's just so cool and classic...not to mention gothic.  Plus black pieces are so versatile, slotting easily into any wardrobe.  I've picked up a couple of chunky new-to-me knits, which work beautifully with my vintage skirts and over dresses.  This practical and stylish find is worth a share.  I love it's Victorian inspired ruffle details (the reverse is cable knit).  It makes me feel like I'm wearing a corset.

This lovely dress popped up on Vinted and just screamed Autumn.  My tresses have gone a darker shade of blonde too to match the darker half of the year.

This little fella has been visiting us regularly.  He's such a traitor.  Despite not belonging to us, Noah makes himself feel at home whenever he calls and as such, appears to have claimed ours as his second home; so much so that he now attempts to send off his shy sister on the rare occasion that she ventures across to our side of the street.  He looks like butter wouldn't melt doesn't he?  Look at that wet nose!

He demands our attention whenever he visits, putting up his paw (the haunted, hovering paw as we call it) to request more fuss if we dare to turn away.  He's actually sitting on my lap and nudging my hands as I type.

We visited Shrewsbury's Halloween Steampunk Fair at the weekend and I was able to get in some portrait practice.  The old oak doors and sandstone walls of St Mary's Church provided  perfect backdrops.  Some sitters (standers?) needed little direction.  Others responded to my simple direction to "look hauntingly into the middle distance."

Vive la revolution!

First in the queue when witches' hats were handed out.

Shades of Annie Hall?

Gregory's social media profile reads:  "Failed music hall impresario, barker, fire breather and occasional observer of the occult."  Now what could be better for Halloween?

This man had a particularly characterful face that belongs in an old Ealing comedy and I loved his hat.

Here's West End stage star, Polly Wolf, looking moody as requested.

Unguarded!

Her companion's companion was Eddie, the bearded dragon.

Outside, there was morris dancing...

It had a distinctly pagan flavour, but the 21st century was never too far away...

Still, this man's drinking vessel was on point.

Here come the girls!

Some intentional motion blur.

Don't they look amazing?

Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!

My favourites - representing White Rose Steampunks - the Yorkshire contingent.

We also squeezed in a visit to the Severn Valley Railway on a glorious sunny Autumn day.

There's always a sense of time shifting whenever we visit this heritage railway station.  For example, there was evidence of a bunch of day trippers visiting from decades earlier.

But on the deserted station platform, it was a very different story.  Here's Morti Don tending the station garden.

A super fit cyclist casting a shadow or something more sinister?

To say the inhabitants were gloomy is something of an understatement.

We didn't linger.

I'll be catching up with everyone's blogs over the next couple of days.  For now, I'll leave you with a super short video.  Turn the sound up!

Happy Halloween!

Wishing you a safe Samhain.