Gone fishing

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I think that there are as many approaches to photography as there are photographers. Some are top of the chain hunters with all the gear, going up mountains to get that special image. Some are machine gunners, shooting everything in sight, hoping to at least hit the target once. Some are scavengers, going out to know where people have already taken great shots, and just hope they can get something too. Others are fishermen.

And, of course, I identify as a fisherman. Now, in a time, long, long ago, before I tried to reboot a semblamce of a musicaal career, I used to go fishing. I wasn’t a serious fisherman and didn’t have all the kit, but i had a couple of rods and knew what i could get put of them despite being a complete beginner. I wasn’t really bothered about getting a fish from the river, to out of the river, and onto a dimner plate. Even though it was an obvious bonus. It was about being outside. It was about hearing the sound of the river as it flowed by. It was about hearing the birdsong and about sharing something with my son. It was like a sort of mediation. You become so aware of every sensation, and it brought me so much peace.

I was far from being an expert, and getting up at the crack of dawn, to go to a specofic spot just wasn’tgoing to happen. I didn’t chuck in a grenade to get everything out of the river. Maybe I was a scavenger, without having the vain hope that they might have.

Could this apply to my photography? Possibly. Bear in mind that I am a more advanced photographer than fisherman. Am I that hunter that will climb mountains to get that one shot? Well it has happened, but only because there was a funicular. Or because I was in Paris and knew that I was bound to get something on film.

I have a certain amount of gear and cameras. I know how each piece of kit works and what I can get out of them. But the most important thing is being out of the house. It’s about being to detatch oneself from the scene and becoming an observer who is conscious of what is going on around you. If you get that prize-winning photo, then great, and if you don’t, then great too. Just having a pit stop to have a cake and a nice cup of tea can make everything worthwhile.

When I used to suffer from anxiety, that fact of being able to detatch from a scene and become a mere observer did me the world of good. I was no longer in constant flight or fight mode. With my 40 years of this photo lark, I have managed to take on some of the basics and manage to get a not too shabby hit rate.

Some people have sport. Some have painting. Some have a multitude of creative pursuits that allow them to express themselves. It would appear that mine is exploring the world around me with a camera. Sometimes you win, and sometimes you don’t. The mere act of being out there exploring and letting the images present themselves to you can be enough.

And they say that prayers don’t work!

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As some of you may know, I am a Catholic. I pray. Not perfectly, but I try. Sometimes you feel spiritual darkness, where you think what the heck am I doing this for because it’s not working, but, with faith, you keep going. Because you believe. Because you’re not a child waiting for an immediate response, and you know that sometimes, you can’t feel God around, but then, suddenly, you get an answer and you know He was listening to you all along and that your faith in Him was being tested.

My son was the object of many Rosaries and prayers, asking God to help him through a breakup. He took it really hard, and of course, as a father, you worry. Especially me! You pray for healing in his life journey, and then this weekend happened. Firstly, on Friday I was allowed to leave work at Friday lunchtime as I was completely up to date, and I managed to get an appointment to get my beard seen to at the barbers. I was starting to look as if I was getting familiar with my vagrant side. The girl who looked after me was obviously very skilled and when I came out, I looked way better, almost like a regular member of society, and a little less like Karl Marx or Victor Hugo.

Don’t ask me why, but I was motivated to get into my kitchen on Saturday and start creating. I have, like many of you, Dear Reader, been infected by TikTok. Various styles of TikTok exist or rather various styles of videos that people gravitate towards. For me, all those filters are just a waste of space, and not really my thing, but what is, is the Italian American Nonnas, that share their food and cooking secrets. A lot seems to be pretty basic and uses few ingredients, but as one Italian chef refers to it, it is the “sound of love” as he swishes around the food in the pan. And he’s right, of course. Cooking for somebody is a labour of love! So, I cooked. I prepared food for my wife and daughter. It was simple and uncomplicated, but it was flavoursome. And flavoursome is a word that I have a great deal of affection for.

Killian came in to see what I was doing and to taste what I was doing. He approved of my decision. We agreed that we would cook later that day together for the evening feast and that we had to empty the freezer. We also agreed that the next morning that we would go to the shops to get some celery, so I could make some more sauces. But just celery, mind you… I humoured him and agreed. That night, we made the evening meal together. Alexa was on, and we were just two guys chilling in the kitchen making food. It was wonderful A real father/son moment. All was well with the world. He prepared the fish, and the mashed potato, and I was to prepare the French beans. We prepared our ingredients, chopped finely, or just seasoned ready to go into the oven. And put everything together for our meal. We even found some cheese to put on top of the fish pie to make it crispy.

The next day came along, and we were still on high from the previous evening. I saw my son with his hands in a bowl making something that looked awfully like bread! He was actually making Cheese filled Nan bread, which is like Nonna Bread, just less Italian… After two cups of tea, finding some clean socks, and getting dressed, we headed out to get our celery. I told him to get a couple of bags, knowing full well that we wouldn’t “just” get some celery. Yeah, but Dad, I don’t want to do the weekly shopping. Don’t worry, son, we won’t. Instead of getting a trolley, we just used one of the plastic baskets to limit my spending frenzy. I could see that he was starting to get worried about the amount of food entering the basket, and told him it would be alright. I don’t know about you, but when I’m in a food shop I don’t see produce, I see parts of recipes. I see what I can do with each bit of food and how it becomes an ingredient. With this, I can do that, etc. The total came up to €42 which is pretty good since without some discipline, and self-control, I could have filled up a whole trolley. It has happened in the past. Hence today’s helpful tip. Don’t go food shopping when you’re hungry!

Bouyed up on the day’s food, and fatherly son moments, it was with inner peace that I arrived at Mass that evening. Only very slightly late because of Nantes traffic, I didn’t feel too horrible! All of a sudden I looked up and saw this strange man. Except it wasn’t a strange man, but Jean Guillaume my old friend that I didn’t recognise at first because he shaved his beard. He had been through relationship troubles but was happy to present his new companion. I was so happy to be able to see him again after so much time. He left before Mass had finished, and when mass was over I messaged him to say to meet up the next Sunday and that we would go and get something to eat together and he could bring me up to date.

Lent is a time when we prepare ourselves for Easter by doing pennance and recognising our many sins. Back in the day, one would give up something, and then the bsihops started telling us to do something extra. After the success of last year, I’m giving up the drink, and as I’m already doing a daily rosary, I asked my wife to join me in praying it. It’s not always easy as she complains about the old fashioned way I say the prayers in French calling God Vous instead of the more modern Tu. I’m more familiar with the credo in French as I learnt it when Killian was a boy. but we still manage to do it though and find a common understanding, much like in our married lives. I started gently by doing on decade with her, but we’re gradually moving up a notch and by Easter I would hope for us to be able to do a full rosary together. I don’t know what effect it might have on us both, but one has to trust in God’s paln for us, and no prayer is ever wasted and sometimes are even answered when you least expect it…

A Sunny February Afternoon

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Sometimes you have brunch and just feel that all is well with the world. Well, that Sunday, all was definitely well with the world, or at least, well with my world, which isn’t a bad way to be on a delightful sunny February afternoon. Out in town with my camera, well-fed, and just wandering around, seeing what would turn up in front of my camera.

If I were to be honest, I know that if I go to such-and-such an area, I will get such-and-such a kind of photo, so we can’t about wandering around aimlessly, but there was a sort of randomness… Sort of.

Get ready for some technical information, which will hopefully explain the style of photos that I am presenting to you today. When converting my images to black and white, I edited as if I had a red filter on my camera and as if I were using black and white film. When using this red filter, anything that is blue comes out in a darker tone. It’s going to be easier to use an image instead of a thousand words…

Basically, anything that is a deep blue turns almost black and makes for a powerful image. Some people love it (I do), others don’t (ah well), and that’s all fine too! You get the picture!

A lot of the photos that follow will exhibit this effect as if they were case book studies. You need the sky to be a certain way or it just won’t work, but when it does, you get the kind of image that jumps out at you. That and the 16-35mm lens, you can’t really go wrong. Mind you, after that delicious brunch, not a lot could go wrong…

Happy Birthday Blog!

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When I look back at this blog, it would appear that I have been “at it” since the 19th of February 2019 (or was it that I took the first photos for the blog on that day?) and it would also appear that I am still “at it!” There have been various themes to the blog, including a bit of photography, a bit of Nantes in France, a few obligatory bike shots, a couple of portraits, a couple of articles about my mental health, and my love of tea and cake.

Today, I will talk about tea and cake, and will also share a favourite address where one can partake in this passion of mine.  Not that I’m turning into a lifestyle blog of course. Salivating?  Get a napkin and wipe your mouth already!

At the beginning of the month, I had a rehearsal with the Symphonique des Bords de Loire, and with a couple of my friends from Cholet days, who play the fiddle, we went to have tea, and cake, in Nantes after the rehearsal.  What a good idea!  It would have to be La Passagère, in the Passage Pommeraye, and whilst waiting to be placed, we could ooh and ahh, looking at the cakes and thinking about what we might like to have.

It was just lovely looking through the menu and deciding how we would go about getting diabetes.  You’ll be able to get an idea by exploring the photos…  The girls had various forms of hot chocolate, and I had Darjeeling.  Somebody has to keep standards up!  They’re absolutely charming but French…  We must show understanding.

So with blood sugar rising, we reminded ourselves of the “brunch sign” that we had seen whilst waiting at the entrance.  We have two concerts in May with meeting times at 14h30, which is when they stop serving brunch.  Well, it would be a shame to miss that.  So we’re not going to miss that!  At €28 a head, it seemed to be a good price for such a treat!  That somebody has a birthday the same day, has nothing to do with anything.  Oh no…

As the good friend that I am, I thought that somebody should do a recce.  I would climb up to the parapet and ready myself to go over the top and sacrifice myself to control the quality of this brunch from La Passagère.  Somebody has to do it, and as a gentleman, it has to be me.

I turned up and was seated.  The waiter showed me the Brunch menu, placed some other people, and brought me the menu back.  I was so excited that I missed half of it.  Could I have Darjeeling please, even though I could have chosen any hot drink on the menu, even an Irish coffee, and with a choice of brioche, croissant, and pain au chocolat, I went for some pain and chose a citron pressé for my daily dose of vitamin C. 

The gentleman brought me my tea, my viennoiserie, which looked perfect, and my citron, and then said, I’ll be back with the rest.  The rest.  Two short words hold such promise and make Ian, a very happy chappy.  He came back with a tray with fromage blanc, granola, fruit salad, and my favourite jam in the whole wide world.  Myrtille Jam.  And a shrimp salad.   There was me being even happier by the moment and remembering to take photos to show my friends in the group chat. 

The only thing that I could complain about was the lack of more tasty fruit salad!  The prawns were wonderful and felt almost meaty!  Everything was magical.  Is it the done thing to put jam on my pain au chocolat?  Even if it isn’t, it won’t be the last time I do this.  I might have to do it in private next time.

A very nice waitress came to see me and asked me whether I was ready for the next plate.  What a sweetie, knowing exactly what to say to make me happy.  Out came a very timid, yet heartfelt, “yes please!”  Back she came with “la suite.”  A parboiled egg that had had its shell removed, on a bed of some finely cut leek and carrots in a cream sauce.  Cutting into the egg, the yolk was perfectly runny.  A true taste sensation!  The generous serving of smoked salmon was top-notch.  Luckily, there was just enough bread to mop up the sauce and remaining yolk.

And that was just the start of a day of photography on a warm and sunny day in February. But that deserves its own article…

How does death change your perspective?

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WordPress, like most companies, wants to create wealth, especially for WordPress.  One way it does that is to create advertising that it will place on the sites that allow it.  IE you go on a page and every time that you click on the ad, the advertiser gets people to its page and pays WordPress for this privilege.  I’m not into advertisements on websites, and like some old-timer surfer, believe that they are a mighty pox that should be eradicated, like world poverty, and poorly made cups of tea. 

But I digress.  That last paragraph has nothing to do with death, I hear you say, and you know what, Dear Reader, you’d be right!  But I promise I will get back to death, but back to ads first.  WordPress has decided that they want to sell ad space.  Nothing has changed since the newspapers, apparently.  Ads to pay the ink and the journalist that writes the articles.  If, however, the articles in the newspaper are dismally awful, then you might not want to read the newspaper in question, and therefore WordPress wants you to “create content” that is interesting or meaningful.

They have found a sneaky way of doing this.  The buggers!  On my dashboard for this site, yes that one that people seem to keep reading despite me writing everything, WordPress gives you subject hints about what to write about.  Some were about what would happen if you won the lottery, another about describing your first computer, and then I saw this one. How does death change your perspective?

Soooo, let’s see what we write about death.  It’s like those essay titles you used to get at school in English, French, or German, etc.

It is, of course, a very loaded question, and it would be easy to play to the clichés about death.  As a religious person who is fortunate to have been blessed with a certain amount of faith and instruction, I know that death is part of life, and with taxes, happens to everyone, at least one day in their lives, usually at the end of their lives of course.

My first experience of death was at primary school, where a classmate’s brother was killed whilst crossing the road.  It certainly made me aware of the dangers of crossing the road.

In 1979 my Great Grandmother died.  This mother, grandmother, and Great Grandmother was the kind of lady that would wait for the milkman to deliver the milk with his cart and horse and pounce on the horse poop with a dustpan and brush to use the poop on her roses.  Apparently, it was a savage competition.  All this for a bucket of shit! 

At the age of 13, my grandfather died.  I was with my grandmother who had just lost her husband. I was crying and there she was comforting me instead of the other way around.  With 70 years of age difference, we certainly had a different perspective on death.

In 1987, my uncle died prematurely, and I remember seeing the family walk up the aisle in the church behind the coffin that contained his body crying.  In 1989, it was my grandmother’s time to leave this world behind and enter the next world, and it took me six months to cry.

In the last twenty years, I have lost school friends, a cousin, four aunts, two uncles, and a nephew, and when going through depression, I could have been next on the list.  Statistically, I am closer to death than my children, but death can come at any time.  Now, at 51, I am not afraid of death.  I have accepted that this has happened and can happen, and although not something I would wish upon anyone, you know it becomes more and more likely. 

It is always saddest for those left behind, and we feel the part of the deceased took in our lives, missing from us, and this missing part hurts like bloody hell.  So, if death is inevitable, then how do face it?  Some atheists have told me that you live, and then you die and you cease to exist.  How can that be?  The dead mentioned earlier in this article are still in my heart and therefore must still exist somewhere.  As a Catholic, I believe in eternal life, not for my body, but for my soul. That soul lives in my body, but there is no way of identifying it.  The soul makes me, me.  It is like talking about my spirit.  When I die, my body will die, and my soul will be judged by my creator.  What happens to my soul will depend on how I spent my life preparing myself for my death.  This death that is part of life…  If I have rejected my God, then my soul will be separated from Him and will spend eternity in hell separated from God forever.  If I have merited heaven but my soul still has the stain of sin on it, then it will be purified in the fires in purgatory, and once cleansed of sin, may enter Heaven, or if I die in a state of grace, then I will enter Heaven directly and spend eternity with my God.

So, does death change my perspective?  And if so on what?  On my life?  On the way I chose to lead my life?  Possibly.  I will die one day.  It will happen.  I hope I will be prepared and I pray for those who have died and have gone before me.  Some will say that I am delusional for believing in a big guy in the sky and that it ends when you die.  The difference between me and that person is that I have hope, faith, and love.  And yes, it changes the way I try to lead my life.

Well, that was an interesting exercise, and I might try it again.  I hope not to have been morbid or overdone the whole thing, but I have been honest with you.  Those who believe, and who accept Catholic doctrine, pray for the souls in purgatory, as they pray for us, even more so when they are delivered into God’s Presence in heaven.  It’s good to have people on your side.

Happy Not Dead Yet Day

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When does Happy Birthday become Happy Not Dead Yet Day?  Is there a cut-off age for birthdays, or should men become like women and become just 21 again?  Are birthdays just for children?    Why am I talking about this anyway?  Today is the anniversary of my birth.  I was born on this day in 1972, 51 years ago.  When this article will be published my birthday will have passed so don’t try finding my date of birth.  Some people love their birthdays and enjoy them and just go for it.  I, surprise, surprise, am not one of those dreadful people.  Noooo, I am just in a foul mood, and despite receiving happy birthday wishes with good grace, I remain, under my breath, just an angry old man.  What is wrong with me?!

It could be because my birthday isn’t even being celebrated on the day itself.  Well, it is but it isn’t.  I expressed the wish for a beer and pizza night.  So, of course, I’m the one who has to go out and get the effing pizzas and get the beer.  I’m not even allowed to choose the effing film, because I am a sucker for a Rom-Com, and my family members aren’t so we won’t be watching one.  My daughter chose a birthday cake, a chocolate cake, which I am rather partial to, but it has that sickly sweet icing on it and is a unicorn rainbow cake.  She’s basically taking the piss out of me.  This isn’t me being paranoid since she actually admitted everything!  I’m even more pissed off with myself as I should be grateful instead of being selfish.  Damn you conscience!!!

I don’t like being the centre of attention and feel very uneasy about it.  If any bugger sings happy birthday to me, I just want the ground to swallow me up.

There were actually people last year for my fiftieth who actually came around for a party!  The utter gall of it!  Apparently “they,” say you have to be made a fuss of and receive presents.  It was awful.  You have to sit there pretending to have a good time.  The thing was a disaster and I still have a wine stain on my favourite shirt!

I told my son last night how I generally love my fellow man, and he promptly replied with the word bollocks!   You hate people!  I don’t necessarily hate them, and I do like them, far away, and on my own terms, i.e. not in my house wishing me a happy birthday!

How can I be like this??  I have no idea.  I remember my childhood birthdays with great affection, and I can’t blame booze for giving me just partial recollections.  My mother always went the extra mile, and I remember various styled chocolate cakes with great affection.  Even when I was at boarding school birthdays were fun.  I would get some cards, and Thornton toffees from my grandmother, and Matron would come round asking me if I wanted a chocolate cake or fruit cake?  I generally asked if I could have a chocolate cake, and at the end of supper, the cake would be brought out of the kitchen and divided up amongst the whole school which was a great way to do things. 

Even when I came back into the state school system, you would get the bumps which never really hurt, and one would have to pretend to struggle and just take it, but it was a laugh.  Now it would be classed as bullying and possibly assault!  How times have changed!

So, thank you to all who have wished me a happy birthday. Thank you for not picking me up by my hands and feet and not kicking me!  Thank you for taking a moment to have a thought for me on my special day.  I really do love you all!

Ode to January

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January, with its terrible reputation as being the shittiest month of the year, is 11 days from being over.  Some will say good riddance to bad rubbish, others won’t care, and others will be happy it’s just over and done with. Does Blue Monday ring any bells, even alarm bells?  The concept of Blue Monday (the third Monday in January) appeared in 2005 during a press release from British travel firm, Sky Travel during a publicity stunt.  A formula described this specific Monday as being the gloomiest of the year.

How could this reputation come about?  Could it be that so many seem to start this month with a hangover?  Or at best, with a dry mouth, feeling slightly tired, and having a slightly delicate tummy?  Is the fact of going back to work after the celebrations of Christmas, and suffering the anti-climax that is January a cause?  A jolt back into a reality that we feel we no longer desire?  Is it because we feel guilty about making so many resolutions to better our lives and start anew as the new year begins, and then feel dreadful when we fail after just a couple of days?  Could the answer just be drinking slightly less and not giving a shit about the new year, and therefore an eventual new me?

Mind you, Dear Reader, the weather is usually not the best that one could wish for, but if it were 20°C outside with warm sunshine, then the climate change people would be up in arms.  Whatever we say, we will, somehow, somewhere, annoy a climate activist.  Am I a follower of Saint Greta?  Not really.  Am I just boorish and refuse to sort my rubbish?  No, but I’m not convinced either.  I have problems believing that if I don’t put an apple core in the compost bin that I will go to ecological hell for all eternity…

However, as you will see from the photos in the traditional end of the article gallery, there is light and shade and therefore sunlight, therefore sun…  In the ones taken after sundown, you won’t be able to see the sun, not because of a climate crisis but because the sun tends not to shine during the night.  Mind-blowing, I know.

So, after dissing January, I feel the need to defend it. Within 11 days I will have had my 51st birthday and will celebrate not being dead yet, and being the oldest that I have ever been!  Wouldn’t it be ironic if I snuffed it before then?  It would certainly be a shame.  With my children and wife, the plan is to have a pizza, film, and beer night!  Not the done thing to miss that!  During childhood, I would have the first of a long line of birthdays throughout the year.  Sometimes for Christmas, I would have a “big” present and be told that it was also for my birthday.  I don’t blame my parents at all, and this is not part of my childhood trauma.  I have a son who was born just before Christmas and find myself doing the same thing. He’s no more messed up than I am.  Differently messed up, but not because of that.  I have people in my family born on Christmas Day, some on Boxing Day, and someone born on the 27th of December.  Ah well, it could happen to anyone, and they all seem perfectly imperfect, just like me!

Welcome to 2023

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First of all, Dear Reader, I wish you a very Happy New Year for 2023! May it be better than 2022 and may it bring you everything you need to continue your life journey. At this time of year, we all tend to look forwards and backwards, and it seems fitting that Janus, the two-faced god, gave his name to January. We look backwards to the preceding year to see what we can learn from our experiences, good or bad, and forwards to the new year with hope and an expectation of change.

2022 saw my first contact with Covid back in March. Not the most pleasant of experiences, and I think I gave it a 1 out of 5 rating… It saw the war in Ukraine, and our fears of Russia going mad and destroying the entire continent. This, despite prayer, seems to still be the case, except at the cost of so much human life. Roe v Wade was overturned in the US and hope was given to the Pro-life movement. It saw my first trip back to the UK since 2019, and it was wonderful being back and seeing family after such a long time. In the final days of the year, it saw the death of Pope Benedict XVI, one of the most misunderstood popes of these times. On a personal note, we were so worried about Molly, our family dog, and feared losing her in December. Fortunately, she is a lot better but it was a close shave. It might sound silly to some, how one can get so emotionally attached to an animal, but I swear I was writing her obituary in my mind and crying about the whole thing.

For Christmas this year, I am happy to report a total lack of drama, and on the contrary, think the whole shebang went off wonderfully. This was in part thanks to the visit of two of my nieces who came to spend this special time with us. One of the nieces even came to midnight mass with me and the next day, Christmas Day, the six of us were together for mass which just shows how special Christmas is. It just shows how the simplest of things can have so much meaning and how they can bring us such joy.

I was on holiday the week before Christmas and the week after Christmas. It would appear that I might have even lost a tiny amount of weight, and some of my t-shirts seem to be less tight. It might not last, but for the moment I’m just going to enjoy it.

It was just so special to have time with my family and have them around me. I took the girls into Nantes to share some of my world with them, and believe it or not, I had a camera with me, so I might just have to share some of my world with you, too! The weather was abysmal, but on the last day before the return to work, the sun was out and I went into town to have some special Ian time, and just wonder the streets between confession, and missing the pub being open. It is likely, however, that I pop in this weekend to wish my friends a Happy New Year too!

December

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As a musician, even one as not as implicated as me, December can be a busy time and has proven itself to live up to its reputation of loads of concerts to finish the year, and carolling. For the moment, I have 3 out of 5 weekends taken up with playing the horn in one form or another. 

At the end of the Season in the summer of 2022, I decided not to follow the new direction taken by the Orchestre d’Harmonie de Cholet.  Not just out of loyalty to the outgoing conductor who, since 2009, become a close friend, but sometimes you just need a change of scene.  I first thought of just having a complete break from music, which is a rash decision but one I have taken in the past.  Friends were worried that I would stop music altogether, which would not only be a shame but also a waste of talent or work that I have put into learning the horn over the years.  I had lost the love of performing, and rehearsals had become more a way of spending time on something I knew how to do but with less and less pleasure.

I was therefore on the lookout for a new ensemble that needed a horn player.  When I was in the Cholet Conservatoire Symphony orchestra, I made friends who talked about this relatively new orchestra based just South of Nantes.  You go to Facebook and see their page and try to make a choice.  I made a choice.  I am now the fourth horn in the Symphonique des Bords de Loire. 

So what does this have to do with being busy in December?  I’ll tell you.  With concerts and rehearsals, I have been playing every weekend since the 26th of November.  I am now 50, have taken up napping in a big way, and sleeping, or at least trying to sleep as a secondary calling.  All this music is creating an enormous conflict of interest between music and my new vocation, napping.  I have tried automatic pilot, but people seem to cotton on and even dare come up to me and try to talk to me when my body is still on, but the brain is experiencing a temporary outage.  The sheer audacity of it all!   

Last weekend, I did a paid gig for the Brass Quintet Arabesque, replacing my old horn teacher, the Grand, the mother Great, and all-around good egg, Jerome Percher who teaches the horn in the Conservatoire In Angers!  He is also a massive football fan and maybe the evening match between our two splendid countries was just too much for him.  Little did we know that Harry Kane would be less fortunate than us. 

The idea was to have a brass band style quintet with two cornets, one tenor horn, one euphonium, and one tuba.  Similar to what you might see the Salvation Army playing when they’re out around this time.  We would play three sets of Christmas carols to add some ambience to the Christmas Market in La Roche Sur Yon, which is the administrative capital of the Vendée.  It was a beautifully sunny day, but a tad cold.  Yes, brass monkey weather!

Now I don’t technically play the tenor horn, but had studied the fingerings to know how to approach the instrument and not look too silly.  It’s also much lighter than the more common, yet beautiful instrument, which is the French Horn.

Everything that morning seemed to go wrong.  I was already nervous as I didn’t want to let the lads down and my heart was going like the clappers.  Then slightly late getting out of the house, having to get the windscreen de-iced, as it was -5°C, which is chilly.  Then the car pretended to not want to start.  Ha ha ha, it was the car just trying to play a trick on me.  The roads had been salted so fine, and I was headed down to La Roche. I had misread the text message with the meeting times and thought I was late.  As it turned out, I wasn’t, and our lady answered my prayer for a parking space not too far from the meeting point.  I, of course, couldn’t find my colleagues when I arrived in the square and then suddenly I saw Hervé and felt a lot less anxious!

We played our three sets, and the only upset was whilst playing I saw three ships.  I think we all managed to sink them! 

The organisers had prepared us some hot pretzels and some mulled wine, which just hit the spot and told us where the restaurant was, where we were to have lunch.  The five of us needed feeding!  Starters and main, or main and dessert, with drinks.  I could get used to this.  We ate, joked, finished our beer, and said see you later at Hervé’s house for the Soirée to celebrate Jean Michel’s birthday in a French and very fitting way!

I just had to get to Nantes, for confession, to get a little something for my evening’s host, wife, and daughter.  Just enough time left over to pick up my wife, and get ourselves to our evening.

Jean Michel has a bit of a reputation as an epicurean, and not only a lover of fine cuisine, but a very accomplished chef!  Upon arrival, we went to say hello to everyone, and were told to leave the kitchen, which is exactly what we did!  The aforementioned legend that is Monsieur Percher was there with his lovely wife, and it was such a pleasure introducing each other to our respective spouses.  The pre-meal beers were served and then out of nowhere appeared a magnum of very nice champagne, which was the first of quite a few exquisite bottles, which complemented Jean Michel’s cooking so well.  We’re now in happy as a pig in shit territory. 

It was a lovely evening and with the wine, I was beginning to feel a little tired, which is better than being a little tiring.  It was time for little Ian to go beddy byes…  My new vocation in life.  Fortunately, my wife is a professional driver, stone-cold sober, and able to drive us home. 

The next day was spent gently getting out of bed, and trying not to let on that I might be a little tired.  By Sunday evening I was ready to go to mass, and who would I see, but Hervé and his family.  It’s nice not being at mass on your own and was just the surprise I need to finish the evening off on a high point.  That and going to the pub afterwards.

Next Saturday, I will play the tenor horn with the Tuba Class with Hervé as their teacher.  The weekend after will be a lot quieter.  Then three days in the factory before breaking up for two weeks holiday for Christmas, which, Dear Reader, will be a completely different story. 

Until then, I wish each and every one of you a very happy, peaceful, and above all drama-free Christmas!

La Générale

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La Générale refers to a French dress rehearsal before a show or concert but with no senior military officer in sight.  But why am I talking about a rehearsal?  Well, as some of you Dear Readers might know that for my many sins, I am a horn player and musician.  Both can happen simultaneously, despite our reputation! From February 2009 until July 2022, I played the horn for the Orchestre d’Harmonie de Cholet in France.  Some people had cottoned onto the fact that I dabble in this photography lark, and since they had just changed musical direction, they would like me to take some photos of the new director in front of the band.  I of course said yes, and following the lessons learnt during the American Concert, I was feeling quietly confident.

The musicians were asked to attend the Générale in concert dress, all looking very smart.  This would allow me to wander around the stage freely, not annoy the audience, and have complete freedom to try to take a couple of photos.  What a good idea!  It also meant that I had two hours to get the job done in a satisfactory manner.

I had the Canon 6D Mark II with the 85mm F1.8 Canon lens, and the trusty and also favourite, almost to the point of it being a fetish, Fuji Film X100F, with the telephoto adapter which transforms the lens into a 50mm F 2.0 lens.  I could take off that adapter and have 35mm equivalent lens.  To the uninitiated, you will think I have just spouted out a huge amount of gobbledy gook, but I it actually means something to me.  It was out of the question that I would miss 60 photos like last time.  A lesson most definitely learnt!

Sooooo…  I wandered around taking photos and trying to make sure I didn’t just photograph the horn section.  Nobody couldn’t accuse me of favouritism;  except that I had treated some images first for friends and had posted them on Facebook.  Two of those friends were, of course, in the Horn Section.  Ooooops a daisy.  Ah well.  I did, however, tell everyone that these were merely a foretaste of things to come, and I realised I had actually been quite democratic and represented most of the musicians.  Out of the 400 odd photos taken, 124 were presented to the musicians in a private Google Gallery.  Not bad for two hours of shooting.    You will see a small selection of those photos at the end of this article.

As a thank you, I was invited to the concert the next day.  After a Barber appointment to tame my overgrown beard and a visit to the pub just to say hello to the staff and friends, I headed off to Cholet for my Rendez Vous with music listening.  Keep music live etc!! 

Naturally, with the change of conductor, there will be a change of musical direction.  Each person had to get used to the novelty, and the new conductor has to make his mark on the orchestra, which is perfectly normal.  I had heard all kinds of things and wanted to make up my own mind.  The concert theme was “Heart of the Forest.”  I was determined to take it all in with no preconceived ideas.  Just enjoy the bloody music, you fool.  So I sat down and did just that.  The sound at the back of the auditorium differed completely from what I had heard the night before.  As a musician, we hear the concert from where we are on the stage.  The audience really hears that difference.  I was blown away and just sat there enjoying watching my friends create music.

With time, the orchestra and the new musical director will get to know each other, and I look forward to seeing their next concert and seeing the outcome of this new relationship in future concerts, and it goes without saying that I wish them the very best of success for the future! 

Now for the photos, and not just the horn section…

The American Concert

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“Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast.”  I, like most people, used to think that this was pure Shakespeare.  Well, it is not; it is actually from the play “The Mourning Bride” by William Cosgrove, which was first performed in 1697.  No, I cannot be having you say that you learn nothing from this blog, right?

So you get a free fact of the day.  First, I don’t have breasts, but man boobs, and second, they’re not savage either!  Trust me! As suggested in the title, this article is about a concert, and surprisingly the music was American, hence the name of the American Concert.  Mind-blowing I know, right?

Now I can hear you saying this blog is about this man’s depression and photography, and possibly tea and cake.  Give me some time and I’ll get there.  My mental health is on the melancholic side due to rain, and teenagers at home, but it will get better. 

My friend Hervé, who has already starred twice on my blog, is part of a Brass Quintet called Arabesque who have only been mentioned once on my blog.  This lovely chap asked if I wanted to take some photos of their American Concert and I, of course, said yes, that would be great fun! They are revamping their website and wanted some photographs for it and after the success of the last shoot I did for them, they asked me to come back. 

This would be the first concert I would photograph with stage lights.  And when you photograph a concert, you have to get it right and not mess it up.  I, of course, messed quite a few photos up, but it’s all a learning process, isn’t it?  “They” said to use your fastest lenses, which is photographer lingo saying that you need the lens to have the widest opening possible to let in the most light and still have a relatively quick shutter speed.  “They” seem to give out some good advice so I took my very fastest lens, an f1.2 35mm lens for my XT2 and because it has focus peaking, you can’t go wrong.  That’s what “they” said.  I proved “them” wrong and wasted about 60 photos.  That’ll teach me to listen to “them!”  

Fortunately, I had my Plan B (Canon 6D MarkII) with me, which worked a treat.  What did I learn from this precarious situation?  First, I was the only one who knew that I had messed up.  Second, the importance of having a Plan B.  Thirdly, using both cameras and thus still getting the shot, and fourthly that using a manual lens usually provides no worries during the day, but autofocus can be quite a good friend, especially for a concert.  No need to be a purist.  You can save that for later.  What you need is to get the job done.  So leave your pride at home and get some decent photos. 

The entire show was splendid, and the music was first class too!  If you have time to see Arabesque in concert you’ll definitely enjoy yourself, and you’ll be supporting live music and a great bunch of guys too!  I would also like to thank them for the restaurant meal after the concert.  What a delightful way to spend an evening!

Back to the Côte Sauvage

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Sometimes you just want to spend time alone, not because you hate other people, even if I sometimes find it difficult to love my fellow man.  People, or too many people, or people that are too intense just leave me shattered, and ready for an emotional breakdown.  My mother in law is one of those people.  She is the polar opposite of me.  She loves people, loves the gossip, can’t stand her first husband or any other of her ex’s, and her opinions on everything are the exact opposite of mine.  Could this be her calling in life?  Is she there just to make me question my own beliefs and reinforce them, or is she just a pain in the arse?  Possibly both…

Last weekend the idea was that we go up and see her.  At first, it was going to be my wife and son, but not my daughter, and then it became my wife and I without the children.  I must be a glutton for punishment.  Killian had been using my car as an extension of his room to store his crap in since he left the girlfriend.  I was getting sick of the whole thing and said if he didn’t get my car sorted then I wouldn’t be going either.  The little bugger got all the stuff in my car out, and so I had no choice.  Shit!

I have talked about the way I either need 10 pints worth of Heineken (other beers do exist) or Prozac to be able to deal with my mother-in-law.  And how this technique has evolved into being stone, cold, sober.  Not as fun but allows me to get in the car if things get too intense, escape, leave, and do some photography. 

As it was Sunday, I went off to mass at the local Benedictine monastery.  This is because I genuinely wanted to go to mass and fulfil my domincal obligations to keep the Sabbath holy.  It was also my Dad’s birthday, so I would be able to call and sing him Happy Birthday. 

No, I would not be back for lunch as I would be out doing some photography, and having some Ian time, to partake in my number one solitary pastime; photography of course, what else?  But don’t worry about me for lunch, I will look after myself….  On the Quiberon peninsular, they have what they refer to as the Côte Sauvage, or the Wild Coast.  Despite the high temperatures, we have to pinch ourselves to remind us that it actually autumn, and the end of October.  However, on this Wild Coast you were left in no doubt which season we were in despite the warmth.  Very slightly breezy, so I really did need my cane, and I found the white horses on the waves as they came crashing down on the shore against the rocks so beautiful.  You can really feel the power of the ocean as those waves come in.   It reminds you on how small you are, compared to God’s creation.

Despite the wildness of the coast, the ocean, and the waves, I managed to find my peace…

Dear Reader

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Françaises, Français, Belges, Belges, Mon président, Mon chien, Monsieur l’avocat le plus bas d’Inter, mesdames et messieurs les jurés, public chéri mon amour.  The manner in which that French genius Pierre Desproges greeted his audience in the infamous radio show Le Tribunal des Flagrants Délires.

It was something I heard repeated on Rire et Chansons when I used to listen to French Radio trying to learn how to become more French than the French in the vain idea that I had to learn all about French culture to be accepted by them.  Now I realise my erreur!  All I had to do to be like them was to talk French incorrectly, smoke, drink wine, feel as if I am the light of the world, and judge people.  A damning indictment possibly, but how true!

Am I here to slag off the French once again?  Not really, but it’s always something so satisfying…  They think they know everything, and yet…  But I’m just going to leave that there today and not develop, because it is not the done thing, however fun it might be!

The quote by Pierre Desproges is quite revealing in the way he addresses his public, chéri, mon amour.  Do I write for others uniquely, or is it part of my therapy and a means to expedite my inner daemons?  Do I write only to leave a trace on this world before I die?  Is this my legacy for my children?  As a writer, not that I class myself as a “writer” in the way a French intellectual might, I do write the articles on this blog, and I hope, in some small way, to either amuse you, to help you pass some time in public transport and depending on my subject of choice, help you realise that there might just be a different way of looking at the world.  Possibly. Who knows?  Who really cares?  You, Dear Reader I hope, in some small way.  Sharing is caring, after all.

According to the statistics that I get back since I started this weird and wonderful project, there have been 8 826 of you that have visited my site.  There have been 33 994 views of my pages.  The French have viewed my site 17 810 times, followed by the British with 5029, and our Colonials across the pond with 4157 views.  This amazes me firstly, because I write in English for the French apparently, and they seem to lap it up, and secondly by the views from my home country, the United Kingdom.  Thanks Mum and Dad!!  As I look over the history of IJM Photography, I would like to thank the guy in Ireland who often has a look in.  Buy that man a pint of Guinness!

Not a map of the British Empire despite the pink…

When I see all the countries in pink on this map, I keep telling myself that this is not the British empire but people from the countries who have taken a moment and have visited this blog.   I still find this amazing.  I’m just one person, among 7bn on this planet. It’s as if I have had over 8 thousand people visit my home and have a look inside my mind.

The most popular article was about the X100F camera that has a place in my heart and camera bag. 586 views that one!!  In 2019, it was an article about Humber Street with 169 views.  In 2020, Don’t Panic with 112 views. 2021 with the X100F article, and this year 2022, it was the Parisian Nights Part I. Please have a look through the archives and maybe discover things you never knew existed!

When I declared to my mother that I was going to start a website, she declared it would never last.  For once, you were wrong mother, and I apologise for this exception to the rule.  I tend to have no filter concerning what I write about and how I write it, which can lead to interesting insights into the functioning of my dysfunctional brain. I’ll let the head shrinkers have a field day with that one.  You get me, a rather large English-Irish gentleman, and my heart goes into each page and word that I write for myself and for you, Dear Reader.  Thank you for being part of this strange adventure.

L’œil du Cyclone

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Dear Reader, some of you might know that I don’t live too far away from Nantes and that I can be found wandering the streets of Nantes with a camera, or sitting in the pub talking with friends. So, nothing new here then.  You might not know that I sometimes publish said photos of Nantes, and even the pub, with friends of course, on Instagram.  I also sometimes go out and participate with other photographers in what is usually a solitary pastime. 

Nantes Grand Angle, a sort of collective of photographers from Nantes, often has events (with local partners) that want to get their event onto the local social networks and get some “viral” publicity.  The game is you go to the event and then talk about it on your social accounts and people might be interested thinking well, he went to see this, why don’t I go along too.  It’s the basics of social marketing. 

Why do I usually see photography as a solitary pastime? Because I get a certain amount of social anxiety.  For most extroverts, those pushy people that are in favour now, the word “mingle” gives them a buzz that they seem to thrive on.  I, as an introvert, find the words “new people”, or even the idea of “meeting new people”, “social”, or “mingle” just fill me with dread.  It’s akin to going on one of those terrifying rides at the fair. It’s scary, thankfully doesn’t last very long, leaves you feeling empty, very awkward, sheepish, and makes you want to run away as soon as possible.  sonds like my sex life on a good day.

So against my better judgement, I confronted my fear, and went on an outing with Nantes Grand Angle.  I could always just stay at the back and be subtle and try to fade into the background.  It also meant that I would visit a new place, Le Lieu Unique, which as its name might suggest, is certainly unique!  The Lieu Unique also contains the Tour Lu (sans T pour le jeu de mot de merde en français, et oui, je suis rendu à ce point là !)  It originally house the LU biscuit factory (des petits beurres de LU, which is another pun for the Happy Birthday song).  Dear Reader, I apologise for the years of therapy that you will need to get over that last paragraph.  It’ll teach you to speak French!

Right, back on track.  The Lieu Unique, which indeed is unique as the name suggests, houses not only an exhibition for introverts to take photos of for social marketing, but a bar, a reading room, a bookshop, and if I’m not mistaken, a hammam, as well as a whopping great tower.  It is a hothouse of culture where you can get fed, drunk, steamed, and get some culture, leading to the acquisition of a little intelligence! Maybe, depending on the order you do each activity.

I was there with my fellow photographers, some of which were annoyingly extrovert, to live the experience of Art from Taiwan in the “Eye of the Cyclone.”  The Lieu Unique boss, had, uniquely, gone to Taiwan in 2018, had been to an exhibition at The National Museum of Fine Arts of Taiwan, and had invited some of the artists to come to Nantes and show their work, purely an artistic venture.  Since 2018, the world has changed not only through COVID, but also because China would like to get its hands on Taiwan for economic reasons and political ones.  Taiwan came to the front in modern terms when the Kuomintang government who lost to Mao’s Communists, fled Mao and fled to the Island of Taiwan, setting up a new independent government, that China still hasn’t gotten over and is still very upset about.

In the early 1960s, Taiwan entered a period of rapid economic growth and industrialisation called the “Taiwan Miracle».  In the late 1980s and early 1990s, the ROC transitioned from a one-party military dictatorship to a multi-party democracy with a semi-presidential system. Taiwan’s export-oriented industrial economy is the 21st-largest in the world by nominal GDP and 19th-largest by PPP measures, focusing on steel, machinery, electronics and chemicals manufacturing. Taiwan is a developed country, ranking 20th in GDP per capita. It is ranked highly in terms of civil liberties, healthcare, and human development.  Again, something that China isn’t overjoyed by.  So as you can imagine, such an exhibition is as much political as artistic.

So now we have set the scene, let’s get down to the nitty-gritty.  The expo itself.  I admit not knowing a huge amount about Taiwan, however, since visiting the expo, I have read up to find out more about its history and culture.  It’s Chinese but at the same time properly Taiwanese. I will include official links to the expo and the English documentation at the end of the article.  But what I really wanted to do with this article was to talk about my experience of the exposition and the way the exhibits left their mark on me.

The first exhibit, Exhibit A, or Battle City – Scene, by Chang, Li-Ren, model, just blew me away with the complexity of the modelling and the realism recreated in model form.  The artist came over for the oeuvre installation and I can imagine a rather rotund Asian chap on all fours adding details to his masterwork.  Not based on reality, but the artist just wants to give an impression of what Taiwanese urbanism looks like.   There are cars, housing, and motorbikes, but the whole place is devoid of people.  It’s very eerie, yet totally fascinating and a photographer’s dream.  The whole thing is massive (7600mm x 8100mm x 2600mm), and the attention to detail is fascinating.

Exhibit B, Future Shock, by SU Hui-Yu, video, talks about a dystopian future, unfortunately, a not-too-distant future according to the artist influenced heavily by the American author Alvin Toffler, where people are drowning in information, and unethical technologies.  Maybe it’s happening already?  Definitely though provoking and frightening in equal measure.

Exhibit C, Braindead travelogue, YUAN Goang-Ming.  At first, you have the impression of traditional Chinese brush art, but with non-traditional means, like using markers, but also gold and jade.  From the centre of the painting, shoot out 10 disks of images showing the artist marking his territory in the landscape.

Exhibit D?  I’m going to keep the rest of the exhibition secret, because the idea is that you go and have a look yourselves, especially if you live in Nantes!  Did you really think that I would or could reveal all?  No!  Leave them wanting more!!!  Oh ok, you can have a few more pictures, but that’s your lot.  Go down there and have a look.  It’s free to visit; and you won’t be left unmoved…  You really get a feel of what life is like in the “Eye of the Cyclone.”

Links and all that:
Le Lieu Unique
Nantes Grande Angle
The documentation in English (pdf file 0,99Mo)

I would like to thank Nantes Grande Angle and our guide, Tanguy, not only for his welcome to the uniquely Lieu Unique but also for his great expertise. The poor man even had a look at this blog to see where I would publish my write-up. Brave too, and probably already in therapy. I hope I have done him justice!