À la recherche du temps perdu…


At the moment I seem to be suffering from nostalgia. A longing for things past that I wish were present. Not in the sense of the good old days in the way certain of my countrymen seem to feel Brexit will bring. It is of course impossible to bring back the past. And in some respects I’m very happy about that. Those of us who have been through puberty will be quite thankful not to have to repeat the experience.

I’m talking about the nostalgia where the mind wanders. Where the mind meanders through the memories that are stored there. Some, quite rightly too, are suppressed, and not to be delivered on a plate to some head shrinker. Others rock us like babies in our cribs. Days where things seemed to be different and before we made those decisions, wise or not, that made who we are today. And those decisions that were made for us by others, and that we wished had been made differently.

My mind is in the past. That past can be yesterday where I was very grateful to have the warm air from the car heater hitting my face, or it could be my very origins, where a 16 year old girl was forced by her elder brothers and sisters to abandon her child and give him up for adoption.

Smells can trigger these memories that seem to jump back at us and surprise us. The smell of ink for fountain pens, bees wax, and incense, that take me back to boarding school. Or the smell of lasagna that takes me right back to sitting in front of the TV when I was a teenager, avoiding tensions with my parents. The smell of bitter beer that accompanied those first visits to pubs. The woff of cigarette smoke that reminds me why I gave up smoking. The smell of ground coffee and hot pains au chocolats which signalled breakfast on a Sunday. The smell of military clothing. I’m sure mud has a smell. The smell of cordite and gun oil when out on the ranges. The smell of nappies from when I would change my son. The smell of good pooh and bad pooh. Yes, it does exist. The smell of wood when I worked on machines making door frames, to the smell of metal. Yes, metal does have a smell. I work in a store in the factory where I stock hinges, screws, etc

Taste can work in the same way. If you’ve read any of the other articles, you will have heard about my weakness for cheesecake. But I was just trying to recapture a dessert that my mum used to make and would sometimes disappear from the freezer. If anyone says anything I will deny everything and blame it on my imaginary friend…

But I think the moment that brought it on this time was when my old German teacher, known to everyone as Slick Rick, and even to this day remains particularly slick, sent me a section of an old school photo that I appear on. I was 16. About to sit my GCSE’s. And thought that I could still do what my mum wanted me to. I didn’t of course know what she wanted. To be honest, neither did I. I had an idea, but it wasn’t set in stone yet.

A right motley crew, and it seems so long ago…

At 16 I would never have imagined the life that I have now. I now live in France but at the time saw myself living in Germany. My German was better than French thanks to this brilliant teacher who managed to install a rare passion for the language. At the age of 18 my German was practically fluent and I felt so much at ease. But time has a strange way of sending you down another path. Some call it destiny, some karma, some a vocation. I have no idea. But here I am in 2019 transported back to 1988.

Yup, nostalgia gets me everytime and I wonder where that lost time went.

Zoo de la Palmyre


Over the Summer I did my best to not be anti-social and spend some time with my family instead of disappearing to go and take photos, and maybe eat cake and have a cup of tea. Hmmm, cake…

So, as a father I have to take everyone into account. We’d done a few visits to zoos in the past but had never been to the Palmyre. Well, why the heck not. Ok it’s about 2 hours away, but we can do that without wanting to kill each other. I let Virginie do the driving. Always best.

Many people have various opinions on zoos, ranging from how can you put animals in prison, to how great they are because of breeding programs etc. For me it’s about letting my family, and especially my children get to see animals up close, in a way that they could only see otherwise by travelling vast distances, or see in photos or on TV.

Even when passing from enclosure to enclosure, we take the time to see each animal, to see what it is doing, to see how it interacts with the other animals around it. We see where the animal would live in the wild, what it might eat, and through that information and observation we can maybe understand more about each animal. We also get to form a kind of relationship with the animal too. Even more so when it is fury and cute. But we see how strong they can be. Just look at the muscles on the chimpanzee. Some of the animals can be fed pop corn, which is conveniently on sale at the entrance to the zoo, and at various outlets within… We build a connection, even if it is by proxy. You can ask your child, “Well, which was your favourite animal?” And more importantly, “Why….?” The child will think about everything it has seen, and how those TV images have become more tangible.

For those of you interested in the purely photographical, the photos were taken on the Canon 6D Mark II, with the 75-300mm F4/5.6 zoom. I had no idea how to take photos of animals in a zoo, so treated the thing as a portrait shoot with various models, and not just fury cute ones…

Lourdes.


For those of you who don’t know Lourdes, let me tell you about it. It is no ordinary place, and there is a feeling of profound hope, and healing, that strikes you immediately. There are mountains, souvenir shops for Catholic pilgrims, and the sanctuary itself.

Oh. I said that “C” word again. Except this one doesn’t rhyme with “punt.” I am unashamedly Catholic, and had drifted from the church, but I wanted to drift back.

When people go on pilgrimages, even unofficial ones like this, we talk about the voyage being almost as important as the destination. This is, of course, not just the physical journey, but the mental, and spiritual voyage also. I’ve wanted to return to Lourdes since I was 9, and this time I took my son with me.

As a parent you can only do so much, and part of my faith is to know that I can’t control everything in my life, let alone in the lives of others, and that there is something else that is beyond my comprehension. I wanted to help my son in his life, and despite maintaining a dialogue, I had done as much as I could. I could do no more, so I asked Our Lady to look after him. We all need a mother, and most of the Jewish people that I know, seem to agree that a Jewish mother is the best. And you don’t need to be a Jewish to be a Jewish mother. It’s a state of mind. And if God decided on a Jewish mother for His Son, then it was good enough for me. As a Catholic, we see Mary as being a mother to all of us. So when the proverbial **** hits the fan, you ask your Mum if she can help, before you ask your (heavenly) Father. Mums have a way of talking to Dads that help make things alright.

That’s something I understood once I became a father myself. God has that relationship with us. In Judaism, and Christianity, He does anyway. A father loves his child. Even when that child is “naughty,” we still love them. We might punish them, but we always want to forgive them. God is the same with us. You could argue that it’s a way of showing humanity through divinity.

Wow, this got heavy all of a sudden!

Anyway. I went to Lourdes to try and reconcile myself with God. To ask forgiveness for my many sins, to make reparation, to heal, and to try and return towards my Father. We do this with our own fathers here on earth, and so it was the same process for my soul. Does that make sense?

My son was my carer, and he did his job admirably. He also benefitted from his trip. In the Sanctuary there is an overwhelming sense of peace. We went to the grotto, and prayed. We did the night time procession and recited the rosary holding our candles. We bathed in the baths with the water from the source that appeared when Mary asked Saint Bernadette to dig. That source is still there and provides water for the many pilgrims. We put some of that water into bottles to take home with us. I went to Confession.

We also went up a mountain, and came down again. It was almost as much a religious experience as the rest of the pilgrimage. When Moses goes up the mountain to receive the ten commandments it is to be closer to God. At the top of that mountain we saw a nun talking to a young friend. They were laughing and taking selfies. We saw a priest praying from his Brievery. It was a moving experience seeing the cloud coming over the summit. We saw the clouds clear, and we looked over the valley to the other mountains. I still don’t understand how people can look at that scenery and doubt the existence of a creator.

Anyway. Let’s talk about the photos. They were taken with the X100F which is compact enough not to be noticed, and a little less heavy than my DSLR and all the lenses that I use with it. It limits me, but makes it all simpler. No unnecessary questions about which lens to use etc. Feel free to comment on the article or the photos. Any feedback is always welcome.

Countryside in October



The weather today is officially depressing and even more so because it’s a Monday. I was so annoyed with life that it now is Friday afternoon. 5 days to get to the second sentence is possibly a sign. Of what, I don’t know…

The tree that is in the photo is “my tree” that I pass every day to and from work. I’d taken photos of it on film, and in digital but hadn’t been back to see her for a while. I’ve just checked Instagram and the last photo I took dates from February 2017! It’s as if I had neglected a friend that I had not seen for ages but still pass in the street just exchanging glances and a swift hello.

It was time to remedy the situation. I had left her in black and white, and returned to her in black and white. She didn’t have much to say for herself. Being a tree might have something to do with that, but she was still there. Still covered in ivy. Still with all her branches. Still a part of my workday.

The field of maize was still there. The maize replacing the wheat harvested in Summer. By Tuesday it had been harvested and all you could see in the field were the remains of stalks not over 6 inches high, and yet the day before had been as high as a man. Time goes on and the field will be used to produce a winter crop. Such is the way in the countryside.

Some fields had be let to fallow and recover from growing our food. Nature reclaims them for herself and plants grow up the fence posts and in the ditches by the sides of the road. At least they’ve gone back to green instead of the drier washed out colours of a hot summer.

It’s now Friday afternoon and I was only at work this morning. The sun is out, I’m in a t-shirt, and it’s 19°C. The rain has done its job, and isn’t there to dampen the earth or my mood. When I was a child I imagined the rain being God having a shower. I couldn’t bring myself to think of Him having a wee on creation.

I think He’s out of the bathroom.

Nantes in September


I’d been wanting to get back into Nantes with the X100F to try and do some old fashioned street photography. I’ve been experimenting with colour and have had some interesting feedback. Maybe it was a case of getting it out of my system.

With the Canon I have a few interesting lenses and although it’s great having the options, it’s equally challenging to go without.

Now I have to explain something to the non-French readers. Basically the whole of France is on holiday from mid July to the end of August. My firm litterally shuts down for the month of August and we get four weeks off work! Between you and me, it’s also the best time to visit Paris, because all the Parisians have buggered off on holiday elsewhere!

The obvious consequence to this mass migration is of course the return to every day life in September. This return to work is called the Rentrée and sucks big time for everyone, even more than a small child sucking juice though a non plastic reusable straw, because single-use straws are the spawn of Satan and mess up the environment.

We have the children that go back to school, the TV shows that start again, the MPs that go back to Parliament, etc. You get the picture. Can you remember the Gilet Jaune demonstrators? We’ll they’re no longer in holiday, and are back to demonstrating. Their Rentrée was the 14th of Spetmber, and they all decided that it would be a really good idea to come to Nantes and cause a bit of havoc and make sure that the police knew that it was the Rentrée too!

And, (there I go using And as a beginning of a a sentence) this pillock thought it would be a good idea to go along into town, and thought it would be fine. And to be honest I have seen worse, but it allowed me to get some interesting photos.

Course de Serveurs et Garçons de Café, Nantes 2019


It has been know for me to frequent a certain establishment in Nantes now and again, he said whilst competing for the understatement of the year. That establishment, aka Daddy’s happy place, aka mes quartiers à Nantes, aka the pub, aka home from home, is the John McByrne Irish Pub, 21 Rue des Petites Écuries , Nantes.

It is a place for which I have a great affection, not only because they supply me with Guinness, and Taytos imported from Ireland (and I’m going to be really controversial here, I prefer the salt and vinegar, but even the cheese and onion are perfectly palatable), but most importantly, the bar staff, that started out as just people, have ended up being friends. And that Dear Reader, is the most important, and wonderful outcome.

And, (you should never start a sentence with And, but I’m feeling a little rebelious here about gramatical conventions, oh my life has such depth, and what was I going to say again, ah yes, no, it’s gone again…)

Oh yes, back on track there… And, as a friend, I want to help and offer support. And, (oh there I go again) this time I did it by not just buying them chocolate, and other rather naughty things to eat, but by coming along to support them in the annual Course de Serveurs et Garçons de Café, Nantes 2019.

Wow, only took me four paragraphs to get to my subject. I’m doing well today!!

Here is Eydie with the official tray with a coffee cup, energy drink, sparkling water, non alcholic beer, and an orange soda.

Each competitor must carry this tray over nearly three and a half kilometres, with time being deducted for spilt drinks. They are not allowed to run, only walk, and of course they have to go up the stairs in the Passage Pommeraye, twice. I’ll just let that sink in for a few moments. Take the time to imagine them going up all those stairs with a tray, looking slightly odd in fancy dress costumes. Is that image in your mind? You’ll see it in the photos anyway!

They didn’t end up on the podium, but they did win best costume and won best team spirit, which is even more important.

Here are the photos taken on the X100F which was perfect for capturing the whole atmosphere of the day.