As the years go by, birthdays become less about childish excitement and more about a blend of nostalgia, forced fun, and a dash of introspection. My recent birthday weekend was a testament to this bittersweet evolution, a journey that took me from childhood memories to present-day, all while grappling with my inner aversion to “my” birthday celebrations.
A Childhood of Festive Delights
I’m still not good with birthdays. After 52 of them they have turned from an exciting day with wonderful birthday parties organised by my mother and Aunty Colette helping out, with a homemade and home decorated cake, various bottles of pop, and hula-hoop crisps. This was the 1970’s after all.
Adolescence: A Shift in Celebrations
In the 1980’s this evolved into being asked what kind of cake I wanted by Matron, choce of fruit or chocolate, that would be shared amongst all the boys at school, and receiving Thornton’s toffees sent in a parcel by my grandmother, to going out to the cinema with a friend, and getting run over crossing the street, but thankfully not injured, to preparing a dinner for friends.
France: Embracing a New Cultural Tradition
Everything changed when I moved to France in the 1990’s. Birthday celebrations evolved from lively parties to intimate gatherings amidst friends, where the focus shifted from just cake to the simplicity of shared meals and heartwarming conversations.
The Familiarity of Family Gatherings
The 2000s and 2010s saw a familiar rhythm to my birthday celebrations, with the occasional variation in cake flavours and dining arrangements. However, the arrival of my own children introduced a new dimension, as they now eagerly embrace the role of party planners, injecting their unique energy and enthusiasm into my special day.
A Begrudgingly Enjoyable Birthday Celebration
My most recent birthday weekend was a testament to the bittersweet blend of forced fun and begrudging acceptance. Friday night found me in my favorite pub, sharing stories and laughter with my son, an attempt to appease his desire to celebrate. Saturday was a day of family bonding, as I took my daughter and her boyfriend into town, dropped them off, went throught two rolls of film, and then enjoyed a quiet evening at home cooking with my son.
In between indulging in my passion for photography, capturing fleeting moments of joy amidst the forced festivities. I also sought a moment of reflection during confession, seeking solace amidst the overwhelming attention. The night ended with a hearty meal prepared with my son, a small act of rebellion against the excessive birthday fanfare.
Sunday dawned early, as I embarked on a day of exploration, venturing to Saint Nazaire for an early 6am start and performance at the Folles Journées, a celebration of clasical music. The day concluded with a heartfelt moment at mass, surrounded by the love of my family.
Monday Morning: A Gratitude for the Past and a Renewed Perspective
As Monday morning approached, I carried a mix of emotions – the warmth of cherished memories, the exhaustion of forced celebrations, and a growing appreciation for the love and attention from my children. I was ready to face the workweek, armed with the knowledge that birthdays, despite their uncomfortable nature, could be occasions for reflection, connection, and a touch of forced fun.
Older and Wiser, Yet Still a Grouch
Do I feel older and wiser? Definitely the former, and to some small extent, the latter. Children, and especially older children, have this uncanny way of reminding you that you are evolving, despite loving every bit of you. It’s a humbling experience, and at the same time a display of love. I am veritably lucky to have them.
As I write this, a part of me still cringes at the thought of birthdays, but another part cherishes the memories they create and the love they represent. So, while I may never fully embrace the birthday craze, I’ll continue to participate, albeit with a touch of begrudging acceptance and a sprinkle of nostalgic fondness. After all, birthdays, like life itself, are a journey of mixed emotions, unexpected turns, and the enduring power of family and love.
Happy “Not Dead Yet” day to me! Still there to annoy the shit out of you, be really foul mouthed, and be completely inappropriate with everyone… But I do love you all! Some of you I even like!
In the vast expanse of the digital landscape, where opinions clash and egos collide, a subtle malevolence seems to linger—the devil finds a home in the chaos of internet comment sections. This virtual realm, often hailed as a marketplace of ideas, reveals a darker side where the battle for truth is marred by the cacophony of raw emotion and the absence of reasoned discourse.
The Temptation of Raw Emotion
Engaging in these comment sections is akin to stepping onto a battlefield without body armor, where every keystroke can be a weapon, and reason is the first casualty. As I ventured into a discussion on the joys and challenges of parenthood, the vitriol that followed made me question not just generational differences but the very nature of dialogue in our digital age.
I expressed my own personal experience of fatherhood and the joy that it has brought me. However, when I dared to offer my opposing perspective, emphasizing the personal and societal benefits of fatherhood, I was met with a barrage of hostility, misrepresentation, and accusations of being “evil.” These individuals, shielded by the anonymity of the internet, felt emboldened to lash out with vitriolic remarks, dismissing my views as irrelevant and even harmful.
For example, I was called a “dinosaur” and a “boomer” for expressing my support for traditional values. I was also accused of being “out of touch” and “selfish” for wanting to have children. I was told to “shut the fcuk up,” and “did you take your meds today?” I was told that I was senile and suffering from Alzheimer’s disease.
These personal attacks were hurtful, but more importantly they also served to try to silence my voice and prevent me from engaging in a meaningful dialogue. The devil, it seemed, had found a way to weaponize the internet , using it to sow discord and discourage open-mindedness.
The Echoes of Selfishness and Malhonnête Intellectuelle
In the realm of pixels and screens, one encounters not only differing perspectives but also a stubborn refusal to entertain dissenting opinions. It is a breeding ground for selfishness, where personal preferences override empathy and thoughtful consideration. The accusation of wanting to control others, merely for expressing a different viewpoint, echoes the selfishness that permeates our society.
The devil’s influence is further amplified by the prevalence of “malhonnêteté intellectuelle,” a French term that roughly translates to “intellectual dishonesty.” In the world of internet comment sections, this takes the form of misrepresenting or distorting opposing viewpoints, cherry-picking evidence to support one’s own argument, and engaging in ad hominem attacks. These tactics create an atmosphere of distrust and suspicion, making it even more difficult to have productive conversations.
For instance, when I highlighted the positive impact of fatherhood on society, I was met with claims that overpopulation was a more pressing issue and that personal freedom should trump the call to embrace the responsibilities of family life. These arguments were not only based on flawed logic but also served to dismiss the value of fatherhood and the importance of raising children in a stable and loving home.
The devil takes advantage of this self-absorbed mindset by encouraging people to dismiss opposing viewpoints as irrelevant or insignificant. This creates an echo chamber effect, where individuals are only exposed to information that confirms their existing beliefs, further entrenching them in their worldview and making it harder for them to engage in meaningful dialogue.
The Age of Navel Gazing
The reluctance to welcome diverse perspectives reflects a society increasingly prone to navel gazing—fixated on individual desires and comfort, dismissing the collective wisdom that arises from shared experiences. As I extolled the virtues of fatherhood, it was met with such dismissive responses as, “Who cares what you think?” and “Mind your own business.”
The devil takes advantage of this self-absorbed mindset by encouraging people to dismiss opposing viewpoints as irrelevant or insignificant. This creates an echo chamber effect, where individuals are only exposed to information that confirms their existing beliefs, further entrenching them in their worldview and making it harder for them to engage in meaningful dialogue.
The Church’s Wisdom: A Beacon in the Digital Abyss
In the teachings of the Catholic Church, one finds a call to discernment, humility, and the pursuit of truth. In the face of emotional onslaughts, the Church encourages us to be steadfast in reason, guided by love, and unyielding in our commitment to fostering a culture of life. As Pope Francis aptly noted, “We were created to love, and love demands an open heart, open to God.”
The Church’s teachings provide a valuable framework for navigating the digital abyss. They remind us that we are not merely individuals, but members of a larger community with a shared responsibility for creating a more just and compassionate society. They also encourage us to engage in dialogue with others, even when we disagree, with respect and open-mindedness.
Conclusion: The Path to Renewal
In our journey through the virtual abyss, we must don the armor of reason and the cloak of empathy. The devil, it seems, thrives on the breakdown of dialogue and the rejection of diverse viewpoints. Let us resist the temptation to succumb to raw emotion, and instead, strive for a digital discourse that reflects the grace and wisdom found in genuine human connection.
As we confront the devil in the comment sections, let our responses be guided not by the fleeting winds of emotion but by the enduring light of reason, compassion, and the timeless teachings that remind us of our shared humanity. Together, we can create a digital space that is more inclusive, respectful, and conducive to meaningful dialogue.
We must remember that the internet is not just a place for expressing our opinions; it is also a place for learning, understanding, and building relationships. By engaging in dialogue, we can transform the digital landscape into a space that fosters not only individual growth but also a more just and compassionate society. Let us reclaim the internet as a tool for good and use it to build bridges, not burn them.
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 semblance of a musical 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 dinner plate. Even though it was an obvious bonus. It was about being outside. It was hearing the sound of the river as 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’t going 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 seem to have. I think it was my patience and gratitude for every fish that did it fr me. No instant gratification…
Could this apply to my photography? Possibly. 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. Or even in Nantes.
I have a certain amount of gear and a certain number of 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 cake, and a nice cup of tea makes 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 one some of the basics and still manage to get a not too shabby hit rate. It’s about doing and not thinking. Yes, of course you think about your composition and your settings, but just taking everything in is far more important.
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.
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…
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!
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.
Dear Reader, I may have mentioned before in previous articles that for my many sins, and to curb my pride, I am a musician, and some might even go further still, and remind me I am a horn player. As a musician, we can have a tendency to “do” concerts and play in them, rather than going along as a listener. I mean, of course, that we listen to our fellow musicians, especially when playing that music together. It is a team effort, after all. But not as a spectator.
Little did I know that when I went to taste some homemade beer at my friend Hervé’s house, he would invite me to take some photos of a concert he was playing in, on the 18th of June. I, of course, jumped at the opportunity. An evening of taking photos and getting to listen to live music at the same time? What a way to spend the hottest day of the year so far!
We were rehearsing together the following Friday, and he said to be at his house at such-and-such a time, and that I should just park up in the driveway. There would also be my old and very much revered horn teacher, as in my previous horn teacher, and not my old new horn teacher, nor a teacher that is old despite his great wisdom. But that is a story for another day. Hervé was going to drive us to the concert. Jérôme, my very much revered horn teacher, plays in the same ensemble as Hervé. They are members of the Brass Quintet Arabesque, made up of instrument teachers from across my particular region of France.
So, I got into the car, turned on the ignition, saw the temperature, and promptly melted. 44°C! For those who only work in Fahrenheit, body temperature is 37°C, and 44°C is 111°F. My point exactly. By the time I reached Hervé’s house, it was a mere 40°C. A tad warm, even for me!
I drove up, parked, saw my horn teacher in very summery attire, but always with a hat, saunter up, and Smaug, the family Labrador, who you remember from my last article, who does not know what sauntering is about, just ran around the car three times and jumped up to say hello, being as friendly as ever. Bless him! We quickly went inside into the shade and cool. I do like a bit of cool from time to time.
We eventually got all the kit together in the car, thanks again Hervé for doing all the driving, and set off. The way to Guérande isn’t very complicated, and it’s pretty plain sailing. We talked about everything and nothing, about my presence at the Wind Band next year, and what alternatives I could think of, about the photoshoot from the previous week, about the various instruments and would we change instrument, how much it might cost to change, and what newer instruments could bring to the table, or should I say rehearsal room…
Parking in Guérande was a doddle, and we headed to the Collégiale, or church inside the medieval walls. We dropped everything off in the church, and things suddenly became very serious. Where would we eat? The first place we tried, a creperie, was no longer serving food, so we headed to Plan B. Plan B was fully booked, but was able to fit us in. Five brass musicians, one organist, and yours truly. Luckily I don’t seem to take up much space. Simon said he had to go and shave and came back with blood on his face. Michel, the organist that would be playing with the quintet, told us that the organ in that building needed a makeover and was basically shite. Out of tune, and half of it didn’t work. That’s something you don’t really want to hear when you don’t have a huge amount of time to have the pre-concert setup and run through. Another thing you don’t want to hear is that you’re all going to have to tune your instruments up to 444hz. This basically means you’re all fecked because your instruments have been in slightly warm cars. After all, it’s boiling outside and you’ll just never make it. The brass expands in the heat and therefore will sound flatter, and at 444hz you really need to be on the sharper side. It’s a bit like me trying to walk past a slice of cake and a nice cup of tea; it’s just not going to happen… Luckily the food arrived, as did the beers, and the puds. We were happy. I had all my camera gear, and most importantly plenty of batteries in case the batteries inside the cameras gave up the will to live. Some lovely shots were begging to be taken outside the church.
What I didn’t have, especially inside the church, was a whole lot of light. For photography, light is quite important. Understatement of the year contender again… This was going to be interesting. I had been fed by Arabesque, and now there was bugger all light inside, so photography was going to be a tad tricky.
Luckily, somebody turned on the lights and I was saved. Who said miracles never happen in the Catholic Church? They did this evening. The only photos I could take were before the concert actually began because afterwards the church would fall into darkness as there was going to be drone footage shown on a screen behind the Quintet as they played, showing the church in which they were playing. This was the main idea behind the concert. Through music and film, show people the church they were in from a slightly different viewpoint. It was great just to sit and take in the music. And take in the music I did. I was always told the importance of concert-going to musicians and how it helps us develop musically in so many ways. I only had to make an effort to sit there, make no noise, and just listen and be captivated. And captivated I was! I thought the tuning was fine and not at all the catastrophe announced by the organist. But I was just here to listen to some quality sounds and not to be a critic from the Times
The first half finished with the Toccata by Charles Marie Widor from his Organ symphony number 5. Any pedal notes that were missing from the organ were amply covered by the bass notes of the tuba that seem to just go right through you. It’s also a piece of music that has, amongst others, the ability to make my eye become all watery with emotion. I’ll leave it here for you to listen to.
The interval arrived. I say that but it didn’t really make an entrance. It just happened. The public was invited to walk around the church and rediscover images from the film in real life. They could also purchase CDs of the Quintet. 10€ each, or 20€ for three. They could also subscribe and have a CD of the programme, as well as make a contribution to the Association Résonnance, who gave their name to the entire project. It also meant that I could take more ambience photos and not be in anybody’s way.
Up until then, I had been using the Canon 6D Mark II which makes a tremendous noise when the mirror moves up to expose the sensor. I was worried that I would disturb everyone and switched to the comparatively silent Fuji XT2 with the 18-55mm zoom lens, which is a 24-70mm full-frame equivalent, so a good all-rounder for reportage. During the second half, I could be seen trying to move silently the way Corporal McCune taught me to so as not to disturb my fellow concertgoers.
The second half started with the horn and trombone playing a one thousand-year-old tune for the Easter celebration. Unfortunately, the audience hadn’t cottoned on to the fact that the second half had just started and some were still talking! As soon as the other musicians appear and Hervé started introducing the next piece, they seemed to get the message and promptly shut up! They lead us through time through the Baroque, the Classical, and the Romantic periods. They ended up with Aaron Copland, and music from Grover’s Corner, whoever Grover was. I suspect it wasn’t the same Grover that lives on Sesame Street…
After the concert, we did the official group photo, and eventually said good night and see back at Hervé’s house. It was midnight, much cooler, windy, and felt as if a storm was on the way. Jérôme fell asleep in the back, and Hervé and I just chilled, talking about this very blog and photography, especially the differences between being a good amateur photographer, and a professional photographer and how the two are completely different, in the same way, that I quickly realised when doing my music studies here in France. You have to produce consistently good results, and the pressure is on. They were already doing the concert debrief about everything that went wrong. I tried to reassure them that it wasn’t a competition and that as an audience member, I had a great time. Basically, the same things that I had been taught by Jérôme. If the audience is happy, then the audience is happy.
On the way home, we saw the sky fill up with lightning and thunder. It felt magical, and also the temperature had halved. It was a mere 22°C. It felt wonderful. We got home first and had a beer whilst waiting for the others to arrive. The others arrived and there was still some English beer for them, and some homemade beer too. It received the seal of approval from everyone present. We ended saying what went wrong with the concert and how it was a learning experience. I still thought it was brilliant. So there!!
I was at Mass, in Nantes, on a Sunday evening, and being appropriately prayerful, knees bent praying to prepare my mind for the sacrifice of the mass wondering if I was going to be able to stand up again. Despite my gammy knee, it wasn’t a problem. Mass started, and they were off. During the entrance hymn, my director of music at my Wind band, but most importantly, my friend, Hervé, accompanied by his wife, and daughter, walk in and sit just in front of me. We gestured hello, but you don’t interrupt the Word of God, and we saved niceties for after Mass.
It was a genuine pleasure to see him there and not just because we share the same faith, but just nice to see a frightfully nice chap, but also an all-around good egg! We exchanged conversation and I said how wouldn’t it be nice if we could go to the pub for a pint. They’d had a long day, but to his utter disbelief, Veronica, acquiesced and we were given her blessing. I suggested they park in the same place as I usually did and that we meet up. We both knew where the pub (John Mc Byrne) was and headed off to claim our reward for obvious good behaviour.
They were already at the pub by the time I parked and so I walked up to join them. Strangely my nose just seems to lead the way! I saw him standing outside waiting for me and I showed him the best seats in the house, or for me, nearly a home (it’s where I see my friends). I introduced him to Simon who knows nearly everything about sport, whiskey, and good places to eat in the vicinity, the Rob, whose jokes are almost as cringe-worthy as my own, and lastly to Gavin who is half and half… Half Scottish and half French. His parents are obviously to blame.
We commented on how the establishment wasn’t a bar but was a proper pub, and how nice his pint of Irish IPA was. I persuaded him to taste a pint of O Hara’s Nitro, which is the nearest thing that I found to Yorkshire bitter over here. We both seem to have similar tastes in beer, which helps in a friendship. It’s unbearable when one likes lager and the other friend, beer…. It tuned out that he had some homemade Bitter that he wanted my opinion on. Ah well, there goes a perfect reason to meet up again! Fortunately, I was going to be on holiday during that week, so we set the date and time said goodnight to each other and headed home.
I asked if I could bring along my portable photography studio to take his portrait and he very kindly agreed. At the appointed time, on the appointed day, I turned up with my studio and dog. Molly wasn’t very sure about hanging out with a big very friendly, almost too friendly for her, beautiful chocolate Labrador, who was coming out of puppyhood and entering doggyhood.
I said she could stay in the car and left the windows slightly open so she would be fine and said that I would come back and check on her now and again. Smaug, the Labrador, was put on one side of the house, and Molly decided she could stay by my side and still be OK. We tasted the beer and were unanimous in our praise of this wonderful concoction. Then the photoshoot. Hervé already knew that I dabble in photography, as do you Dear Reader, and was most impressed when I set up the studio. I was quite impressed by it too because it was only that afternoon that I had back to revise how to operate my speedlights and trigger. The first shots were more to break the ice, not just for Hervé but also for me, and already we were getting some good shots. He played me a recording of a new project launched by the Brass Quintet with whom he plays and has my old horn teacher as the horn player. It was amazing. They were playing in church with a massive organ played by the organist from the Nantes Cathedral. Wow, that is all…
We then go the instruments out. First the E flat tuba. I thought, let’s just break him in gently. Then I went back out to the car to get my horn and make him look like a proper musician with the most beautiful instrument from the orchestra in his hands. We would suggest to the horn teacher that Hervé had finally seen the light and wanted to convert. Then we messed it up by getting out his conductor’s baton. All in all, we were having a laugh, talking, just as friends will be want to do.
I ate with them and by the time I left that evening the two dogs had even sniffed each other and were even respecting their own private space. That Smaug is one lovely dog and not at all dragonlike as his name suggests. He’s a big softy. A bit like myself Dear Reader…
Yesterday I looked death in the face. Whilst at work, yesterday at around 10 am, crossing from one building to another, I suddenly looked up and saw a big flash of yellow in front of me. A forklift truck was just 3 feet away from me. I was between the two forks. Three feet between me and potential death, and a prison term for the driver.
The driver has a certain “reputation,” and the guys from the workshop where he can be found the most say it’s just a matter of time until he actually kills someone.
When it actually happens to you, it makes you think how much you would actually enjoy living a tad more. Not necessarily an epiphany, but (going for the understatement of the year prize, 2022) definitely a bit of a shock. Three feet, that were the difference between my wife with whom my first date took place 30 years ago to the day, becoming my widow!!! My children were three feet from losing their father.
Fortunately, my plus 2 saw the whole thing and came storming out of his office saying that it was unacceptable that I should have to suffer being in such danger, and that the colleague would be suitably bollocked by plus 2 and the 2 plus 1’s that he frequently comes into contact during the day. My plus 1 and the driver came to my stores, to say sorry, with smiles on their faces. It was like being told by the teacher to see the child that they had just bullied and apologise. I said that I would send them the cleaning bill for my underpants that I had just soiled. There’s no point in going full frontal and yelling at them. Be the better man and all that… Also, I’m English in France, I’m fifty, I have a gammy knee, and despite everything, this job pays the rent!
Clocking in this morning, I saw the driver who had nearly taken me out and asked him if he wouldn’t mind not trying to kill me today. When Plus 1 said good morning to me, I said that I was just glad to be alive and that I was hoping not to be killed today either. I also reminded them that had I been killed, then there would have been prison not only for the driver but for the driver’s boss. Strangely enough, the driver has stopped driving so fast and seems, for the moment at least, to take his responsibilities on board.
I will be the better man, I will be the better man, I will be the better man, and with the help of God, remain glad to be alive for a little longer.
IJM Photography 