That August Holiday Vibe


My son seems to use the word “vibe” in a lot of situations. And for once, that word encapsulates exactly how I feel at this very moment. I’m in front of my computer at my desk, typing this article. Why is this an August vibe, though? Because I’m not at work and have the freedom that comes with August to do what I want, within reason, of course. I have my Marshall headphones that have a Princess Leia “vibe”. I’m listening to Ella Fitzgerald sing her beautiful heart out on Amazon Music, and the fan on top of my desk is blowing a fresh breeze through my golden locks. Those of you who know me will understand the ridicule of that last phrase. Locks, golden or otherwise, are something I haven’t had to deal with for many years, but that cool breeze is still very refreshing on my bald scalp.

I have been out, and this will blow your minds as much as the fan is blowing my hair, with my camera taking photographs. I can hardly believe it too. The photographs at the end will not likely seem like holiday photos to you, but to me they are precious! You don’t have to be sitting roasting on a beach to feel on holiday. What I’m getting at is that freedom comes only once a year. Work is important, but rest is important too. Ironically, “Summertime” is playing. The version with Louis Armstrong and Ella together! It really does take you to another place.

And then, there’s my photography escapade. I went old-school with film this time—none of that instant digital gratification. You take the shot, develop the film, scan the negatives, and only then do you wade into the world of editing. Now, you’re probably wondering, “Why the hassle when you’ve got smartphones and digital cameras?” But let me tell you, it’s a deliberate pace that wraps you in its own magic. You deliberate on each shot, finding meaning in every click. Out of the 36 shots I took, I’ve kept 16 for this piece. Fingers crossed, they’re worth the effort.

Film photos emanate a distinct “vibe” compared to their pristine digital counterparts. There’s a soft grain, an endearing imperfection that render them timeless. Some would say they embody an eternal tranquilly, a perpetual “vibe.” In future articles, you will see more of that timeless “vibe,” and pictures from an exhibition at the HAB Gallerie, which I’ve talked about in past articles. There will be shots of various art works all over Nantes that are all part of the annual Voyage à Nantes art season. This year, it’s all about statues taking over the city. But that’s for future articles. I have to keep you coming back for more, don’t I!

Dear Reader


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.

Alnmouth First Day of Photography


As promised, I said I would share photos from my trip to Northumberland post by post. No novels, just photos…

I have got my need for colour out of my system. Maybe. Possibly. Well, never say never, and all that. I wanted to share some timeless black and white photography.

It was my first morning of photography where I sneaked a visit to Scott’s of Alnmouth for elevenses. There was the sea mist that you saw in my article Sea Mist. And when it cleared, it was an amazingly sunny day.

Not necessarily the best of conditions for photography, but as a photographer, I try to adapt to the day’s conditions. Lots of contrast etc. It also avoids getting up the crack of dawn. Thank you Dawn.

Does this mean that I am lazy? Possibly. Do I care? Absolutely not. When on holiday, I commence my day with a cup of tea (or maybe even more than one) and toast. It’s possibly time for a cup of tea right now. As I age graciously, I appreciate these simple pleasures of life. I also still have some Yorkshire tea! You’re jealous now, aren’t you!!

The Queen is dead, God save the King.


God save the King is not a phrase that has been said by my fellow countrymen for over 70 years except for a Cavalry regiment in the British Army who toast the King of Sweden. It is a sad day for my country, and the Commonwealth.

For obituries I’m sure the press has had them written and prepared for the last 15 years. We will hear the obvious references to good innings as we do when ever an elderly grand-parent dies. But Her Majesty was a kind of grandmother to the nation, keeping us together when everyone was losing their shit. She went through war, the loss of Empire, I think 15 prime ministers, or was it 17? Correct me in the comments.

Even though at 96 she may have been closer to death than some of us, her loss to the nation is really like losing a a figurehead that belonged to everyone in this nation. She will be sorely missed by all of us. We will mourn. We will cry. We will comment on what a great Queen she was. We will look also to the future.

The King, is somebody who was born into the job, and was one of the longest servicing apprentices in any firm! His life and the life of his mother has lead him to this moment. Many think he will not be a good King. I beg to differ. Anyone who follows Her Majesty is bound to be overshadowed by her 70 years on the trône.

He will be a different King. By definition he will be a different King. He is a different person. I think he will do a pretty damned fine job of it. We’re in completely new territory here.

The Queen is dead. God save the King