Tag: normality

My old friend

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My old friend melancholy is back with avengeance. She’s a bitch and knows exactly what you don’t want to hear. She reminds you that you are in a sexless marriage, that you are useless to everyone, and that you would be better off dead.

If I look for sex somewhere then I’m the shit, but it’s not the “done thing” to impose oneself. And sex is not just the only thing lacking in my life.

I want out. I want to die. That’s why I’m slowly killing myself. When I’m not good I eat, which will only bring me closer to death, and yet, in an ironic twist of fate, if I don’t eat the same fate awaits me.

At least as a fat guy, society has decided that I’m not allowed to be a sexual being. Who would to have sex with me anyway? Not even my wife does, so why would anybody else?

It’s not just about sex despite what society might say. It’s the connection that sex can give its protagonists, or even the intimacy. Since the advent of Covid we have been told to be wary of everyone else. We all have masks on. We are told that we have to socially isolate. We are social animals and this lack of physical contact is ruining all of us. It will leave scars on all of us for years to come. The problem is that I love my wife deeply but it’s as if there’s a gulf between us. Maybe through death I will be able to set her free.

I feel lonely every day. I am on my own every day at work and work on my own, and it’s the same at home. Solitude can be a blessing, but it can very quickly become a great burden. I even feel resentment every time that people ring me at work. I have my work to do and it’s as people are just interrupting my day. How inconsiderate of them.

I will not be missed. There may be slightly fewer photos on Instagram but people get on with their lives. Life continues despite death of one the protagonists. Eventually people cope and “get over it” and the person really is “laid to rest.”

I just don’t fancy dying in France. I want to die at home. It might have been a fashion in 1914 to 1918, And my grandfather had a couple of brothers eho were killed and buried over here. I want to die at home. I’ve been here for 26 years and I’m fed up of it all. Boris may have ruined my country’s future, but it’s still home.

As a Catholic I try and offer my suffering up as a sacrifice for my many sins. That’s what Ste Thérèse de l’enfant Jésus told us. She was dead by the age of 30 and was a Doctor of the church.

I’m not suffering from despair, I just want this situation to end. I know I should just suck it up buttercup, man up, and stop feeling sorry for myself. Easier said than done. That’s what I was told by my form master when I was at prep school. My mother would say the same.

Some would go and offer sympathy on Facebook, as if a message on a virtual notice board would help. I’m not putting down peoples’ intentions, but you have to get real. It’s like putting a black square on social media. It doesn’t help.

Some would say, go and consult. That doesn’t help either. The head shrinkers are madder than me, except they know they are. I just have a small inkling that they’re even more full of shit than my intestines after eating a whole load of fiber.

I don’t hate any of you. I just hate myself. I am told that God loves me. I am trying to believe that, but it’s not easy every day.

Time flies like an arrow and fruit flies like a banana. This is why I hide myself in my bedroom as soon as I get home. It’s why I do photography. At least when I’m out with a camera I’m doing something instead of thinking. That helps sometimes. Anyway. I’m not dead yet so you’re going to have to out up with for a little while longer.

Here is a selection of photos from last Saturday. Long exposure, shitty weather. I was going for minimalism and maybe a couple of shots I managed it. In some I caught ghost figures due to people not caring and wondering into shot.

Please have a better time of it than me. I’ll get slightly better with a little more time. As I said, I’m not looking for sympathy, or for help. I’m just sharing what is on my mind. Thank the Lord that Adele isn’t singing on the radio…

Passage de Gois, Vendée, France

La Rentrée – or Back to the Grindstone

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Summer has officially come and gone, and I have finished my first week of work.  Is Summer just the month of August or does July count?  Whatever the case is it now time to look back and take stock? 

2020 has been a strange year, going for the understatement of the year…  At work instead of the usual four weeks off we were off for only three  weeks. We relaxed during the month of lockdown but I don’t think it could be described as holiday even though I was more than rested when I went back to work on the 22nd of April.

Fast forward to July.  In early February I had planned and booked a trip to my hometown of Hull for mid July as a kind of pre-vacation.  How very French of me! Well, that was the idea. Then Covid came and said maybe you might want to think again about that.  So I thought about it again and stayed in France.  I still went on leave, but stayed in France.

I went to Nantes and did some architecture photography, and Kate wanted to go to Paris, so we did.  Then it was off to Bretagne for the rest of the weekend. I got shouted at and escaped to do more photography, and offered a photoshoot to my sister in law and then my niece and daughter wanted to get in on the act.

Soooooooo….  my proper leave starts and my wife and daughter go off to see a friend and then on to see my mother in law. That Sunday I go off to do a photoshoot for a friend who wanted to record her pregnancy and share the sex of the baby.  It was great to see n old friend and share something so intimate with the couple.  They have asked asked me not to show the photos, but you can take it from me, parenthood suits both of them.

That night I was going to become a resident of Nantes. It was the first night of the holidays for a friend of mine from the pub. I knew that I was going to have a drink or two, so thought it wise to book a hotel room, as it would be less expensive and so much wiser than driving home under the influence….

The following Tuesday I had a photoshoot for a friend who does Yoga.  She wanted some photos outside so we went to the Chaussée des Moines just outside Nantes. 

The Thursday of that week saw me in Paris with the hero of the moment, Jean Guillaume! A great day out!  It was also the day that I required my now old camera.  The Olympus Pen EE S. 

I put a roll of film in it and took it out for a test drive.  What better place to do it than in the Voyage à Nantes. I have just finished scanning the negatives and might even get around to dedicating a whole article to it.  My daughter fell in love with it and has claimed it as her very own. I am presently in negotiations to reclaim it.

I finally gave into my daughter and she took the Olympus Pen, some colour negative film, and are had a father and daughter day in Nantes visiting the Voyage à Nantes again. She can be affair and a very fussy eater but hot that day.  Miracles can happen! That day I was test driving my new old Olympus Trip 35. My old one had decided that time was time, and it was time to retire. This new camera was made in May of 1971 so is older than me. I will scan those negatives today. Update: they are scanned and turned out the way I wanted so go me!

The last week of my hols arrived, and as the impetuous fool that I am, I had promised my daughter a last trip to Paris. That will teach me to make promises. Photos will follow. Honest!

I know this article as been a bit strange but it has allowed me to clarify things in that mess of a mind of mine so I suppose hasn’t been completely useless. At least you know what to expect in the coming articles.

Thank you Dear reader for bearing with me during this befuddle, and now you have an insight into how my brain works. I suppose I have to say it’s great to be back at work with structure, rather than the life a photographer for a short time. But I did enjoy the freedom to do what I love and keeps me going emotionally. I think back to when music was taking over my life and time away from work. Maybe photography is doing the same. I sincerely hope not. When I’m out taking photos, I don’t think. I do. It’s almost like a visual meditation. I feel free. I feel like I’m taking up a challenge to get the best images from what is around me. Sometimes that is the Eiffel Tower which is notoriously bad at playing hide and seek, or it can be the local duck pond, or of the vines. I really must start going to work earlier to catch the countryside that I drive through too. Lately on my drive to work, it’s at the exact time that the morning dew is evaporating and it gives a surreal look to the countryside. I reckon we’ll soon find out if I managed that.

Have a great week, sorry for not having written earlier but I needed to do my mental filing and sort out my memories of what Summer was all about. Whatever it was about, it wasn’t your usual Summer. But I’m not the only one that felt that. I, like a lot of you I think, crave a return to a relative normality where we can shake hands and hug our friends, where we don’t have to constantly worry if we have a mask or not, where we can connect again, and where we can become fully human again. And don’t mention Brexit!!