I had an appointment which necessitated a later commute this morning, so joy of joys, considerably less passengers to jostle with. However, it transpires that some of the local pigeon population have taken to tube travel, rather than use their wings. Possibly Richmond pigeons are too posh to fly. That could mean I still might have to fight for a seat, but with a bird instead.
Monday morning commutes hold no joy for me, I'm not crazy about the other days either (especially super early Wednesdays) but the come down after the chilled pace of the weekend, is a wrench for sure. This morning as the crowded train coasted into Waterloo Station it was apparent that something was different. Since the middle of last year, very occasionally the train will creep surreptitiously onto platform 20, from whence the Eurostar formerly operated, and the passengers disembarking then have to nip through a handful of doorways, to access the adjacent platform in the rest of the station, and leave through the barriers there.
But today the train was boldly coming to a stop on platform 21 with no safety net of a neighbouring platform to disgorge the hordes onto. I felt oddly bereft...no passport, no luggage. It occurred to me that the last time I was here I'd be catching a train to France. I think my last trip here was preparing for a long weekend in Lille back in May 2006, where somehow I'd only taken one pair of shoes and they were from entirely different pairs!
Waterloo stopped hosting the Eurostar in November 2007, when they upped sticks and headed for King's Cross St. Pancras. And possibly the last time ticket barriers were in operation. Though there's been some reenginerring as there are now only a few steps to get down from the platforms, and last time there were escalators zooming you up to ground level.
I did make one further visit to these elegant platforms though, even after the trains had gone. In 2010 the other J and I secured two front row tickets for a fabulous new adaptation of The Railway Children. They built the seats on the platform around the abandoned tracks. The piece de resistance was a real life steam train chuffing into view, billowing steam everywhere for the poignant and unforgettable "daddy, my daddy!" finale scene. Not a dry eye in the house, or should that be station?
Going home for Christmas. That's what we generally do. There's songs written about it, movies dramatising the arduous journey. We expect traffic jams, violent weather, and delayed trains, as that's part of the tradition. I would always have way too many bags stuffed with elaborately wrapped presents for home and then a New Year in Cambridge. A massive M&S expedition would be on the horizon on arrival. I would be tasked with menu planning for the wider family party plus the more intimate festive fare, "never knowingly under-catered" was our motto!
My one regret is a lack of photos, from any of these lovely Christmases. But we always were a family of reluctant photographic subjects, so if I'd been attached to my camera as I am now, I'd probably have an artful, soft bokeh shot of the sprouts dusted with bacon slivers, and still not one of us!
A very early reoccurring memory is Christmas Day sat on the floor in front of the "visiting a children's hospital programme" in little Gran's front room (seemingly only used at Christmas), whilst I painstakingly ordered my new felt tip pen collection, yes there is a correct order! Even today I colour code my clients and arrange them in that very same order (my eight-year-old self would be very proud!)
Nowadays there's no home for Christmas for me, so I make other plans to celebrate the holiday. This isn't a cry for sympathy, just a fact. Of course I'm going to hark back to all those special times, the fabulously bedecked tables, the crazy obsession with canapés (that's you M!), the obligatory carols and festive films (D's domain), the first soft pfftt of a Champagne popping, the evocative aroma of M's Chanel No. 5, the patiently opening and admiring each present at midnight Christmas Eve before moving to the next, and the time we had a full Christmas lunch at 3am (and pretended it was normal!) A few ghosts of Christmas past, all treasured memories, surrounded by a train full of people going home for Christmas, I'm allowed a moment of wistfulness. And yes, secretly, I do wish that tomorrow morning I could set cross-legged in front of the TV, reordering my new felt pens!
But tomorrow there won't be any felt tips but I hope a delicious festive breakfast in my lovely hotel. I discovered Hotel Alexandra in Lyme Regis after a sadly slightly washed out photography workshop. Not that we hadn't had a great time and done fantastic photography but the weather really let us down. I stayed in the Alex, with the hatches firmly battened down but when the rain cleared I really enjoyed my time in Lyme. I figured it would make a great spot for one of my Christmas coast hotels but they haven't done a Christmas for thirty years. I checked them out again this year and fantastically they'd decided to lay on a Christmas package.
There's a fabulous warm welcome on arrival and I was delighted to hear of been upgraded to a larger room and more crucially, with a sea view. Immediately I set up my tripod and could try and capture the first seagull before a spot of afternoon tea. They've even provided a little robin ornament to decorate my room.
After a warm scone, the lure of the Jane Austen gardens and the distinctive lampposts had me wander out of the hotel grounds is search of my first sunset shot.
On returning, I added more sequins and headed down for a Christmas Eve dinner. I had remembered that the food is very good here and they don't disappoint. as usual there's the challenge of good photography on the ambient light in a dining room but I tried my best.
Feeling very pleasantly full, I retire to my elegant room and plan further photographic adventures tomorrow, no felt tips though!
On the way to Titchwell I didn't have time to look around King’s Cross Station as a mysterious extra train turfed up so I thought I'd take my chances on it with all the cancellations they'd been. E(D) and LLcT were saying at dinner that the whole platform 9 3/4 has been revamped, reimagined if you will, so I was intrigued to check it out on my return journey.
Back on September 23rd 2010, and two little Leicas ago, we'd had a meal at King’s Cross Station before they headed back to Cambridge. The trolley embedded in the wall was tucked away and just led off from platform 8 or 9, just a little tiled walkway. LLcT and E(D) decided to pose with the trolley, straining to ’push’ the their luggage through the wall. You could say that my godson has a touch of a rather tall Harry Potter, bespectacled yes, but the wrong shaped glasses. His hair is slightly reminiscent but there isn't a scar. I was grabbing a few shots of both of them but several other passersby seemed particularly keen to get their own photos when LLcT was stood there. Especially a group of Japanese tourists, not sure how they explained the giant Harry when they got home with their pictures!.
I got off the train and tried to recall where the curiously mounted trolley was. The station’s been very redeveloped so nothing looked as I remembered. I wondered briefly if I should ask someone but figured immediately that they've probably made it really simple to find. And sure enough as I wheeled my case into the main part of the station I could see a fairly substantial queue of people. They've updated it and realised a way to monetarise the platform 9 3/4 experience. Now as you pose with the trolley, laden with old suitcases a ’handler’ wraps a large scarf around you, depending on which Hogwart’s house you wish to represent. He holds out the long scarf behind you to give an impression of speed and a photographer takes your commemorative photograph, for I think £8. I chose to grab my own shot whilst they were changing over would-be Harry Potters and Hermiones.
They've also built a little shop selling said photos plus memorabilia from the Harry Potter World at Watford. Ironically you can't travel by train from King’s Cross to Watford Junction for the studio tour, you have to travel from Euston Station. But at least you can get to Hogwarts from platform 9 3/4 and Paris from international platforms at the St. Pancras part of the station.
Time to leave and as usual I don't want to go. I'd already decided to soften the blow of the post-Christmas departure and getting back to reality by having one more fabulous meal. We discovered on the first night the twice or triple cooked beef dripping chips and the silky smooth smoked mash are both utterly delicious so I opted to have them both with a locally reared rare steak. I've got a long journey home so a degree of fortifying feasting is required and I also know the fridge is bare.
I've worked out when the next hourly bus is and leave the hotel what I hoped was nearly ten minutes early. Actually I suspect it was only a few minutes after settling the final bill and stuff and it transpired the bus stop outside Titchwell Manor is not the Titchwell marked on the bus timetable but the next stop which is quite a walk away. Clearly a cunning plan to confuse visitors. There are no timetables on the bus-stop nor an indication which direction the bus would be servicing so I am now convinced they're trying to dissuade strangers from using the local buses. It's pretty cold so I didn't want to spend more than a few minutes at the fairly desolate bus-stop, however plan A failed so instead I successfully managed to spend an hour there waiting for the next bus. The only advantage of this unexpected lingering by the side of a very chilly road is that I had plenty of opportunity trying to photograph the Vs of birds, ducks, geese flying overhead, heading away from the cooler coast. This was probably the most fragmented V I spotted, they'd lost their formation somewhat en route but they were the ones I was able to capture as something more substantial than mere dots, so it will represent my last minute bird-watching.
And then it went very dark. There aren't street lamps around here, fantastic to avoid light pollution but really bad when you're dressed all in black carrying three black bags standing at a inky dark bus-stop. The bus driver said I should have flashed a torch, donned a high-vis jacket or something (I must go on record stating I have no such thing that could be designated as fluorescent, apart from perhaps the hours marked on my watch - and I suspect he was thinking of something larger). As I said before, I'm a city girl, these issues just never come up normally!
The Christmas break starts today. Well my travelling to my festive destination starts today. I've been reviewing the trains since first light and it doesn't look good. This is my new Christmas tradition it seems, as soon as I'm packed and ready to hit the roads the Great British weather conspires against me. Last year it was eight hours battling to get to Cornwall when floods had laid waste to much of the train track. This years we’ve got super strong winds to contend with all over the country. I leave it a few hours as there’s little joy in hanging around King’s Cross but the time has come to try. As I leave with my bag I spot my little red breasted friend perched on a wall. I have sadly lost my Leica case with the Velcro, the very loud case, so I'm back to my vintage leather one that doesn't really fasten so is luckily much quieter. I'm able to grab a couple of shots of the robin before he flies off and I get back to flying off too. I still have a robin in the snow on my wish list, 2014 maybe!
In February 2012 I was lucky enough to join a group of fabulous people on a trip to Iceland. I'd had a yen to visit the land of ice for many years but had never really pursued the idea. The lovely AY (as was, as she's now married) and her friends had discovered a very reasonable package and suggested the group I met on a Berlin Photography holiday trip, should also sign up. And so I did, and twelve of us found ourselves in a surprisingly balmy Reykjavik!
They were more organised than me and had signed up for a variety of activities. I hadn't and opted instead to play it by ear. Reykjavik was so snow free I was determined to find some, ooh and maybe some jet black volcanic dust coated landscapes. Ooh and a glacier, maybe a waterfall or two and a geyser. With these thoughts in mind I signed up for a couple of four-by-four tours. Being chauffeured around in an off-road vehicle has the advantage of us being able to reach those inaccessible places and I thought this would be perfect for photography. On my second trip, we were battling through freezing, blustery winds and we drove up to the glacier I'd been hankering after. The idea was that we'd board some snowmobiles and head off into the distance for a ride. My vivid imagination made me convinced that I'd be flung off en route so opted to stay behind with my camera, as that's what I wanted anyway. From my vantage point on the glacier I could see for miles in every direction. And I couldn't see anyone else once the conga line of snowmobiles had whooshed off. It was so quiet, the wind was blowing crazily but there were no trees to shake, no houses to buffet so despite the fact I could barely stand, the utter tranquility descended. I could take shelter in our Range Rover thing but I was determined to try and capture this serenity, this pure, uncomplicated landscape. Boots firmly planted in the deep, crisp snow to steady myself I took a series of pictures looking back towards Reykjavik. I had a warm coat but I couldn't get it to stay fastened, so in the violent wind it formed a v-shape above my head ensuring it was not doing the slightest bit of good in the function of keeping me warm. Fortunately I had two hats, several scarves and gloves but it was still mighty cold. It was curious, the weather was violent but the photographs show calmness.
This week’s Frui Friday challenge was “simplicity” so I harped back to my sojourn on an Icelandic glacier and posted the first of these photographs. I always imagined these as a set as I rotated slightly to get different views. Simplicity itself.
My last few successive Tuesday night have been spent at the pop-up ice rink at Canary Wharf hosting an event we’ve dubbed “Bankers on Ice”. We’re inviting our customers to partake in a little bit of pre-Christmas cheer with us and cavort on the ice, if they so desire. I've opted to entirely eschew the ice myself, I had a brief brush with ice many, many years ago when due to a mean girl I was purposely flung from the end of a chain onto the cold, hard ice and got temporarily concussed. Nothing so dramatic has happened at these evenings but I've chosen to not tempt fate and do all the entertaining on the inside of the marquee instead.
When it was over I thought I'd explore the Canada Square garden. All the trees are covered in blue twinkly lights and if you weren't feeling festive on entry you'd be imbued with a touch of Christmassy magic.
When these were first lit up it reminded me of a weekend of Christmas shopping in New York even longer ago. When I was at school, because my father worked for Air France, we got to go on crazy last minute exotic trips that I'm not sure my school friends ever believed I went on.
I think I was in my early teens but can't quite remember. I do remember all the trees lit up in these tiny twinkly white lights, watching the ice skating at the Rockefeller Plaza, buying red and white striped candy cane ornaments for the Christmas tree, visiting the Woody Allen recommended salt beef sandwich place and procuring an excessive number of heavy film books. I remember feeling a bit trepidatious on the subway, I had read somewhere about a spate unfortunate passengers being pushed under the oncoming train whilst having their bags snatched. Their apartments were being heartlessly ransacked whilst they were being rescued, resuscitated or scraped up of the rails. I would cling to the back wall until the subway train pulled in and also wore my bag across my body under my coat. I looked like the hunchback of Notre Damme! I was really impressed how late the shops were open, we were terribly jet lagged and being able to explore shops that were so different from home at night whilst we were wide-awake was great fun. But it did make the bags very heavy for the return flight. Now trees wrapped in all the fairy lights is common place but seeing New York covered in a blanket of white pinpricks is where it all started tonight.
I used my smallest aperture to get the star effect. I have a built in star filter in my camera but that looked rather insane when I applied it on this scene. It's definitely feeling a lot like Christmas.
Tomorrow is the Frui Christmas party and we’ve been asked to submit our best shot from a Frui holiday and Frui Social to win the prize of having it printed A3 size. There's not much notice as were supposed to pick our shots by tonight. That's a little harsh for those who don't carry all their photos around on their iPad but I guess that means as I do, I have less competition! But what to choose as my two entries.
I figured, just in case I did actually win, I should pick two photographs I'd like to live with. I struggled with my holiday shots but figured I'd pick a typical landscape from the desert of Almería. The palette was very soft there, not the normal punchier colours I'm drawn to, just pastel paleness. The line of immature trees breaking up the miles of sun-bleached landscape made this photograph for me.
For the best Social photograph I wondered if I should pick the album cover that scored me a ten but if I did win I couldn't really imagine doing anything with it. However, the solo image I took that night when we had to shoot our sound and I choose to photograph an organic image of the Oxford Street lights that I entitled “cacophony”, was more me.
I'm not sure if anyone else managed to reach their computers containing their photographs in time for the submission deadline, I’ll guess we’ll see tomorrow.
Whenever I find myself at Westminster tube station I come over all architecture-y and monochrome. There’s something so majestic about the tall, smooth concrete pillars and ceiling of grey. The stacked escalators, the industrial lighting, the utility pipes, silver, dark grey, mid grey, light grey. Maybe not fifty shades but perhaps thirty!
I’d taken my usual escalator shots, potential passengers hurrying hither and thither but nothing particularly new. I still had my camera slung round my neck stood on the platform waiting for the next homebound Richmond tube. I glanced across to the eastbound platform, and the rather crowded bench caught my eye and I was very keen to capture the moment. I'm not sure why I was so taken with this shot but something grabbed me about the way they all seemed crammed together in anticipation of the next tube. I couldn't ascertain whether they are bosom buddies weary after a day out together in town or total strangers commuting home from work, but for now they are one. The lovely PR liked the fact that the two wearing trainers have crossed their ankles, the rest sporting boots haven't. I liked that the woman who is clutching the satchel bag on her lap appears to have the whitest teeth ever. I'm surprised that no one seemed to spot me taking their photo, but pleased they didn't.
The Frui Friday challenge this week is person/people and I need to throw whatever hat into the ring I intend to throw today. I'm not really a people photographer but I do have the odd picture that could count in this genre and very few were taken with the subject’s acquiescence . I love the B&W photographs I took recently of Z, KK and little E but I thought I could look deeper in my archive. I knew I’d been ’encouraged’ to try a few environmental portraits in Almería last year. I wouldn't say strictly that this could be a portrait when I'm taking a sneaky shot without their knowledge (as per usual) but this Andalusian woman carefully selecting her peppers particularly caught my eye and she was kind enough to ignore me. Normally if a person is in my photograph it’s invariably their feet or possibly legs. Maybe I have a deep-rooted gear of model releases. This lady had a great face and if certainly made a change for me not to just shoot the peppers!
The theme for the second Frui Friday photo is Summer. Unlike last time the photo doesn't have to be taken over the weekend but you can trawl your archives for a suitable entry. I looked at the photos from France this summer but they didn't scream “summer” enough.
Last summer was the Olympics and Almeria. Neither which hit my blog sadly. I guess when I'm not blogging daily I need a massive catch-up session.
I felt the need for something more exotic, some of my Hawaiian photographs seemed more promising. I hankered for palm trees and sea. There were some possibilities in that fabulous week on paradise but I had another idea.
I searched back through the photographs I took at another J & B’s beautiful wedding in Tenerife in Gran Canaria. I recall standing in awe watching a burnished golden sunset from the balcony of the apartments most of the wedding party were staying in, that image ticks the palm trees and sea boxes plus had the added advantage of a sunset. But I had another in mind, J & B had some artistic shots taken by the official wedding photographers at the Gran Meliá Palacio de Isora resort hotel and spent their wedding night there. All the rest of us joined them for drinks the night after and I was taken with another vibrant sunset this evening. This time it was pinker, softer with the shimmering reflections of the cabanas in the infinity pool in the foreground. A lovely memory from a gorgeous wedding in a beautiful place.
Whilst winter has seemingly pounced so very suddenly I think this is an apt entry for a memory “summer” past, I’ll see on Monday if others agree.
The large four-faced clock at Waterloo Station is a popular meeting spot. I'm sure it's seen many assignations, friends gathering in their finery heading off to the Ascot races, before the Eurostar relocated to King’s Cross St. Pancras excitable parties would congregate before checking in for Paris and groups setting of for adventures start here. I've met other photographers here before we set off for a mystery photography excursion. The funny thing is if you’re meeting someone you don't know, as I did recently for a Hairy Goat workshop, there are so many people milling around under the clock I couldn't fathom out who I should be introducing myself to.
The clock has been swathed in plastic for ages whilst the Waterloo Station refurbishment has been taking place. But some of the refurbishment it complete as there's a new mezzanine level encircled by shops and restaurants. I'm stood at the edge of the little café, on level with said clock after stocking up on more rubber animals from Paperchase. AL took some fabulous photographs of the inner workings of a clock tower recently and though nowhere near as intricate as AL’s gorgeous black and white shots, I'm inspired to at least try and capture the clock sans plastic covering by getting as close as possible.
I've been back home for a couple of days but my heart is still in Burgundy, somewhere on those tranquil, tree lined waterways with the sunlight sparkling on the surface, and possibly the odd duck.
I've been on chilled holidays previously, where you just lie on a beach or by the pool but they've never really seemed to feel quite as laid back as this one. Most of the time if you've gone to the effort of going away on holiday, especially to a new place, you feel you have to make the best of the opportunity, explore unfamiliar places, dashing off for new experiences and generally not just do nothing or it would must be a terrible waste.
But to be fair, given half a chance when I relax I can sleep for England. I think it’s because most of the time I'm living in a state of mild to extreme sleep deprivation. I just seem to believe that there isn't enough time for sleeping. First there’s work, so much work, too much work and then there’s catching up with friends, cramming in creative photography projects, maintaining a daily blog (eek), trying to keep up with my reading, my favourite TV shows on Sky+ and then all the domestic stuff. How on earth is there time to sleep?
My ideal situation would be to abandon all alarm clocks when on holiday but generally there's a timetable to adhere to. If breakfast is included you have to get a shimmy on by a certain time or that little avenue is closed. If an excursion is planned, they generally seem to cater for early birds so there's no lingering. When we did the Northern Baltic Cities cruise six years ago we got to enjoy some fabulous excursions Talin, Moscow, Stockholm, St. Petersburg, Berlin, Copenhagen et al but I also enjoyed the days at sea with no rushing around, perhaps a watercolour workshop and just time to really chill. As lovely as the little trips to vineyards, churches, cathedrals, museum, chateaux etc are they are not really on par with the Armoury containing all the fabulousness of Faberge eggs and the rest in Moscow and also I find myself cherishing the quiet time. The most energetic thing to do is watch the world drift by and occasionally brandishing my camera in the direction of a field dotted with those cylindrical bales of hay, a bird on a telegraph pole, pleasing stripes of the serene canal in front of us or the gushing water at the next lock.
Each lock was a fascination, the whole mechanism of raising or lowering our king of the canal seemed almost miraculous. Often our barge was so snug in the lock, we had to ensure our elbows were well tucked in for fear of grazing on the sides. The water starts as a sprung leak before it turns into a torrent. Our captain, in collaboration with the lock keeper, would regulate the flow before opening the gates with a big winching handle. The lock keeper would invariably be responsible for several locks in close proximity, so would buzz to the next one on a moped and be waiting for us as we drifted into view.
Sometimes the incline change needed would so great the lock would need to be so deep that our large barge would be dwarfed by the water-loving plants covered walls. You'd be so closely surrounded by the walls you'd look up to see just a small patch of blue and the walls dripping . One of the other guests told of a previous barging holiday where another passenger was very claustrophobic. She had found these sort of locks so impossible to cope with she'd had to abandon her barging holiday and seek another form of transport.
Today I tried to book another trip on the same barge. They talked of a Christmas in Paris which seemed an excellent idea and I immediately started researching the possibility of joining them. I've looked high and low how to book this. I checked with the travel agency I booked with, they certainly had nothing on their books for the rest of this year for the good ship Jeanine. I tried with the owners of the barge Croisi Europe but they also couldn't help. They think this is a private charter and I wouldn't be able to book. I also took the opportunity to complain about their shocking website concerning booking future excursions on this barge, the French I can more or less navigate with the help of google translate (and Michel Thomas) but there just seemed to be no way to view any trips, for the remainder of 2013 or even 2014.
I've been thwarted in my cunning Christmas plan. I haven't ruled out going to Paris though, but it's not going to be by barge it seems.
I'm relieved the rain has abated today I really want to explore Lyon and ideally not get too wet in the process. The winding little cobbled streets are flanked by coloured houses just begging to be photographed. The view from my hotel has a fine cluster of these houses overlooking the River Saône.
Lyon’s fortune was made in silk weaving and now Lyon is famed for the food. You cannot fail to see, smell and taste the importance of gastronomy to Lyon on every corner, in every street. There is a surfeit of cafés, brasseries, restaurants, patisseriers, boulangeries, and other eateries wherever you look. For a late lunch meandering through the tiny streets I settle for a Breton crêperie and a buckwheat “complete”. I want to conserve my appetite as Lyon is home to Paul Bocuse and I'm very keen to sample his wares on my visit.
I've been spoilt with excellent fine dining on our luxury barge, so I eschew the ’proper’ eponymous restaurant and make a reservation for his “Le Nord” restaurant instead. Now to spend the rest of the day building up an appetite. There's shopping to be done, I spotted some interesting sparkly things through the windows of the very shut shops yesterday. And Sonia Rykiel is having a sale, it would be rude not to! Armed with my new goodies I cross the pedestrian suspension bridge and explore more hiddley, piddley cobbled streets. In my enthusiasm I've left it late to return to the hotel to freshen up and try on my new purchases but I squeeze it in and head for the very typical French brasserie of Le Nord.
I'm not disappointed and certainly don't go home hungry after tucking into a couple of local specialities - Lyonnaise Frisée Salad with the meatiest chunks of lardons ever (possibly an entire pig cut into slices) followed by Veal Escalope with Macaroni Cheese.
As I discovered last night in the rain, walking along the Saône back to my hotel, that Lyon is also beautiful at night. The clearer weather has brought more people out and the steps leading done to the river are dotted with couples enjoying some alone time under the stars. Last night here, I’m determined to make the most of it.
Posted with Blogsy