The creative muse has foresaken me...

I'm riddled with panic.

This isn't good.

It makes me want to a) open a bottle of wine, and, b) eat like a bastard.

I'm actually pacing the living room, rubbing my forehead. That bitch better turn up soon.

Jolly good.

What the hell?...

Wait a bit, for a minute, whilst I pinch myself for a second, to ensure I'm actually here, yep, seem to be... so, I have *really* just watched the news that stated essentially that Robert Mugabe was turning into a nice bloke. Fucksake, "He's behind you!". C'mon, Jesus H Christ... I couldn't be more emphatic about this if I tried.

R-O-B-E-R-T M-U-G-A-B-E, ring a bell?, hey, praps not, who knows?...

I should be where others aren't...

Decided today that I'm largely full of shit.

In other news, I'm moving house...

Got two photography briefs to complete, another arsing website to build, books to read, and, a presentation and essay to do, mostly by the 3rd of April. Happy fucking days. Meh.

Not to mention the delights of furniture restoration, of which there aren't many. Meh, again.

These made me spit coffee. Busy?, yes I am, actually...

Genius...

"Womb expulsions" brilliant!

Mr Smith met with a sticky end...

Course, I could be listening to too much Elliot. Nah, Preston's still grim.

Depreston...

I grew up in Preston, right. At 17, I realised something I'd suspected for a while was true: the best thing about the place was the road out, so, I utilised it and managed to put a healthy nine hour journey between me and it! Sitting here now, shaking my head, half in bewilderment, half in despair, and, alarmingly I've been doing that for about four and a half years, or to put it another way, since I moved back to Preston.

Hated it as child and positively loathe it as adult. No matter how many whistles and bells 'they' try to adorn this town with, the fact remains it's a bit of a cultural cess-pit (did I just say "bit"?). Preston has two redeeming features the Avenham Park area and the bus station, for very different reasons. Yep, thats kind of it really. It doesn't really cater for arty types. I've been spoilt over the years having lived in areas of outstanding natural beauty and ,err, Manchester. Ahh, Manchester: a place where you can go into town between 4:30pm and 7pm in the evening ( as opposed to pm in the morning, clearly) avoiding the risk of being flattened by a bombardment of tumbleweeds. That said, I have nothing against tumbleweeds. I make joke, but, I find this place truly depressing.

Basically, I moved back to Preston because I fell in love. I was very ill at the time and made some odd decsions, another one being the purchase a brand new ford KA outright, like I said I was ill, and wanted hassle free motoring; "How much?" "Have you got in in that nice colour, there?" (points at pic in brochure) "No?" "Oh well, I'll have that shitty burgandy one then, ta very much" Vroom, vroom...

I seem to be waffling, there was a point to this, but now I can't remember and there is someone at the door.

Spring...

There is something very lovely and comforting about daffodils in the snow.

Being Human...

'Being Human' on BBC3 is just fantastic... Vampire, Werewolf and a Ghost, brilliant.

Never again...

Felt the first kiss from Spring this afternoon and it tasted delicious, drinking coffee over looking the Dee Estuary (wildlifeys, take note, it is a must do for you lot). Parkgate, Wirral... used to be the last port before Chester, then the estuary silted up and now it's not (a port, that is). There is a fantastic chip shop there btw. Yep, it was all very lovely.

So, went to my friends birthday do last night, in a terraced cottage with a log fire, next door to a mentally unbalanced man who thinks he's a ww2 fighter pilot-I've heard him through the walls during the wee hours, oh yes, and the amount of times I've laid there, wide awake, willing him to crash his fucking plane...

Haven't seen her in a while; she soon brings me up to speed on the rich Greek property developer that brings her wood, no, this isn't a euphemism for a new lover, he is, genuinely fetching fuel for her fire, oh, here we go, 'Ooh Matron' and all that.

To continue, there's a rich man clearly 'taken' with my friend; he introduced himself (to her) thus: "You are Landscaper, I may need perhaps sometime, I bring you wood.... so, err, here is my card, if you need anything, if you ever *frustrated* (uses name), you call me". She couldn't believe her ears, if that isn't direct, I don't know what is!

Anyway, my hangover is large.

Kind of, having difficulty getting this Rene and Renata song of my head somehow, poor quality notwithstanding......but, to paraphrase: "the reddest rose I always bring you, the hardest wood I long to give you"...

This is very good loud...

Bono still sounds like dog food...

Been good, and, stayed off the booze, unfortunately the second 'turn' from U2 on Jonathan Ross has pushed me over the edge (Ha! not literally over the edge, as in goatee wearing guitarist) and into the kitchen where I uncorked a bottle of red. Bono went into the audience so the audience could touch him if they so choosed, then, he picked on a random row of seats occupied by unsuspecting ladies and laid across their knees, err, singing. I shit you not. I'm a bit fed up with calling people twats, so I won't.

Knuckle cracking at this point...bless...

Laughing at myself...

I do that a lot, laugh at myself, innit... The following kinda sums up my eventful activities with the Gods of the College Car Park...

Jed, (un)Clampit...

Right. I'm going to do the gracious thing and apologise to the security guard for swearing at him last night.

No. He did ask for it. It's late, it's cold, I've been in college for 9 hours, there's a big yellow metal clamp on my wheel, it's starting to snow, I don't have my coat, he has the key for the clamp... was he being deliberately obtuse? abusing his position of power, refusing to unlock it. Twat. Furthermore, he wouldn't listen to a word I said about anything, oh y'know, the shit just escalated from there on in really.

Oh, and, apparently first yr students are now eligible to apply for a parking permit for the car park, well, thanks for telling me that now.

2008 prospectus offers in B&W, parking facilities at the campus. Sept 2008 I'm informed I'm not eligible to not only use the car park, but can't even apply for a permit because I am in the first year. Genius! Who else, if not prospective first years, is the prospectus aimed at? That'll be described as false advertising, I'll wager.

Very nice...

1980 something...



2000 and something...

I am...

Avoiding Twitter. Wide-berthing it in a big stylee.

I cancelled my Twitter account about 10 months ago (Yes, a twitter quitter). 3:12am? is that the time, really? You get the picture. Thought to myself, trundling into the wee hours, alone, exchanging 'tweets' with strangers on a glowing agraphobia inducing screen, "yep, this IS normal" so I terminated it. 

Josh Marino: "Typing what I'm thinking to everyone reading". Sorry, to me Twitter is old hat. I'll give it 2 years (generously) before we move on to the next....

So, as myspace was the new friends reunited and facebook was the new myspace, Twitter now stands to be the new facebook, where does it end? Twitterland in my experience is full of geeks; self-taught web nerds, exchanging in-house bitching about technical specs and slagging off microsoft. Their pages offer links to their websites and/or blogs. It should be called Twatter, not Twitter for that matter. I just don't need another thing to keep me in the house, y'know, it's nice to go out.

Infact, twitter will no doubt be suffering from mindless idiot overload since the recent media hype. At least, two years ago, there was little compromise in intelligence, geek or no geek. Meh.

Oh, my ribs...

How do you coax a Grizzly using cheese?... "C'mon bear". 

Best enjoyed in a cockney accent.

Wine fuelled rhetoric, possibly...

Ok, well, I've lept from 'the wagon' with brazen abandon...Bollocks.

Want to tell you about the three legged cat I've met. Named him Tripod. Tripod is a cat with 3 legs (clearly). Tripod hangs out thereabouts. Tripod affectionatley climbs up your body, then, insists on clinging to you like a Koala Bear up a Eucalyptus tree; he dribbles, his deep purr resonates and his plump jowels vibrate as you stroke him. I'm talking a fair (not fur) bit of cat, even minus the leg. He weighs a ton. He's lovely.

The other day he cocked his head to one side in anticipation that the missing leg, and, subsequent paw should engage in the ritual of scratching the back of his ear . His 'stump' vibrated, going through the motions, bless. Tripod was attempting to scratch the back of his ear with his non-existant limb. I shouldn't laugh, but did frankly, and, spat coffee to boot. Then went over and scratched the back of his ear for him, thus relieving him of his itch.

Retro adverts...fantastic

No sexism in this one, oh no. Oh wait, is she wearing a floral print pinny under that coat?

More of the same...

You can lead a whore to culture but you can't make them think (whore isn't gender specific btw).

This is unfair to whores per say. Since all the ones I know have degrees. Blast.

Show of appreciation...

One should never fuck a gift horse in the mouth. Fact, most definately not.

Happy...

So, I'm in this kinda mood today, think it may be a good one, hard to say, it's been a while.

Lee Hazelwood was a genius, died in 2006. Producer to and collaborator with Duane Eddy. Nick Cave is a big fan, obviously. Hazelwood made some fantastic songs with Nancy Sinatra. 'Some Velvet Morning' is toppermost...

The end is in sight...

One tangled website down, one to go, sort of...

Recently been feeling discomfort akin to that of a cheese grater slowly carving slithers off my brain. Of course, this is all in my mind!

Accidently watched The Brits, more specifically, The Pet Shop Boys...it was like some new genre of pop horror comedy had been born, look out she's behind you! Pink wig, err, less said the better. Neil Tennant looked like Hot Chips grandad in Gestapo boots...I kept waiting for him to throw off the hat and leather overcoat to reveal a sparkly suit or something, will he? won't he?, oh, he's not....

This is still good though, despite the above.

Cheering I up a bit, innit....

Boo...

Pissed off today, like the Cheshire cat in reverse, my smile disappeared.

I'm fine...

Arrrrrrgggghhhhhh!

In a nutshell.

Bedtime....

Horlicks, then bed, homological pronunciation notwithstanding.

Must confess to feeling a bit weary and a bit self satisfied after ranting at tossers in various call centres sprinkled nationally, for a large chunk of the evening. ( I lost the job btw...I make joke). Beginning with the B's in the form of Barclaycard, worked my way through the alphabet of letters (see what I did there?) stacked on my desk and surrounding area, i.e house.

I've given up alcohol... No shit, you sure?, not like you to verbalise your opinions to strangers trapped politely on the other end of the phone, attempting in vain, to defend the incompetence in the bigger picture known as their employer. Err, yes it is.

The operative from Direct Line (are they Bristol based?) sounded like Viki Pollard AND would not or could not pause for breath. Slick, Direct Line, slick, I couldn't wait to get off the phone!

Crap practice....

Trying very hard to avoid a breakdown over this website brief. I've only just learnt where the 'on' button is, Gawdsake (sound of huge emphatic sigh).

Being provided with a detailed brief in print two and a half weeks into a 5 week module is shit practice, frankly. I now seem (no "seem" about it) to have a shit load more of shit to shitting well get together for assessment. Shit that wasn't mentioned verbally by the tutor. 

Not professional at all on behalf of the tutors. No. Can't suffer in silence on this one. I'm mentioning it to them.

Cat waits for bus...

And, this ad from last months L.E.P: "Flea market in aid of cat rescue". Wish I'd snapped that, but didn't, nevermind, made me laugh.

A different "type" of sauce from Heinz...

But, why not, Beanz with Ballz or Red Hot Ballz?

I'll give them 'crunch'...

That's them told.

Credit card companies suck chunks. Don't ask.

Bonnie Prince Billy...

I really have the like for 'Back-lash of Uncle Sam American Hinterland' stuff...If you haven't already had the pleasure, you must. This guy's (Will Oldham) song writing and adaptations of them by the use of short films is amazing, both thought provoking and heart warming, not to mention tear jerking at times and absurdly disturbing. 

Absurdity floats my boat, lights my match, peels my banana and strokes my cat. Metaphor over kill? Nah.

Guess you could say that I've succumb to Bloggery...

Yep.

Bath, bed...

Just got home. Now feeling completely Lobotomised, and, not in the usual "good" way. Ha!

Left the house unpublished and returned published... I've reached the dizzy heights of "fame" in the much sought after publication 'Blackpool and The Fylde College Annual Reports and Accounts 2007/2008'; well done you, for keeping awake throughout that title. They tended to use the worst shots I submitted and the cropping can be described as interesting, I guess. 

My Parents will be proud.

Tomorrow 'Portfolio'.

I remember when a mac was a raincoat...

Just preparing myself for a 10 hour stint frying my head with alien design software infront of a mac. Ok, 30 mins for lunch and a couple of short breaks, so lets call it 8 and 3/4 hours, is this even legal?

Surely the tutors must realise this is completely counter-productive and a waste of everyones time. 5 hours tops, no? before stigmata appears in your eyes.

Had three hours sleep last night to boot. I'm not a happy bunny, a demented one perhaps. Pith and vinegar for brekkie then...

Tragedy...

A Beegee has fathered a love child with the (much younger) nanny/maid. His wife feels betrayed. This illustrates that 'open' relationships are generally not the best concept and will eventually go tits up at some point, no matter how forward thinking you both pretend to be.

So, will the child feel like a by-product of their parents fucked-up ideologies, when they grow up and digest the feast the tabloids appear to be having today?

Listen to me, I'm in a 'good' mood this morning...that said, think a Beegee is fair game.

Boo hiss...

Hi, my names Lisa and I'm on the wrong course. I'm paying for the wrong course to boot.

After much umming and ahhing, decided, wrongly, to opt for the FD. I'm in a bit of a pickle, frankly. Vomitments (that's a typo, but I'm liking it, meant to say "commitments", clearly) outside of college are meaning I don't get so much time to snap, well, apart from mentally, mental snapping occurs almost daily.

Spoken to the relevant tutors about moving to the 2nd yr BA in Sept, and, this is doable, but, I'm thinking now, that perhaps I should apply for the 1st yr BA instead, is this doable, anyone? Largely, cos I feel I'm not gaining any valuable progression in photography on the FD, and feel like it's going to be a year wasted in terms of photographic development.

Camera for sale?...

I have a Canon 400D. I think I hate it, well, at least dislike it intensely. I may sell it, would anyone want to buy it? I only refer to it as 'Shitbox' as a term of endearment.

Nom nom nom...

Why are olives so popular?

My cat likes olives, he also likes Whiskas and sniffing the orifices of other felines.

Olives are evil, as is Whiskas (I'd imagine), and, sniffing the orifices of others (esp without their consent). No, I'm torn on this: if one sniffs the orifices of others with their consent, that, surely is the greater evil. I don't know where this came from and have no idea where it's going....

Grater evil: When you carve your knuckles to bits in the enthusiasm to shred cheese.

Jam Pact...

Memory preserve. Moment marmalade.

Nosferatu...to paraphrase Fantasy Island, "The plague, the plague"...

Wow! not looked at this original stuff for ages. Saw Herzogs adaptation of Nosferatu last week in it's entirety for the first time and it blew me away. Very highly charged and atmospheric. Beautifully lit, sumptious colour, containing some fantastic moments of cinematic beauty serenaded by an utterly mesmerising soundtrack.

I can't deny that I'm prone to the odd 'Renfield' moment at times, and, yes, Kinski does look like Gary Numan in this.

What are all these youtube grading stars about? Bet I clicked on something I shouldn't have.

Waste of money...

Been trying to bloggerate some footage from youtube, but, my state of the art glorified Fisher Price activity centre for grown-ups (imac) won't let me. So yep, I'm thinking that it was worth every single penny of the 800 English pounds I spent on it. I'm turning into Charlie Brooker.

Right. Enough. Going to do some college work.

I over use the word "OK"

OK.

Shame really, that's life, death...

Ok, Lux Interior is dead. Not his real name clearly. Front man with the garage punk band The Cramps.



We're doing well this month, we lost the genius guitar playing of John Martyn the week before last (which was Jan, granted, but a small detail). He followed the departure of Davy Graham, folk guru.

Lemme see who else, oh yes, haven't quite got over Postgate. I was lucky enough to attend a talk by him about 10 years ago in Manchester - how to make a grown woman cry: unzip a hold-all, extract a couple of original mice, a solitary Clanger, Prof Yaffle and Bagpuss, whilst speaking to her in the comforting, seductive tones of Oliver Postgate. Goosebumps now, not joking.

Harold Pinter, Tony Hart, Kathy Staff (Norah Batty), all a big part of my childhood, not so much Pinter - I working class girl, innit.

Just a blade of grass...

Still puzzling over this remark: "yeah, you can tell you're a bit older, you know why? The watch, you wear a watch".

Ok, I wear a watch. I wear a watch for many reasons, the most obvious one is so I know what the time is. I happen to like my watch, it's a simple classic design (was going to say timeless piece, but then I'd probably have to shoot myself), it's a gents watch, it's a little on the large side and I like that. Never, have I associated wearing a watch with age.

I have a mobile phone, which also doubles as time piece, camera and general tracking device. This, is implied by that statement I guess: you don't need a watch because you have a mobile. Nope, not buying it, checking the time on my watch (on my wrist) is far more convenient than fumbling about to liberate my mobile from my bag, then, I'd more than likely have to charge the bastard, and, to do that I'd have to first locate the charger.

Wristwatch has a ring to it that wristphone will never have (excuse pun).

Heres to you Mrs Robinson...

Recently had my head turned, this isn't a cosmetic procedure, nor demonic occurrence. It's only happened a couple of times in my life, once for sure. Instant, compelling attraction is rare. When it happens it's bad, but good at the same time. There's an age difference, but, not so much that it becomes unsavoury. Frankly, that's the least of my worries re the situation, since age is only important if you happen to be a bottle of wine, and, I wasn't the last time I looked, and, neither were they. 

Unfortunately, I can't tell 'em. I'll just have to ride it out. Arse. "Tell" I hear you cry. No fucking chance. Fact.

If I told you I'd have to kill you.

Not enough time...

Feel a deadline creeping up on me, wouldn't worry except this one has a dagger.

Sentimental refrain...

My friend Claire, talented ceramicist, artist and teacher, not to mention purveyor of razor sharp wit. Died from Meningitis and Septicemia on her garden path at 6 o'clock in the morning, stating that she couldn't feel her legs. That'll be 3 years ago next month. Sammi and I are considering an attempt to raise funds for research and to raise awareness for both Cystic Fibrosis and Meningitis, early days yet, but, hopefully we'll be able to get something together. Can't emphasise enough the importance of having a Donor Card; that stuff is really no use to you once you've stopped breathing.

I'm a bit of an evangelical athiest btw (Gellist for short), so sorry if I offend anyone on the basis of religious beliefs.

Emotionography...

I'm constantly amazed and never disappointed by the deluge of charlatans out there masquerading as "photographers". I'm working on a design brief currently: A site to promote the enigma that is -wait for it- Blackpool, and, a personal site. Subsequently, I've been looking at many photographers websites. 

Thought I'd google  'Fine art photographer' (this is where my interest lies), holy shit! you'd not believe the crap that presented itself. One in particular, although good, if you like that kind of thing, y'know, an HDR'd to death record of your wedding day... I feel compelled to share, possibly not by name for fear of prosecution. He doesn't specialise in photography, but, instead 'Emotionography' (provider of). This registered very high indeed on my twatometer, I won't lie. Picture it: Bride and groom strolling along a golden lit sun kissed beach in the evening, sorry, meant, overcast beach, wedding dress bellowing in the breeze, the 'emotionographers' signature in font above; he's a twat just for that actually, never mind calling himself an 'emotionographer'.

 

Hope I don't find myself in court for what I've just said.

I'm new to all this, I haven't studied photography at National Diploma level and this is my first time using design software, but, I have eyes and taste so this qualifies me inordinately to pass judgement on the afore mentioned 'artists'.

 

Next time I log-in to discover I have one solitary follower, hope it's not Mr Lee. (Ooops).

Toffee apples...

From October, an introduction to the studio in the form of a still life brief. There are some better shots, actually. Don't like using the Bowens flash heads especially.

Web (lack of) development...

Panicking a bit 'cos I can't find all the bits of spiders webs I've saved over the months, to construct my website...

Donor Cards

Btw, we should all carry these.

Perhaps one day someone will put my heart to better use. Think my liver may be beyond redemption!

Sea and sand subject to availability...

Think it could be minus about 60 beyond the front door today. Brrrrrr. Have to go to the seafront in Blackpool at low tide to get some shots of sand for my website project. Undertaking this today, surely represents some form of mental illness.

Word play for beginners...

"The Camera Fibs Daily"

Ramblings of a frustrated creative "type".

Type could have three meanings here. The title is a nod to local newspapers, and of course, cameras lie everyday all over the world. It's also a tongue-in-cheek pop at myself really, because, I will be talking largely bollocks.

Nevermind.

Sub-Zero Cappuccino...

I'm certain of three things this morning:

1. The house is freezing.
2. The gas bill is stratospheric
3. There's no caffine in the vicinity.

I'm mostly confused about anything else.

Camera Using No Tripod.

If you find this offensive, it simply means you lack a sense of humour, or, don't appreciate mine!

Carol Thatcher and the "G" word...

Bless, she worked hard at becoming the only "likeable" Thatcher, with any semblance of warmth (or character for that matter), only to succumb to the gene pool; there you go.

Lets have a gander at politically incorrect vintage childrens toys and tennis players for a minute: Mmm, ok, easy mistake to make really, y'know, if you happen to be squinting in dim light from a distance... yep, all tennis players resemble the afore mentioned "toys" in these conditions, I mean, the outfits are so similar, for starters, don't you think?

Sorry Caz, the monopoly for speech impediment endwearment has alweady been baggsied by a high pwofile, self indulgent BBC TV pwesenter. Game over.