Here are some recent snaps captured on the digital behemoth that is my mother-in-law’s ex-mobile phone – patented the very same year as sandpaper. Light years ahead for pixilation & subtleties of capturing autumnal shade I’m sure you’ll agree. Ahem, well anyroad on with the visual spectacle…
Upon biking across the suspension bridge over the Trent on a very misty Armistice morning last Friday I arrived just in time to observe the tail-end of the 2 minute silence around the War Memorial on Victoria Embankment. About the only time I’ve seen the main gate opened; its certainly a defining feature of our city & often overlooked when carnies erect a shitting massive fairground ride which plunges couples to their doom in a giant egg-shaped cockpit during Riverside Festival every August Bank Holiday.
Pedalling on through The Meadows I embarked upon a clearly well-loved Grandmother’s Jamaican funeral with the classic open Shirehorse-drawn carriage draped with national colours and several mourners gathered. Brought a touch of New Orleans or N’Awlinz style to the proceedings (or maybe I’ve just seen too much of the HBO series Treme) & without wanting to sound disrespectful it semed to put some ‘fun’ back into funeral. As with the remembrance service I paused to appreciate the serenity for several minutes (“How’s the serenity?” as dad would say in The Castle). Although the picture quality is poor I felt the scattering leaves complimented the flag & floral display atop the carriage & the little chapel looked warm & intimate.
This is the back of Queen’s Walk Community Centre shown leading a procession of funeral cars each with their mini Jamrock flags. Those Mercs were so well wax-polished that upon cycling past they actually zoomed in to reflect my image. I wouldn’t have felt offended were this not to the same extent as shown on CSI to imply newfound evidence (curse these bacteria-smothered follicles). Not sure what the Subaru in the shot is aiming for though.
Looking back down Queen’s Drive Avenue the collarge of browns, oranges, reds & yellows frame an underpass painted in more psychedelic patterns which indicates the bridge probably possesses the spirit of some kinda Deadhead or Woodstock casualty. There are never enough avenues around British towns & cities in my experience. They just give a really inviting and Continental feel to even the most underwhelming street or housing estate & really take the edge off harsh terraced or high-rise developments full of gloomy concrete brickwork & jagged corners. It’s like a concrete jungle sometimes it makes me wonder…
It’s reversing small children who need the most care dag nammit! This is a sign outside a nursery/crèche just over Muster’s Road back in Bridgford which shows the comedy that can result (to me at least) from the simple exclusion of a coma or hyphen. Surely there should be a speed camera installed to accurately award the harshest-breaking parent’s reversal skills during their delivery of each child with the minimum stopping time (Eat that UPS).
There, you all saw it! Continuing on the gigglesomely misleading snapshot theme, surprisingly none of us ordered the Black Peeper dish to accompany our meal at Banzai Japanese restaurant in Hockley. Then again, how would we know if he really was as good a peeper as they were suggesting? I frequented the Gent lavatory’s sole cubicle just to be sure. If only he was followed by his other typo-friend (or fiend) Garlic Butler. I remember making the fatal mistake of ordering Sake both in my main soup dish of Spicy Beef Udon & flask form that night after happy hour cocktails at Tilt & before meeting mates at The Organ Grinder Pub on Alfreton Road to sample their fine Ilkeston-based Blue Monkey Brewery ales; 99 Red Baboons whilst you BG Sips Sir?). Tasty Night Out? Fo’ sho’! Sensible Beverage Schedule? Hail No Bro!
Meet my beautiful fruit of a ladyfriend Lorn (FYI Pumpkins are squash-like fruits not vegetables). I wish I could say she dressed up for Halloween but actually she’d forgotten all about it & fortunately these were just the house clothes she happened to be wearing. Lucky break huh? Seedless to say that night she drank a shellfull & had to have her stomach plumped WAHEY!
Moving on from pumpkins to baby eeerm bumpkins I’m proud to present my niece Eva. Or I would be if I could snap any pics that did her justice but until then you’ll have to settle for this shape shifting early morning apparition. I’m pretty certain she engages her surrounding bear committee in telepathic discourse of how to revolt against this giant imbecile of a shared backseat relative abusing her delicate image. Her full name’s Eva May (as in Eva May Care) but here she’s en route to nursery so it’s Eva Daycare. Thankfully it’s not the nursery above where she must be reversed at speed.
My fairer half here sans Pumpkinsuit can be seen admiring all the artistically fashioned creatures decorating old Barton bus models during the Carnival of Monsters exhibition on High Road towards Chilwell. I seem to recall one child having drawn a zombie hamster turned part-cannibal by craving ham which I thought was particularly haunting. In addition you could sample the event organiser’s far-superior gallery of the wider pieces on display here:
Whilst now looking like the ridiculously eccentric coach wagon driven by Willy Wonka’s out of work cousin that it is, this was no doubt once the only way to fly by in the low ride (if only Blue had style…or talent).
Meet my oldest mate Pete (or should that be ‘longest serving in action’). I do have older friends but I probably consider them more men at odds with the world. Here Pete & I attempt to determine the sociology behind Nottingham’s Occupy movement steadfastly rooted in The Old Market Square. As it happens one of our old schoolmates only earlier that day had grabbed an ole battered guitar with 2 strings missing & joined their cause. Considering it was a freezing Saturday morn at 3am we empathised with their eternal patience in trying to engage swaggering drunken passers-by with politically-motivated debate. Every Occupy movement seems to have slight differences from its disputed Madrid & Wall Street origins whilst retaining the wider communal network which so aided & publicised the otherwise media-oppressed uprisings of The Arab Spring. Tesco & McDonalds packaging around the central gazebo only adds to the ironic severity of their plight.
And there we have it folks. Just imagine all the wonder & grace you’d have seen in infinitely finer detail if I had a blinking camera that was any cop?
As ever remember to take care out there…whatever you are