Running, Rivers and The Sweet Nectar of Divine Divinity

I’ve had such a busy, productive day today, getting lots done, but the two things I’m most pleased/excited about are:

1. I went for a run this morning. I’ve been meaning to go for a run for roughly a million years, but never quite worked out how to go about it. I know, I overthink things. The thoughts flittering around my mind are those such as: where would I run? Is it better to run on tarmac or grass? Will I be able to do it? By what date, exactly (and this is my ambition surfacing), would I be able to qualify for and enter a marathon? Which charity would I choose to run for? And then the more immediate concerns, such as, how do you make the transition between walking and running without looking as though you suddenly think you might be being chased? (Seriously though, I never see people begin to run – they are always already running, as though they came out of the womb doing it and haven’t even stopped to consider other methods of getting about.)

And anyway, I know; who cares what you look like? I actually don’t, but I am reminded of a comedy sketch I once saw about that moment when you’re walking in the street and realise you need to be going in the opposite direction. Do you just immediately turn around with no apparent acknowledgement of your error, the comedian wondered, or do you slap your forehead, shake your head at yourself, rolling your eyes at passersby so that they too might acknowledge and share in your foolhardiness, admitting, by your dramatic display, that it’s not the normal thing to just turn swiftly and change direction, and invalidating each and every step you’ve taken thitherto in the current trajectory as being wrong and misguided and wally-like? (I am very slightly mad and once, when walking to school, started pigeon-walking (you know, where you take tiny steps so that the heel of one foot touches the toes of the foot behind; no, I was rarely on time for school) then, intrigued by my new foot pattern (the alleyway was particularly monotonous), started mimicking my feet with my hands as I walked (a kind of ‘air walk’, if you will), before realising there was a girl innocently walking in the alley behind me, quietly bemused. I immediately resumed a more conventional walking motion, hands back down, strides at a more practical length (pigeon walking is quite wobbly when you’re in a rush), and hoped she might think she’d merely imagined my non-conformist methods of getting to school… Apart from this episode in my life, I am frequently told I have a nice walk (again, ‘nice walks’ strike me as bizarre, but no more tangents for now), so should/could possibly, in theory, have a nice run. I also won a lot of races at school for sprinting and was always chosen to compete in the county sports day, but I’m showing off now (and it’s irrelevant).

Anyway, yep, I went for a run. I ran up and down hills; mostly up, in hindsight; on grass and on tarmac, and on a lot of mud. It was fun! I was terrible (I’m flexible, strong, but lung power has room for improvement), but I’m promised by my younger brother that this is an inevitable and temporary affliction of beginner adult runners. I’m wondering now whether my body will change shape, if I keep this up, and how strange that would be, considering I haven’t changed body shape since the age of 15/16. We shall (literally) see, I imagine.

2. The second thing I am unbelievably, perhaps unreasonably excited by, is the fact that I’ve FINALLY mastered making masala chai like I used to drink in India. Being prone to foul moods whenever I remember and think of the lack of it in my life, this is a massive cause for celebration. Now I know exactly how to do it I can whip up a brew whenever I fancy one. This makes me incredibly happy. (I still need to go to India ASAP though, even just for the Thalis.) …Pestle & mortar-crushed spices (cloves, cinnamon sticks, black peppercorns, cardamom, dry-roasted ginger), a tablespoon of indian tea, milk and water in a pan boiled up, sugar….. luscious frothy, sweet heaven in a glass.

Oh, and I have some new photos from Drew Smith, taken in Oxfordshire recently. Thanks Drew! 🙂

More Spanishness – John Evans

I’ve been looking forward to showing some of these… A few more from the week I spent in Spain with Gregory Brown and John Evans (and fellow model Hannah Ashlea).

But first, a cute snap I got someone walking past to take with my camera on the last day, just as were packing up the car to go back to the airport.

This first one is by Gregory Brown, then the rest are by John Evans.

I love this headdress – I bought it over a year ago and thought it would be worth taking to Spain, as I was told some amazing rocky venues had been scouted. The wind was so strong (especially as we were near the edge of a bit of a cliff) it kept nearly flying off, all of a feather.

These beautiful lilles, on the terrace of the apartment, were teasing us with their photogenic potential all week. I love the freshness of this set:

We shot the following in a derelict, crumbling house on the side of the road. It just so happened that the turqoise underbust corset I’d brought matched the graffiti perfectly. A very happy coincidence.

A tree John found…

An amazing rock formation, surprisingly close to a mountain road, up which some German/Swedish/Austrian cyclists were huffing and puffing (I’m not sure we ever established which nationality they were, though we had a very long conversation with one man, who seemed keen to take any opportunity to hang back from the group and catch his breath and so wanted to make sure he had recounted the thitherto events of this particular trip in great detail for us.) Greg and John were positioned too far away for us to hear when the camera was actually clicking!

And finally (for now), I’m always happy when I’m near water… I’m really pleased with these, taken on a beach:

Blue

It’s that time of year again… As soon as the bluebells arrived I alerted the various photographers who were on standby and squeezed in some arrangements for early morning/evening shoots. These flowers don’t wait around long; you’ve got to be on their schedule. They’re such a pleasure to sit in; I try my hardest to squish as few as possible in the place I now call ‘my bluebell patch’ and have taken to spritzing my self with Elle Macpherson’s ‘Calming bath and body oil’, lavender scented, to discourage any bluebell-loving insects from settling on me.

I don’t care that I’ve done this type of bluebell shoot before and still have many more coming up over the next ten days – one of the things I love about these short woodland sessions is that, somehow, each photographer always seems to get completely different results, whether by using different angles, wanting different themes or just because the light is so changeable, varying itself in intensity and colour minute by minute. I love the morning mist. It turns out I’m shit at getting up early unless shooting, so I love the fact that these 6am alarm calls are kick-starting me back towards my new year’s resolution with a vengeance. It’s an amazing feeling to be back at home having done a good ‘day’s’ work when most people are just setting off for theirs. 🙂


I’ve already received some images from Mike Castle, who is primarily a traveller (not the irish kind) and secondarily a photographer. He likes things not to be overly posed, preferring a beautiful scene with a girl in it, rather than a girl posing in a scene. This was my third shoot with him (see here and here for previous stuff). I love the relaxed feel and bokeh in these (and am delighted to be able to use one of the few technical terms I know, photography-wise). Here goes:

Lean and stooped, clumped at the feet
of elephantine trunks, by scrubby roots
and washing open spaces, grow
the bluebells. Emitting 
periwinkle, leaving stains
on butterfly tongues, they knit together,
their dense heads close,
soaked overnight like pooled ink.
In sun they wisp, slight and arcing
as if to say there’s nothing to see;
this is what we do. As if being blue
means nothing more than reflecting
sky. On the ground, the clouds are spaces
to be grown in, hushed, amassed; barren
blanks to be sewn up,
like bubbles linking in water.
 
We then found some blossom:
 
It’s Good Friday today – Happy Easter everyone!