Author: frizzyLogic

I think the iPhone bindweed set is finished now. Presumably one of the reasons these delicately beautiful plants are regarded as weeds rather than anything more exalted has to do with the shortness of their season. A picture a day on the walk to (or from) school and in a fortnight they’ve gone from bursting budding to hollow husks.

It all started inauspiciously enough – had to go back to feed the forgotten animals, walked to the wrong local station, arrived at the right local station to find no travel card, at journey’s end came out of the wrong station exit. Was this all a very ill omen or perhaps a conduit in the universal bad luck channel diverting some, at least, away from the Black Stars?

Up in north London the evening sun was golden, an aroma of woodsmoke was fanned by the slipstream of the passing buses and the pavements raucous with the banter of sunning saunterers. So we missed the kick-off. Too bad.

At the door of the bar we realised just how bad. Ghana were one-nil up we were told by the jubilant young man outside. Already? Could this be true? Oh yes!

The bar was small and packed. An enterprising remittance company had produced free bags containing a castanet-type rattle in the team colours in the shape of hands which clapped when shaken. Subsequently every series of passes, every successful tackle, in fact pretty much any time a Black Star player even looked at the ball evoked a crescendo of plastic claques to accompany the flag-waving.

Adversity, on the other hand, was signalled by silent stillness. Oh that penalty.

That, however, was later. At half time we were still one-nil up and the break provided the opportunity for in-depth analysis

celebration

and that fervent fellowship denoted by the blaring of car horns

I had to leave at the 73rd minute with the score still one all. The celebrations at the end of extra time were, apparently, spectacular.

Roll on next Friday.

What a joy to meet up with a friend from years ago and (re)discover so many shared interests, particularly at Exposed: Voyeurism, Surveillance & the Camera at the Tate Modern. It probably helped that we were pretty much on the same charger as regards the “permission” hobbyhorse. However it was thought-provoking about boundaries, assumptions and culture.

So how do I justify taking this picture, people watching the <strike>UK</strike> England*-US world cup game on large screens at the Royal Festival Hall? After all I didn’t rush round the room asking each individual if it was ok. I suppose there are two things – firstly I was entirely obvious, possibly even slightly exaggerated, about what I was doing which I hoped would give anyone unhappy about being in a picture the opportunity to hide their face; secondly I chose the picture in which the child’s face is turned away from the camera. I like how trying to denoise the image (it’s the trusty iPhone after all, not a sophisticated low-light device) has rendered it rather like a painting.

The reason I was in the RFH for the football was because I’d been to the sublime Celebration of Kate McGarrigle. I hope devoutly they make a CD of the concert. It made me want to learn to play the squeezebox and write poetry about my children.

* I think it must have been subconscious retaliation to the Scot in the party who purported to change allegiance to the US on discovering one of their team allegedly “felt he was playing for Scotland too” which caused this otherwise inexcusable error. Despite the fact that having your own personal match commentator with a beautiful accent is sex on a stick.