Sport

Of course, sport is rather taking the upper hand at the moment it seems with most of the world hanging on every moment watching if Wales' Geraint Thomas will hang on to the points jersey in this years Critérium du Dauphiné in France. No doubt the Tv company who sponsors the team he rides for will be ignoring the South African sports event that is going on to follow Mr Thomas' exploits. And so they should.

Meanwhile, I have been taking snaps through a welding mask glass. As you do. Well, as I do.

Pap - view 2

Look at that

...and we did for a week. Out of the wide window door things, once bleary eyes had been prised open, the curtains drawn back we were dazzled by this view. This in fact was one of the cloudiest days hence I snapped it. Those lumps in the background are Paps.

If it had been Alexey not Eric..........

Had Barnhill been occupied by Titarenko not Blair. Had it been a photograph and not a book and had it been 2010 and not 1948, this might, just might have been a half-decent attempt at a homage to the great man.

As it happens its a nice snap of persons unknown going onto the ferry to the mainland and a lovely sunny day. So sunny was it that I sat for a long while in the hot sun with my dear Eve and Mr Toots Wilson and watched the world go by. Slowly. It was a tremendous few hours. However, the downside was I got covered in some sort of beetle creatures. In my hair, down my top and even it transpired, in my knickers!!! Was a tad uncomfortable for a few moments till I had extracted the wee fellows.

To get there we went through here

Keeping the Jura Lairds at bay.

[and who can blame them since one is the father-in-law of the P.M.]

Ughhh. [see above and everything]

There is quite a nice pub here. Well, just to the left of here as it happens; down the steps that Eve fell up [before she entered the pub too].

Boiden Cottage

From Boiden Cottage there's a road, the only road as it happens and this is it. Tis a fine road with proper grass up the middle and lovely bumps that slows cars down but which had Toots tearing his hair out. An evening stroll down here to the next little group of houses and a Pap or two in the background was a fine way to spend an evening hour.

Jura Gardens

Here; since we were on the island of Jura in the Inner Hebrides near Scotland, we shufftied along to the gardens at Jura House.

I don't like gardens to visit. They bore me but my dear partner loves them, so we went. The moment I left the car and trotted through the wooden gate into the wood on a path that leads to the gardens I was hooked. Wild garlic and bluebells everywhere. Dappled light with a enveloping aroma. I felt I was in paradise. And the gardens were lovely too.

I snapped hither and thither. Mostly thither. This was thither.

Boiden

Just up the road and to the left past the white house stands three former paupers cottages. That little-looking one in the middle is lovely inside. And its big. Big enough anyway. Sleeps loads, has all the facilities one needs, has a view to die for and the sun shines all the time there.

sojurn

Apologies for the little gap in proceedings but have been taking a short break on the Isle of Jura. And I took some snaps to prove it. When I get in the darkroom..........

Stefan

We have nice neighbours. Stefan isn't one of them. I mean, he is lovely - as are the whole family and Ghriet the barking fog - but they are not really neighbours merely they live in the same village. At least 5 mins walk away. That's not neighbours is it?

We had a nice invite over to Mr Windy and Deane's [NOT Mrs Windy I'm told] place in big smoke and the Smits , of which Stefan is one, came too. He's just checking the Tory Manifesto !!!!!!! Actually, he's looking at one of Mr Windy's new books - a photo book by Don Macullen. Brilliant.

Three wheels on my wagon

However you look at it, I don't this Reliant has been rolling along for quite a while. It is however, slowly being consumed into the jungle that is taking over this part of Stornoway. Urban living eh?

Gutted!

Tolsta from a peat track. [and a little grain]

'Wall of tins'; Homage to Toots by way of Fags, Mags and Bags

"Hold the sheet higher please" I wailed. The staff did too. And the shot was made. All part of my homage to Toots montage that will eventually find it way out of the darkroom - when I find a moment to go in that is.

Only the grain isn't there is it? Where is it? I used some awful 400 film too, stuff I'd stored away for such a purpose. I rated it at 800 and sloshed it in Rodinal shaking the tank like a banshee. I should by right be able to count the grain. But its a mere shadow of real grain. Its not even ex-grain.

Back to the drawing board I think

Now colour!

The film was lurking. Getting older by the moment so I shot it.

The tulip had already lurked. Now it lay. I shot it.

I've lost it

They were giving me such a hard time but I made out I didn't care. I had to. Face and all that. The nice man was leading through the process and he inspired me. I felt like I was doing something - making some thing new and original. The first time I have done that too.

I drove home smiling to myself, the image safely tucked up on the seat beside me. Snuggled between sheets of tissue paper. The image sitting upon Somerset paper.

I'm thrilled. But I do care.

Look at it. I mean, just look at it. Can you see him? He works out Marybank way.

Dane

He was waiting at the turning to Tolsta from Laxdale. Looking tanned and fit, big green bag on his back and a smile lurking. "Are you going to Tolsta?" he asked through the open window of my car. Of course I was; didn't he realise I was going home? Why else would I be going that way? Eh? For goodness sake!

He loaded his bag in the back and jumped in. From Jutland it seems - here to enjoy our fine weather - the same sort of weather he gets at home - cold, wind and rain. He camped on the machair and survived the night in his little tent.

I walked on Garry beach and took a snap - or two. Like I do. Here's one;

Fruitless in Tolsta

An old snap from England.

I'm strolling through the village minding my own business and trying not to catch anyone's eye since they are bound to ask why I'm not out on the peats - again! Its trying to snow again. I've been out and dug some peats and I'm going again soon - just as soon as my tired old body will allow me.

So I troll into the Community Shop. Before picking up the papers - one for us and one for a chap o'er t'road - I notice that the Jammy Dodgers are altogether more fruity. The packaging definitely says "More fruity taste". It shouts it. big red lettering an all. Now I'm hooked and make a purchase [only don't tell Eve since they've all gone]. The only thing is, they are not at all fruity. All the fruitiness is on the packaging and little made it inside. I tried them all and all were the same. A singular lack of fruitiness I think. More Dodgy than jammy in fact. I'm shocked.

bac on

After a slight hiatus, I seem to bac online with a little bit of positive vibes from Josh misted over the machine. No idea what happened!

Before you vote

Listen to this. Please. At least the first part by David Harvey

Then watch this short piece. Please. NOW!

Tenting

Ere look, we've bin away like. Just down the road at Reef, hanging on for dear life as the wind and rain came in off the Atlantic and freezing us in the process. Still, twas lovely since we got to do some nice walking in the Monday sunshine.

Reef's quite lovely out there on the Bhaltos peninsula and the campsite can't be much nearer a white sandy beach and clear blue yet cold sea.

We're back now, warming our toes in front of the fire and wondering if Haggas actually sold two jackets to The Doctor since he lost one this week.

On the election front; today I actually heard a discussion on the radio about the real things we should be thinking about in this election - the fact that consumer capitalism is unsustainable. And no, none of the local candidates are interested. None. I shall be voting Lib Dem in the vain hope that the undemocratic election system might be changed and we can vote the Greens into parliament.

Listen to this NOW!

Stornoway Ways

With apologies to Kevin McNeil

Still, I rather like this snap I took last year so printed it up on Forte-Elegance. Lovely paper and its a pity I only have a few sheets - even if they are big sheets. Printed this 8x8" and sepia toned it.

Must drag out the KOWA and do this again.

He's here. Been there, done that. Now here.

Zig is quiet for a change. I'm supping Royston's nice coffee and taking his picture - again. Always lovely light here.

Printed on Forte Coldtone and sepia toned.

Tolsta Community Shop

Craig - shop manager

He's waiting in the shop. He should be of course as that's what he's paid for. Anyway, he's there. He's there shuffling the jammie dodgers - essential for keeping the daleks out of the village - with the fire-lighters. Everything so nicely lined up and ready for inspection.

"Good day Sir" I remark and he looks up and smiles. "How nice to see you" he says. And it obviously is since his smile broadens and he makes his way behind the counter. "How may I help you?" he continues, no doubt a regular viewer of Are you being served in days past.

Since I am beyond such consumer-related-conversations , I stroll around the extensive premises, admiring the tins or this, jars of that and packets of the other. I can't help noticing though, there is no wall of crisps. "No wall of crisps then ?" I venture. Craig eyes me sadly. "Not yet I'm afraid".

I just hope there will be. Not that I eat them of course.

Bhaltos

The sun was almost thinking about showing itself as Toots, Eve and I exited the motor and took off over the head by Cliff on the Bhaltos peninsula. Carrying my old pinhole box we made our way over the hill down to the beaches near Cnip. Near perfect conditions although perhaps not for the pinhole camera.

The darkroom didn't fair too much better either. Still, I like the effect.

Today

The Tolsta Community Shop - now Open

The rain is falling -again. And although Hector and Mrs Hector are out on the peats, mine can wait. I went in and solved the problems of the world on Woodlands Centre with my neighbour. Then a quick visit to the above shop and home to read this - if that's the only thing you read today, its well worth it.

Election

Caroline.

Speaking clearly on t'radio, she told me what they would like to do. And I liked it - although it will never happen. It never does. But she said what I wanted to hear. She stands for the right colour, has no bad form and unfortunately is in a party that does not stand up here.

One man spoke to me about something I cannot remember but smiled. I have not seen the others but, one has history and another couldn't possibly get my vote. One doesn't even believe basic science it seems. So, I'll just vote for the other one.

There was a definite feel of Dalek around today. I took a sneaky stroll to the community shop and bought some Jammy Dodgers to ward them off. It worked. No Daleks at home when I got back. So I ate the JDs. Sorted.

Yep

Yes.

Well probably.

Almost certainly.

Only it isn't.

No

Wide-ish

We are sat in Toots' luxuriously appointed home, wall to wall floors, snaps on show, windows and everything. "Tea?". I nod and I'm not asleep - yet. The biscuits come out - chocolate tasty things all laid out end to end in a little basket with a serviette.

With a deft movement Smiley-like, the pinhole camera is placed on the bookshelf just next to Kennas' best and Blakemore's tribulations with tulips. Atget looks over me as I pull the shutter open then sit down. Down, deep down on the soft and forgiving settee.

The tea is drunk, the biscuits are gone - just a wee crumb or two remains on the red serviette. Toots considers what tins to buy; we wonder about Coelyn on St Kilda as the cold rain lashes down outside. And the deed is done.

I made the flippin thing - all gaffer tape and matchbox. It works too.

Can you believe it? I'm nearly wiped tonight out by some demented banshee racing along with abandon in a black range rover through Laxdale at about 80mph. I'm still shaking.

Maybe I should have realised earlier that things were going to be weird when I bump into some politico chap in a yellow tie smiling at me at the community shop. "We've met before, at the community centre." he said. Smiling nicely. He was right as it happens. I was hijacked that day whilst on a nice stroll round the village when no-one had probably turned up for his 'surgery' and I was called over by a village worthy. "Do you have any influence at all in the British parliament?" I recall I asked him. I did get an answer and he was very pleasant. But then I looked up his voting records and realised I could never vote for him - nice as he is.

I'm taking it easy strolling out in the sunshine, brisk cool breeze in my face, dark clouds in my head and hard skin on my feet. Imaginary dog by my side as my usual companion seems to have given up on me. Past the community shop cars whizzing past for a quick look at the beaches before turning and going back again. Can't get the snapping feeling out of me - the snapping of the camera that I must do very day for some inane reason. I'm not living if I'm not snapping telegraph poles or something like that.

There's a man from a foreign land who walks this way twice a day with his dog, who I shall call Dai. Twice a day enjoying the quietness of the village, the sea air and the aircraft flying low overhead crashing through something that causes me to start. The 'military' are playing at killing people again this week no doubt.

Dai and his master walk, though the opposite way from me. I meet them on the cemetery road. I always like to walk up the road away from that place rather than down towards it. call me odd but that's the way it is with me.

Windy

"Ugh?" or something like that. Some literate comment or other. Windy glared at me and realised he had been snapped. Captured for posterity and all that. And with a Soviet camera an all.

Desperate

"How lovely" she told me as I dumped four hard-dug bags of ripe manure at her feet. Not anyold manure either but from The Crofter's place o'er t'road. There was not a hint of irony in her voice, not a hint of a smile either. Can't blame her I suppose. Its not as if I'd taken a box of Hebridean Chocs or something.

Woke up as if the weight of the world was bearing down on me. Despite the sunshine my head was somewhere dark, deep dark, dank dark - probably. So set off for a stroll down Glen Tolsta for a little meditation on the beach - quiet as you like down there. OOmmmmmmmm. and that sort of thing. Clearing my mind of detritus, work, elections and meditated on the incompatibility of the current economic system in a closed biosphere. as you do. As I do.

Then it was back up to The Croft to dig manure and take it across the village to she who is so nice.

I did get to bottle-feed a lamblette though and that brought me back to the world the right way up.

If you are passing St Kilda in the next three weeks, do wave to Coelyn who will be camping and snapping away. Hopefully the weather stays fine :-)

Crushed

World Masters Pursuit Champion 2006

"I say, are you from Bridgwater?" I asked with a certain amount of confidence. I'd seen the make of hand-made bicycle that was propped up outside Woodlands and now, sitting adjacent to the kindly looking gentleman and his grand-daughter and dressed in similar garb I deduced the velo was his. The bicycle was one made in Bridgwater by someone I briefly worked for and such machines are designed with great attention to detail for the pleasure of cycle touring. Their wheels are just so; the frame superbly proportioned and the touring capacity unsurpassed .

Mr Windy had met Eve and I for a tootle round the castle grounds on our old mountain bikes; bikes that have seen many miles and given us much pleasure. Mr Windy's bike was blue. Both Eve and Mr Windy used to be track racing cyclists - rather like Sir Hoy and Princess Victoria Pendleton - but with rather more panache and less speed. I used to coach such creatures for a living. We were used to cycling although our legs and bots seemed a little more tender than we remembered from last year. Or was it the year before?

"I say, are you from Bridgwater?" I had asked. "No, from Holm" came the crushing reply.

oop 'ere

Just above below

Just above that looking over there.

Looking down from above. The cars move to the beach behind me. I'm hovering - not literally of course although I wouldn't mind that at all. I raise the camera, just a bit. And then a bit more before squinting through the eye-piece and capturing a unique image of this place here and now - well, there and then. And then proceed to muck it all up in the developing.

Grafting

I ventured to the front of the well-built house, knocked and stood back as the Coelyn came to the door. "What do you want?" I ventured. I got told; Coelyn had come to the door to see who it was which I must admit did seem reasonable.

Eh. No, I dreamt that wrong.

Try this;

The rain pattered on the window oblivious to what I was doing. Billy Liar punked loudly at me from hisSpace somewhere in nowhere land; down a wire from Edinburgh. Punk in Edinburgh? I can hardly believe it. Stornoway, yes.

There's a knock at the door and I hastily commit Mr Liar to hisSpace and not mine. The Coelyns stroll purposefully into my dark little roomette. I think I'll post a snap of Coelyn soon - the one with his 12x14 accordion - or whatever it is.

Sorry, got all the dreams mixed up. Last nights and last weeks have got confused. Or was it yesterday? No idea. Come back Friday and I'll try again.

from there to here

The Heavy. We met and talked. We liked him. Ali.

“Look, if you had walked all the way from Ness we would have had to call the coastguard out by now” I railed. “It’s only another hour or so from here – assuming we go the right way and I don’t kill you first”.

We’d seen two eagles soaring up above some gully that had some unpronounceable Gaelic name on the map. Might have been sea eagles but we weren’t sure. They looked like eagles – big and ugly with fingerly bits on the end of their wings – and they were by the sea. So they might have been sea eagles. Someone, I can’t remember who, told me there were sea eagles up here. Here in the middle of, of…. of Ness and Tolsta. More towards Tolsta really. Obviously.

By this time I’d already tripped over an empty can of cider, fallen on my face in a gully and slipped on my ass on the slippery grass. I was uncomfortable. My boots were soaked and the boy was limping. He didn’t want me to know he was limping but since he was walking like a three legged dog, it wasn’t hard to tell.

Six hours it took. Six hours of grass, rock and cliffs. Big cliffs too. If the boy had gone on much more he might have seen the bottom of one of those cliffs. But he didn’t and I didn’t. Just as well since his calves needed feeding at home.

Leaving

Moving on

This is it. Only it isn't.

I've bin trying to get this down on silver gelatin for ages. This is not the result - it's merely an imitation of the required result. Sure, it was shot on proper film in a proper old folding folder camera of some age or other - as if it matters anyway.

The real thing eludes me. By real I mean creating with sweat and probably blood in a smelly damp darkroom. I'm going to get in and shine a light through this neg soon onto the oldest paper I have and then throw it in with crappy developer an all. That's the way I feel about it. It may work. But it won't. I can feel it in my bones. And if you had the bones I have you might know what I mean.

fence

Down cast and Podload

Filmwasters; well worth the 26 mins.

Brilliant.

No apologies

I'm not going to apologise. Lets be clear on that. I got it wrong. Quite wrong but unless I had admitted it you would never have been any the wiser.

There I was all washed, scrubbed, sweet smelling and warm-snugged in bed not a little sleepy and just about to fall into the abyss of slumber when it struck me. My mind began to race, my pulse too. I'd counted the frames wrongly.

See, I'd been using the old Houghton-Butcher wooden box camera with its lovely meniscus lens which takes 8 frames on 120 film. Ok, it doesn't matter to you , its nothing, nada - whatever, but I know now it was frame 3 not 6. And that's a pertinent point; it wasn't Herself in the boat-shed after all but whatsername in An Lanntair earlier. Look, close you eyes a bit , squint making a wierd face - as I do - and you can see its Whatsername can't you? Anyway, I can. Mr Windy should be able to as well - since he does work with her !!!

weather; light snow

Boat-shed

Herself

Boat-shed

A.

“Yerself? “

I turned around and glared. You wouldn’t believe the glariness of that glare. Went right though him out into his dark improbable past curled up behind him. I hurried on not waiting to pass the time of day – a time of day that had already passed somewhere over Barvas way. Or do I mean Bragar?

The Boat shed awaited. As it had done for some time. Time to people itself from around the world. The Maitre D’ was happily French, the chef from somewhere south of the Danube. South of Uig anyway.

B.

“Bonjour mhath” I hear. There, smiling welcomingly is a Maitre D. He exudes pleasantness, happiness even. Certainly confidence. I hope its confidence – I never been that good at ‘knowing’ confidence. Is it even possible to know confidence? It may be. If it is possible, this Maitre D’ exudes it.

I take my seat looking out over the harbour, the Jubilee laying on its side, Seamus lovingly bringing her back to full glory, sea-wet trousered and contented.

The menu is presented and I warily browse its offerings. The soup has parsnips – a root vegetable of dubious shape. The salad sounds lovely and proves to be sumptuous and enjoyable. Leaves and cheese caressed, drizzled – or whatever the menu said with nice stuff. What tempts me for main course? The meat does not. I imagine the end for the crofter’s cows, the sheep’s demise and I cannot. The ravioli brought my saliva buds dancing. Prancing all over my mouth, teeth zinging and hopefully awaiting.

“I’ll have fish and chips please”

Golden Hour

Duck

[Not even a chicken, certainly not a Stornoway Chicken. Although it thinks it is. But from Tolsta]

1.

I’m rolling down the road like an old lady, back arched against the rain no idea where I’m going. The rain is coming down vertically – which is strange since the wind is howling. Howling like a deranged wolf in new jersey or somewhere half-baked like that. Who cares? A weird sense unnerves me and I shuffle down Francis Street past the repository of old things, an echoing edifice where a little walrus tooth man sits. Alone. All alone.

“Here” a voice chirps. “Here, take this. It’s on at the library. I saw you at Moishes Bagel. You’ll like this. A lot”. The chirping voice tails off its owner proffering a flapping piece of printed paper. I take it. I’m like that. Offer me something to look at and it’s difficult to refuse. An inner greediness just overwhelms me. The paper may be the answer to life. This life that surrounds me, baffles me and confounds me.

2. A golden hour. At the library of all places. The library retro-fitted and shiny. With books and computers to read this dreary blogesphere. Only its not. My eyes had been torn by visions of silver gelatin within the leaves of a tome. And I’m drawn to the café – all wobbly glass now filled, brimming, steaming and chickened with personages, wine, song and verse. A Stornoway chicken ends the hour- the hour that is not an hour. Not even sixty minutes. Not even ninety but one hundred and twenty. One hundred and twenty and we end with a Stornoway Chicken stepping over the line. An imaginary line at that.

Listen;

*

Look, this might have been a few weeks ago but I just got it back from the lab! I don't usually do colour. And I never process colour myself so I had to wait. I took the snap with a camera I paid 50p for.

Can't think of a good title so I await suggestions. Must be something funny out there.

I mean, look at the expression on the dog's face!!!!

Info; the chap;Paul is from NewcAstle. The Dog is called Glenn and the place is New Tolsta

look...

So, there's a cow lurking here. And Dad is looking a her. Apparently there should be a little one coming soon but as yet nothing.... . Maybe its the bull he's looking at!!!

I shall keep you informed

More walking

Eve had the day off today so we took off to Harris for a change. The idea was to have a spot of luncheon in Rodel Hotel - a lovely place situated in a superb setting. Only it was closed. We should have checked before we set out. The Anchorage cafe in Leverburgh was closed too as was the cafe in the community shop. The butty coach was open - but we gave that a miss as we were not dressed for the occasion. So, sustained by a couple of vegi pasties from the community shop we took off for a little stroll over the hill to Borrisdale. It is one of the most pleasant paths I know on the island for a easy stroll. The path is well made, the grass surface is well kept by the sheep and the rabbits, the views are outstanding and the weather wonderful. Well, it was today anyway.

No snaps as yet but here's one from yesterday on Tolsta Head with Coelyn striding ahead - as he does.

Mr Maciver

Out on Tolsta Head today

Coming down from Ness - yesterday

Mr Maciver coming back to Tolsta after a long walk looking for his sheep yesterday. Looks like it was hard work.

On our stroll with friends today we saw two sheep atop a rock stack stuck out in the Minch off north of Tolsta head. The ground was so steep its hard to imagine how they got there let alone how they might get back.

Both snaps taken with an old basic Kodak Retinette 1a camera and HP5 film. Keeping it simple.

Horse

Horse

There's a few horses on this ere island. One of them is of course Ms Pharmacy Lady's horse - whose name escapes me on a Friday evening. The horses name that is. Mrs P-L name is Carolyne. . And there's Tilly, a lovely piebald belonging to Muriel whom I snapped up previously. And there's this one I pass most days while I troll to work and back - or into Stornoway. Its a nice horse but it does look rather lonely and I'd love to stop and say hello one day. In the meantime I snapped it up and printed it real nice. I think it's real nicely done anyway.

On Forte coldtone paper and sepia toned. What d'you think? Eh?

Galey

Its a wee bit Gale-y today - wind and rain that feels like the winter has come back. Spent some time in the darkroom today but as yet nothing I really like - except for a small print or two.

In the meantime, here's a snap from the City.

My Local Hero

Horses

That foul-mouthed political being played by Peter Capaldi on some TV show is coming to An Lanntair soonish for a screening of Local Hero - the fandabulous film by Bill Forsyth. No sure when but I do know why; If you look at the cast list you'll see a name you may recognise played Ace Tone in Local Hero - An Lanntair's own El Supremo Roddy Murray. How good is that??? Must watch the thing again - although he must have been about 4 at the time :-)