I’m so mad I’m getting old


Let me photograph you in this light
In case it is the last time
That we might be exactly like we were
Before we realized
We were sad of getting old
It made us restless
Oh, I’m so mad I’m getting old
It makes me reckless
It was just like a movie
It was just like a song
When we were young


© Universal Music Publishing Group


Looking for Clues


Apparently there’s craze sweeping America at the moment, which I suppose it was inevitable has found its way over here. That of ‘creepy clown’, people dressing up as clowns and frightening the shit out of people young and old. Apart from anything else it’s giving genuine clowns in the clown industry a bad name. People who’ve spent their lives perfecting the art of being a clown for genuine clown reasons are now being undermined by others who think all they’ve got to do is go to a fancy dress shop, buy a clowns outfit and run around their local park, shopping mall, school playground erm being a clown frightening the bejesus out of people with a clown aversion.

I asked a work colleague of mine the other day who this Kim Kardashian was ? I keep hearing her name mentioned. Is she married to that creepy clown Donald Trump ?  Apparently she’s a reality TV star with a large bottom which may be due to surgical or cosmetic enhancement. One supposes if that’s the case it was to make her more attractive to the opposite sex my colleague suggested. “What” I said “like a Baboon ?”.

I’m beginning to think I’m living in some kind of parallel universe. Either that or the world is going slowly mad. We’re beginning to eat ourselves, metaphorically that is. That there’s something in the water or the food we eat that’s making us lose a sense of what reality should be. I mean why would you walk around wearing a t-shirt with ‘Not Dead Yet’ written across it ?

I often think that much of my photography is about trying to make sense of this crazy world we’re living in. It’s not about making pretty images of wild daffodils on hillsides  or the ‘decisive moment’. That as a practising street photographer I’m like a detective at the scene of the crime, looking for clues. Bits of information which will somehow become the sum of a much bigger part


Caravan Diaries

Caravan Diaries 24th August cont’d


We potter around the caravan getting the toilet system up and running with the required liquids blue and pink, and get off for a walk around 4pm. Down on the beach we set off in the direction of Bempton Cliffs. In the distance we can see Gannets spiralling around the cliff face. Bempton Cliffs is a wonderful RSPB reserve atop a 300 foot chalk cliffs. Quite spectacular. At the right times of year you can see Gannets, Fulmars, Razorbills and Puffins. On the beach I make some images of old concrete structures gradually sinking into the sands and being eroded slowly by the sea. Apparently concrete never sets ! This coastline is steadily being eroded by the tides. There’s little anything can be done. Second World War pillboxes hastily erected from which we’d have shot at the Nazis as they stormed up the beach to buy their buckets and spades from the beach cafe are now sinking into the beach. Up on the cliffs and in the fields  more pill boxes wait their fate. Time is an abstract concept.



Not an Anthony Gormley !
Harry my faithful Border Terrier rolls in something decomposed. Last time we were here he managed to sniff out a dead seal with which to sweeten himself up for the ladies with. This time it’s something similar but less recognisable. He stinks to hell and back.
When we get back my caravan neighbour from Preston has been in to Filey and had a new tattoo done. This one is on the front of his neck over his adam’s apple . It looks bright and fresh but without looking closely I can’t make out what it is. I might pluck up the courage to ask him If i can take his portrait. Since I would have thought most people have tattoos with the intention of them being seen by others I can’t see why he’ll object. Nothing to lose by asking except maybe a few teeth ? Now we know his name is Phil we find ourselves sandwiched between two Phil s. A Phil sandwich.
Later Phil on the other side kindly comes round with his TV and lets us test our aerial and booster box to confirm that we do need an updated digital setup for our own caravan.


The wife wishing she was in Rio for the Olympics !

Caravan Diaries – 23rd August

Caravan Diary 23rd August 2016

We walked on the beach all the way round the bay to Filey. I left the cameras back at the caravan. I knew that i’d regret it because there’s always images to be found out there. I wanted a hands free day though, just me, the wife and the dog. Was it Winogrand said in an interview something like ‘ there are no pictures when I don’t have my cameras’ ?


Over at Filey the Lifeguard Station was quite busy. Two youngsters were sat on the front with their feet in the ‘Weaver Fish Bucket’. I was stung by a Weaver fish in the sea at Scarborough back during the weekend of August 16th 1977. I remember this because a weaver fish sting is extremely painful and the death of Elvis Presley the same time will always be associated by me with the sting of a weaver fish. Apparently they came over from the Continent during the hot summer of 1976 and it appears they’ve been on our shores ever since. Funny that we’re on the East Coast which voted overwhelmingly for Brexit. Is it me who sees a little irony here ? Weaver Fish Out. The lifeguard told me they’d had ten that day  ! …………..ouch !


This little bastard burrows in sand waiting to sting unsuspecting children paddling in the sea !

The wife thought I’d put a fiver in my pocket and I thought she had. Neither of us had but fortunately I had just enough change for two mugs of tea. The Cornettos would have to be missed.

We’ve got some neighbours now to the right of us. They’re from Preston and probably a little older than us. He’s heavily tattooed, on his legs, all down his arms and back with blue stars on his bald head. He’s been struggling to get a signal on the caravan TV, the wife likes her TV he tells me.


24th August 2016

The heavily tattooed man from Preston, Phil has spent the best part of the last two days trying to get his TV working for his wife who looks to have had a stroke so can’t move around much. The telly is her lifeline. I’m a helpful person so I get involved. I’m a little bit reticent because I don’t want to get in above my current understanding of caravan television setups. Besides my man from Preston looks like he could get a bit fierce if I unwittingly punch a hole in the side of his caravan. Maybe it’s the tattoos ? In trying to solve the problem he’s been off to Filey and bought a TV off some bloke in a house for forty quid and a new Universal Remote from the supermarket. All I suspect somewhat unnecessary. After a bit of prodding and poking not to mention some thought I find the booster box in the cupboard of his caravan, switch it on and suggest they coax connect their outside aerial into their TV via the booster box. Hey presto it worked and ten minutes later Phil’s wife comes round to thank me profusely, her face lit up like a Christmas tree. They were unaware of this booster box in the cupboard.





Was it Oscar Wilde that said something like “We’re all in the gutter but some of us are looking at the stars” ?  I don’t care much for Oscar Wilde. He strikes me as being a bit of a pompous arse, writing mediocre plays and inventing quotes that pseudo intellectuals can trot out while getting pissed at naff cocktail parties.