London, Photography

Bloomer Bred

And so with the Olympic flame, Summer arrived. And just as Britain won it’s eighteenth medal, so I finally sat down (therein imitating many of our medal winners, badly) and committed pen to paper, words to CMS, photos to gigabytes of memory. Remarkably less poetic than the motion achieved over the canal in Stratford, but little victories give way to major events, so while me publishing two blog posts in two days still evades my powers of posting right now, we have at least found, reserved, and started to buy furniture for, the most perfect of perfect flats. It wins so much I could make like my performance every time a Briton takes top podium and cry, but I couldn’t even if I tried. I’m so happy I could burst.


Still, Life

Snappy snaps, purposely grainy so I can half pretend I took them with a real camera, that should be filed under ‘a miscellany of other bits of my weekend’. I am more than a little obsessed with that chandelier, a focus which got increasingly more myopic the more I stout I drank. Tipsy chicks and sparkly shit and all that.

Elsewhere the rain has lent itself to mental hydrangea blooms, of the sort that exist as triffids in forgotten front gardens on anonymous London streets; cherries and eggs at Borough Market; structure and form and the tiny marks of personality on the outside of the Barbican; Anchor Brewing company branding. Tiny bits of inspiration. And this, which I’ve listened to a thousand times over and am still obsessed with.