Out of the Stephen Fry Fan

General Bloggery | Posted by leica
Nov 07 2009

I started writing this entry while it was still unfolding on Twitter, but you know, life gets in the way of finishing stuff sometimes…

The news that @StephenFry, a huge proponent of Twitter, wanted to quit using Twitter because of the “too much aggression and unkindness around” spread quickly past the Twitterati and unto the online pages of the nation’s newspapers.

I love Twitter and look forward to seeing Fry’s tweets throughout the day. I admit, I tend to put people like him on pedestals. When I say “people like him” I mean the modern Renaissance man - funny, intelligent, successful at everything, larger-than-life sort of people. I never had any parenting to speak of and I like to think of my father as an utter dick (to prevent me from using stronger expletives), so I suspect deep down I still crave some childhood hero worship.

I also empathise with Stephen Fry in many ways. Like him I am a long-suffering long-term Mac lover, pre-web geek, and well-known for my bouts with my dysthymia. I wanted to immediately take his side, beg him to stay on Twitter and continue to enjoy interesting snippets from the day-to-day life of Mr. Fry.

I think what happened to Stephen is what I call “being broadsided,” when something comes at you from just beyond your peripheral vision and the impact knocks you off kilter. Like Fry, I battle depression and during particularly bad patches knocking me over takes little effort. Cumulative criticism engenders even deeper despair.

Everyone knows the downside of Internet-based communication. The screen acts as a sort of an emotional screen as well, and things we’d never say to someone in normal conversation we type for our own and others’ amusement with little awareness of the flesh and blood and feelings on the other side of the ascii bridge. Because this sort of refuge provides convenient cover for people suffering from various developmental difficulties and disorders, I’m told by something of an expert, it may hold greater appeal to those emotionally stunted. Admittedly, since I work in IT and used to socialise with people in IT, my point of view possibly poorly relates to others in the non-geek world.

So a twitterer called @brumplum tweeted Fry was boring, and Fry happened to read it. In a depressed phase, feeling sensitive and vulnerable he recoiled, he blocked @brumplum and swore off Twitter. This too makes perfect sense to me.

Poorly developed empathy abounded in my geek world, and situations similar to those experienced between @brumplum and @stephenfry arise often. I especially draw this sort of fire having gotten on the wrong side of a group of IT people coalesced on a once-popular IT mailing list, and occasionally on a corresponding chat room. Once groupthink set in, abusive behaviour towards me became popular comedy amongst some; others lent support but asked to do so anonymously - they use the list for networking and publicly supporting me was often quoted as being “too political.”

During (not necessarily because of) this period, my low-level dysthymia worsened to the point of severe depression. Other reasons included losing two people close to me, one to suicide, my beautiful dog suffering from cancer and a job at Blackberry I can only compare to being a recruit in Deepcut barracks. The abusive treatment further peppered my battle weariness (which is a poor metaphor for severe depression) with flack. Just like Stephen Fry I mustered up the best defence a depressed person can, I tried to prevent further damage by putting the abusers on ignore and / or blocking them. This leads to very weird-looking one-sided conversations on IRC or Facebook at times, but I quickly got used to that. I prefered it to the risk of further psycnological injury while recovering from a very serious battle with clinical depression.

Fry overreacted when he threatened to leave Twitter, but again I understand the instinct. Most depressives I know hide when they feel assaulted by life. And we don’t know how much crap someone with nearly a million followers pulls in on a daily basis.

What @brumplum said to @stephenfry I personally found in no way abusive, I should point out. I generally get comments more along the lines of (well exactly as): !- leica was kicked from #uknot by a***a [in the words of doctor evil: shush. you're hated because you go on like this, you crazy tart]. That was the latest, I don’t really want to look for more.

Fighting severe depression leaves you drained, constantly tired, irritable, and therefore fairly defenceless to attack, whatever the severity. Depression also marks you as a soft target, so, while you spend most of your waking moments staving off physical exhaustion and daydreams of demise, the type of people who need to inflict pain in order to experience the pleasure of momentary power subconsciously seek you out.

Those are the types of people who went after @brumplum and @alandavies1 in the aftermath of the Stephen Fry debacle. Alan Davies defended Fry, as a good friend should, and got flamed for it. @brumplum received rabid and undeserved flames for abusing Fry, who many refer to as “a national treasure.”

Both Fry and @brumplum sorted out their differences quickly, delayed only by Fry’s being on a plane to LA and therefore incommunicado. @brumplum apologised for what he said, and @stephenfry apologised for overreacting. A modicum of communication ended a raging tempest in a twitterpot. Kudos to both of them for being adults. It restores my faith in humanity, as they say, to see people working out differences simply by communicating.

Needless to say the idiots who bullied @brumplum and @alandavies1 continued for days afterwards. I found this to be true of several people in my situation as well. Some people just don’t know how or when to stop lashing out.

Being in a fairly good place and recovering from the depression that plagued me last year, I have the same instinct as @stephenfry and @brumplum, to try to be an adult and hold out olive branches. It’s still a one-sided proposition so far; most of the angry mini-mob who enjoyed kicking me while I was down still enjoy kicking me while I’m up – sometimes overtly but in many very subtle ways too.

Without benefit of the accord @stephenfry and @brumplum arrived at so easily, I try to understand why people need people like me as punching bags. I concluded at some point in the past or the present they are or were punching bags too, perhaps depressed as well, and find myself, over time, feeling sorry for them rather than hurt or angry.

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My Life With And Without Dog

General Bloggery | Posted by leica
Sep 17 2009
Rizla

Rizla

I stopped blogging a number of weeks ago. I decided not to blog again until I blogged about Riz. I procrastinated writing anything because I naturally resist thinking about him in too much depth.

Since my previous entry Riz took a turn for the worse and I spent a lot of time taking care of him. Little by little he started eating less, and I kept trying to come up with new concoctions to get him to eat - dishes mainly consisting of fish and rice, which I cooked myself.

He started having pain while going upstairs so his bed was moved downstairs. I left Radio 4 or the World Service chuntering away in the background to keep him company at night. Eventually he became increasingly incontinent and I tried my best to keep his fur and his bed clean.

I sleep fitfully at best anyway, so I made a point of going downstairs and letting him out at night or leaving the back door open when it was warm. Towards the end he often opted on sleeping outside rather than going up and down the back steps.

The Rosebys in Croydon declared a going-out-of-business sale and sold through their stock at fairly good prices including fleece blankets at 3 for £10. I kept a stock of fresh blankets. He objected to even a faint smell of fouled bedding so I did my best to keep his bedding freshly washed or brand new.

Through all this he bounded about with remarkable energy and playfulness so we frequently wandered about Waddon and Croydon or played in the parks and garden. Sadly we walked to the vets’ frequently too. They continued treating for e-coli infection until his vet recommended I go to the referral centre, a domestic animal treatment centre in deepest darkest Surrey, specialising in hard to diagnose and treat cases. This was a last ditch effort.

We spent nearly every waking minute together in those last weeks. When we were home I lost hours just sitting on the floor stroking him, and he often lay with his head on my knee until he fell asleep. I considered sleeping on the floor next to him in his last days, but decided that was a bit too weird. I cried frequently but tried to hide it from him. Both Riz, and my previous dog Lullaby, recognised crying and reacted with distress whenever I burst into tears. Nice to know someone cares but he needed me to be strong so I did my best to keep him comfortable and confident.

The day of the appointment I woke up around 6 am and went downstairs. The hallway in which Riz’s bed lay was oddly empty. I looked around for Riz — he was curled up next to a small freezer in a small patch of floor amidst a lot of odds and ends and general clutter in our “gadget room.” Odd behaviour for him. I helped him out of the room and grabbed the kitchen roll that was designated as his, warm water and a cream I had to apply in order to clean him up

In the hallway near his bed I noticed a smattering of maggots. I went to the kitchen where my MacBook sat and looked up “dog health maggots.” The first hit was “Myiasis (Maggots) in Dogs.” The maggots were coming from the fur under his tail, which was constantly warm and wet from his loose bowel movement.

He was very weak - he’d refused food all day Sunday. So I gently guided him outside and let him go through trying to evacuate himself. He struggled and groaned for a few minutes. My neighbour passed by and commented on how sad it was when they get to this stage. We went back in and I put down some fresh bedding and and sat next to him, stroking him gently and waited for Gina, the lady who makes her living taking pet owners without cars to their vet appointments.

When she arrived we gently picked up Riz and drove south and into the narrow roads past numerous Surrey villages. Who knew there was more to Surrey than the stockbroker belt?

When we reached the referral centre we helped him out of the back of her estate. A couple of maggots squirmed around the black plastic protective cover.

Gina came in and waited with me and tried to make soothing noises while I fretted and fought back tears. I ended up sitting on the waiting room floor stroking and re-assuring him. Eventually the vet called Riz and I into the office.

After a brief examination the vet told me the best thing was to have him put down immediately. He probably had cancer advancing rather quickly through his intestines and lungs. She took Riz away and told me to wait until they were ready.

A nurse called me into another room and lay a sheepskin blanket on the ground for us to sit on. Riz rest his chin on my knee while I stroked him softly behind his ears. I noticed a small, capped tube sticking out of his front leg. They left us alone for about 10-15 minutes, then the vet and the nurse came in. The vet injected a pink solution of Phenobarbital into the tube into his leg while the nurse checked his breathing. I continued stroking him and reassuring him he’d no longer be in pain soon. The nurse declared his heart had stopped beating. I kissed him gently on the top of the head and said goodbye.

Driving home Gina and I talked about dogs and how wonderful they are. I tweeted “Rest In Peace Rizla” from the car.

~*~*~

Returning home I saw a few more maggots. I binned all the bedding, and hoovered angrily until I felt sure there were none left. For weeks afterward I killed all flies that crossed my path, instead of herding them outside as is my wont.

I needed to keep busy so I tidied up the back garden - threw out more old bedding, aggressively but neatly trimmed the trees and hedges and put the cut bits in pike right at the back of the garden. As long as I kept busy I was okay. My housemate came home and thought it was odd I’d trimmed the hedges with a single, small pair of secateurs and told me to use the electric trimmer. I argued I could do a much neater job this way but left it out of embarrassment.

~*~*~

The next couple of weeks I tidied the house often, but spent even more time in the garden. I pottered around, kept the bird feeder and birdbath cleaned and filled, stared into the middle distance. I imagined Riz playing in the garden - chewing on his favourite rubber ball and occasionally bringing it over for me to throw. I daydreamed about him often, seeing him vividly in the bright light of the sunny garden. I sat on the steps leading out to the garden just watching, doing my best to let nothing disturb my daydreams.

I waged war on any fly unfortunate enough to be inside my house.

~*~*~

A couple of weeks ago on a diffusely sunny Saturday morning, feeling a bit stir crazy, I decided to go for a wander around Croydon.

It was mid-morning and I wanted an excuse to go out. I stay in a lot lately. I love wandering about and don’t need an excuse or a place to go, but what I crave company.

Lullaby

Lullaby

My then-husband and I adopted Riz around ten years ago, maybe a year after my previous dog, Lullaby passed away, mostly to get me out of the house and out walking again. At least that was the plan.

Riz came standard with a strong will and even stronger body. I struggled to walk him at first. He pulled me along with so much torque I felt like a camper bouncing along behind a Land Rover. And he exhausted me quickly and at best the walks were frustrating nightmares. I bought various types of harnesses, most advertised as ways to train dogs to heel properly while on a leash. Most failed to impress him.

Riz being a bit willful

Riz being a bit willful

Eventually I stumbled across one made of a loose-woven nylon rope that went under his front legs and up around the front of his chest, through a special collar and eventually attached to a leash. It stopped him dead in his tracks as soon as any pressure was applied to the his chest. Add another couple of years and he was not only leash-trained but could walk to heal without one, though had to be reminded fairly often.

Add another couple of years and the marriage is no more and Riz and I are constant companions. I took him everywhere, left him tied outside shops when I had to get something. I brought on two Dorset holidays and countless day trips. Can you get a better walking companion than a big friendly dog?

Thing is, I prefer not being alone. I feel uncomfortable when I’m on my own - a sort of mild monophobia. Riz provided more than company, he provided constant comfort and so much more. His company imbued me with a sense of adventure, a need to go out, explore, get wet and muddy, the courage to go out almost anywhere at any time, day or night. A large, intelligent and fairly hard-looking German Shepherd Dog gives a tiny woman a different relationship with an often scary world.

Having a dog for company allows for a surprising amount of interactivity Besides frequently fishing balls out of streams or from under cars, giving a dog direction takes up surprising amounts of attention. If left uncorrected he forged ahead or lagged behind (depending on if we’re walking to somewhere or going back home, natch), so I spent much of our walks tossing out shouts like “Riz wait.” “Riz, now. I mean it — now!” “Riz this way” “Riz where’s your ball now?” and so forth. If I forgot to give him a toy (which was rare — he generally remembered when I didn’t) he made one out of plastic rubbish or old sticks, or, in a pinch, large stones. He didn’t easily take no for an answer when he wanted me to toss or kick the toy du jour.

Riz loses his ball on the ice

Riz loses his ball on the ice

When I went out that Saturday to walk I noticed the difference. I took my camera in hopes I’d feel engaged, to little avail. Solo walking feels excruciatingly quiet, empty, stale.

Sometimes I remind myself of the positives. When I do go out, I no longer spend ten minutes trying to rid my clothes of dog hair. The hoover glides easily over the carpet now that it’s only covered in carpet. I don’t have to worry about what time I get home or if I need to arrange with my housemate to feed him. I can finally move house easily (it’s very difficult these days to find a rental that allows dogs). Being unemployed, I can really use that 100 quid a month I spent on food, treats and pet insurance. And I walk barefoot in the garden - I haven’t done that in many, many years.

In fact I still spend good chunks of my day staring into the garden. Sometimes I bring the MacBook, sometimes I try to photograph the birds. Other times I just think. But the vivid daydreams of Riz playing in the yard have nearly faded away. I realise how much poorer my life is for the absence.

More pictures of Rizla here.

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Some Thoughts About Grief and Forgiveness

General Bloggery | Posted by leica
Jul 23 2009

The other day went for a long walk with Riz around South Croydon. I wandered into the high street camera shop, the local hang out for photographers and other Leica-philes (the camera not me!) and chatted for a bit while Riz politely accepted as many rich tea biscuits as the shop owners would offer. When we left the shop I popped my headphones back on just in time to hear:

“You’re Fired!”

Why is that such a frightening phrase? Well if you look at things from a biological point of view it’s easy to see why. Humans come into the world in an extremely vulnerable state and we have to depend on one another totally for relatively longer than the young of any other creature. It’s no wonder we panic when we are told to go away. Those words awaken a very deep, very early fear of abandonment within us.

I suspect the distress is even more acute for women than it is for men. Women in our society are still raised to please others so to be rejected is somehow to fail. On the other hand, men hardly escape unscathed. We teach everyone, but especially our boys, to define themselves by what they do, rather than who they are. So if you do nothing, it’s very easy to feel you are nothing.

So on the face of this what can you do? As an agony aunt I’ll offer you three guidelines for anyone who’s lost their job:

1. Give yourself permission to grieve. It’s okay to feel really upset when you lose your job, in fact you really need to feel really upset, because it’s only then you can start to rebuild your life realistically. But at the same time you need to keep going in order to find another means of livelihood. So what are the best ways to do this?

2. Create a daily routine. Even if you have to invent it, make a schedule. People become less employable over time because they lose the ability to fit in to the structure and routines necessary for most job. Don’t let that happen to you.

3. Continue to socialise. Contact a friend or a relative every day and meetup often. Social skills are every bit as important as technical skills - more so I think. And they need to be practiced regularly. This is another reason people become less employable. They lose confidence in social situations and this shows in job interviews.

Finally I’d like to mention a frequently overlooked player here. The person who has to give to the bad news. It’s incredibly stressful to tell a colleague they must go away. I’ve never known anybody who has enjoyed doing this. My experience is in fact that the sacker suffer in their way every bit as much as their victims. They just don’t dare show it publicly.

The American woman on the radio continued to discuss the loss of a job in terms of grieving and bereavement.

It’s the most important thing - it’s recognising you have had a loss. You have to recognise the size of the loss and the pain of the loss in order to fill the gap. You can’t see the dimensions otherwise…It is about the fear of loss. Suddenly [you realise] “I’m not what I was.”

It was The Guardian’s agony aunt, Linda Blair, on an episode or Radio 4’s “Off the Page”

I agree almost completely with what Linda said, though I’d phrased the second item as “Create a daily routine that doesn’t include any daytime television, ever.”

I disagree completely on one point, however: that it’s as hard to sack someone. When I was a manager I had to fire people, though in every case it was a young man who still lived at home and had a few issues with the responsibilities expected of them, and they weren’t in jeopardy of not being able to pay the bills. I suppose knowing that ameliorates the guilt.

Being sacked really is much worse. Especially being sacked neither for poor performance nor issues with responsibilities. In my case I became ill in an environment that wasn’t particularly supportive, which in turn exacerbated the illness. Eventually I needed to be signed off for a couple of weeks and that earned me the sack.

So, if Linda is right, it’s time to grieve, ironically.

Ironically?

Yes.

Last year, in the last week in July I found myself without three people with whom I was very close. In one case the friend and I fell out in a very unpleasant way, in one very sad story, my friend died and in the last scenario I didn’t really “lose” the friendship, but…well it’s complicated. A good friend’s life changed in several ways for the better, which is great, but for complicated reasons it meant we couldn’t hang out anymore. It was also the same week my dog my dog became ill with an e-coli bacteria infection.

In a week most of my world as I knew it was no more. And without going into best-forgotten and depressing details it was going to get worse before it got better.

So grieved and I grieve my losses still. The grief turned into depression and the job I’d just started tolerated very little of it and eventually fired me.

I don’t mind being sacked. I could have quit, and wanted to often. I hated the job to be perfectly honest. But for various personal reasons I stuck it out as best I could.

But Linda spoke truthfully in my estimation. When you get sacked your employer essentially says you’re not wanted anymore. And that hurts as much as losing a friend sometimes. When I lost my job I was marched out of the building, no chance to exchange email addresses or say goodbye. Even just writing about it is difficult and I find myself having to stop to wipe my eyes frequently.

Loss, any loss, hurts and grieving is natural.

What is grief? Famously, it’s five stages we go through after loss (aka “Kübler-Ross model”): Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance.

Wikipedia has a pretty good definition, albeit long, but worth a read:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grief

I also consider forgiveness a necessary part of the process.

Then again…

Americans wear their hearts on their sleeves. We emote early and often. But in the UK that’s not the done thing. I heard on Radio 4 the other day it takes UK war veterans an average of 14 years to seek help for emotional problems such as post-traumatic stress. Not showing emotions seems de rigeur amongst the geek crowd as well. And with good reason, signs of weakness are exploited early and often for comedic gain, regardless of the consequences sometimes.

I decided the best thing was to start isolating from the old crowd and find new friends and acquaintances. In order to meet new people and socialise I put on my happy face when I went out and isolated when I didn’t feel up to it.

It took a long time before I started to express any anger. Fortunately, I found supportive people who listened and sympathised. I admit freely I spend too much time on the ‘net, and I’ve been textually slammed for it by the old crowd. But to be honest I don’t care. I connected to some absolutely amazing people and I am eternally grateful for it and them.

Society may lose “community” in a geographical sense, but community spirit is alive and well and living online.

Just having people listen, or often, just read, and offer support helps enormously.

As for the anger, being angry is hard. I think societal norms dictate women be sympathetic, nurturing and understanding. Certainly my familial norms dictated I always be the on the receiving end of anger and my getting angry was not to be tolerated.

And even if we get angry, at whom do we point this anger? I struggle with that. I bristle at inconsiderate commuters or obtuse and unhelpful customer service people. On Saturday I returned from a photowalk with friends. Turning around to look at the departure board, my well-filled rucksack apparently brushed a child behind me. Her mother started poking me in the ribs and yelling “you just hit my child!” I lost my temper and told her I was sorry I accidentally hit her child, I apologised to the child, then had a long, loud rant about poking people in the ribs being a completely inappropriate response. But my response was as well, and I know, down deep, the anger was more to do with my dog’s health than anything else.

But when someone you love is ill, dies or goes away, or for that matter, you lose a job or anything you value, where do you point the anger? I can’t be angry at my dog for being sick, or my friend for dying, or my other friend for getting a busy life.

Well one way to diffuse those feelings is by trying forgiving and forgetting. I know, it’s not easy. Some of us heal slowly. I can grind my teeth when I think about some of the bad luck I’ve had. Quite a lot of my “bad luck” entailed people not handling their anger appropriately either. But being angry at the angry causes bad will to ping-pong back and forth until everyone is miserable, and I don’t want that either. So I’m trying my best to forgive, forget or ignore any more ill will, past and present. Everyone has problems. I hope I can do my best to empathise rather than react.

Maybe forgiveness is the antidote to anger.

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The Sun Goes Down on Duppas Hill

General Bloggery | Posted by leica
Jun 29 2009

Laying back watching the sunset

I spent a fair bit of last week recuperating from the Shortest Night 2009 all-night shoot. I messed up my sleep pattern and seem to be stuck in an up-late, sleep-late pattern. So I started exercising late as well - 20-30 minutes on the Duppas fitness trail followed by a long wander around the park with Riz and finishing up with a of quiet contemplation in front a warm summer sunset.

Doing the fitness trail feels a bit like exercise without ever maxing my heart rate but also without the pain of pounding the pavement jogging gives me, so I’ve started to like it now. Going in the evening rather than the morning shocked me a bit. In the mornings a few housewives make the rounds of the simple equipment.

In the evening spillover from the busy adjacent playground takes over. Small children attempt exercising properly until boredom inspires them to climb up and all over the equipment while their parents smile and wave. It suggests we cease to become a wrapped-in-cotton-wool nanny state. I wait patiently for chipped teeth and free access while goofing with Riz.

Actually no one has gotten hurt and the wait is rarely very long.

After a workout and brisk wander with multiple games of fetch or football, Riz and stop for a bit on the top of the hill and take in the sunset and (hopefully) cool breeze, while I contemplate my navel.

Last week I moped around a bit but the exercise and summer breeze blow out the cobwebs. Lately I started thinking, with some sadness, about “the butterfly effect” and resenting how I ended up unemployed during the depths of a recession. But, looking over at Riz, I started to look at it another way.

I know Riz is still ill. I worry the latest course of meds are failing, given his incontinence and decreased appetite. And even if beats the e-coli infection he’s old. He’s (circa) 13 years old, give or take a year (Battersea Dogs’ Home could only guess at his age when I adopted him) — I have to start to accept the inevitable.

If it weren’t for my getting ill and losing my job I wouldn’t have this time to spend with him. And I’m very grateful for it.

Rizla - the handsome-est dog in the world

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A Message from Message

General Bloggery | Posted by leica
Jun 26 2009

In the past when my then husband and I went to tapings of Radio 4 programs he would ring up the ticket unit and see what was available.

A while back I noticed on of my far-too-many RSS feeds told me tickets for The Now Show were available. I signed up for the first and last show of the series, received an email telling me my request had been received then pretty much forgot about it.

Yesterday I noticed a text on my phone from “message” with no other info, telling me I had tickets for the taping. No information as to where it was, though I suspect it was at Broadcasting House. They sent no other info at all, no email.

I thought of calling the Beeb to see if this was standard operating procedure, but in the end I just gave up.

Yesterday was a weird day. Too much negativity and death. I made jokes. I deal with things by making jokes.

Things are a bit weird right now. I’m trying very hard to finally get some closure regarding last year but that’s backfiring quite spectacularly. But I’ve handled it with a lot of aplomb and maturity and am pretty proud of myself. It really is all about self confidence, the real freedom is being comfortable doing what you feel right.

Still, I think I’d prefer closure right now, I don’t really care so much about being right.

In the end I decided not to go to the taping, as much as I love The Now Show. I just didn’t feel like it. I worry about Riz, my ears are due a syringing and in the meantime I’ve got a head full of gloppy olive oil and can’t hear properly and I feel anxious. Once I get an idea in my head of what will fix something, it’s hard to shift it. And once I get stuck on an idea I feel tremendous anxiety until I act on it.

A on-again-off-again friend organised a leaving do for tonight, and lots of people I know will be there. Still feeling a bit yesterday, a bit last year. I might just opt for a quiet night in with Riz instead.

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Riz Update

General Bloggery | Posted by leica
Jun 25 2009

Riz seems a bit poorly. He refuses his food until he’s very hungry - sometimes waiting as much as 10 hours to finish (or even start) eating.

He eats snacks still, so I’m hoping it’s just the taste of the antibiotics mixed in his food. The only way I can get him to take the meds is to try to hide the taste, but that takes very stinky food (dogs’ appetites are stimulated by smell).

He needs to go outside very often now and if he’s been running around he feels the need to go every few minutes. On the plus side giving him lots and lots of fresh water and letting him outside frequently seems to be helping - the last few days he’s woken me up at dawn needing to go outside, but today he waited until I woke, which was circa 7 am.

I’ll ring the vet today and see what she says, though I’m a bit afraid to ring in case it’s bad news. :-(

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Out All Night

General Bloggery | Posted by leica
Jun 21 2009

I realised I’ve been doing most of my blogging via Twitter now. I will make amends.

I spent last night on an all-night photo walk. It mostly involved circling from The South Bank up Tower Bridge and back a couple of times, with a detour through China Town for some Chinese food at an open-all-night Chinese Restaurant.

I’ll try to edit an upload later today.

<shameless self promotion> In the meantime feel free to have a look at what’s currently in my Flickr stream. </shameless self promotion>

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I Become a Lady of Leisure

General Bloggery | Posted by leica
Jun 20 2009

Life got a bit interesting.

Long story short, my GP signed me off ill for a couple of weeks and when I returned my services were no longer required at RIM.

Few people hiring, many people applying.

So…challenges lay ahead!

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Photography And All That Jazz

General Bloggery, photography | Posted by leica
May 18 2009

Last Sunday I trundled up towards East Croydon to catch the weekly lunch-time jazz gig at The Green Dragon. This week featured a brassy jazz-fusion veteran Derek Nash and Sax Appeal.Derek

I knew the local music scene shifted from The Ship to The Green Dragon a while back, after the Hogshead sold up and the facade was painted green, but never managed to check it out until yesterday.

Though a recent convert, I like jazz. Live jazz works better than listening to it solitarily on an mp3 player — I don’t know why really, maybe because the intensity and dynamics of the music doesn’t translate well in recorded form generally.

Though a budding fan, I went with an ulterior motive: I wanted to try my hand at gig photography. I thought a small local venue might be an easy start, so armed with nothing more than a Sony 50mm/F2.8, a borrowed Tamron 90mm/F2.8 and my little Sony A200, I gave it a go.

A few things challenged me, as would anyone photographing gigs. The lighting leaves something to be desired - like light mainly. So I cranked the ISO to 1600, the aperture opened slightly wider than a medium-sized volcano but still had slow shutter speeds!

I managed to get a table right in front, so a good vantage point. The front of the stage was a line of tables in front of a line of tables, with a few supporting beams in between tables to ensure complete lack of movement.

Stage design included roll blinds, black curtains, ducts, vents and mains sockets. The lights were quite good all in all, and the lighting guy did a good job. But the stage lights failed to reach the back of the stage for the most part so the drummer and shy keyboard player stayed mostly in darkness. I lost a few shots to the limitations of a cheaper camera - the sensor just can’t do strong red and green lights properly and the noise required quite a bit of post-processing fu in order to make them acceptable.

For all that I had a fantastic time, I loved the music and felt completely at ease. I tried out some ideas which worked well. I think all things considered I feel pretty happy about the experience.

Pictures here.

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Flight of the Conchords on BBC4 Tonight

Media | Posted by leica
May 12 2009

Just a quick reminder for fans of “Flight of the Conchords.” BBC4 start showing series two tonight at 10:30 p.m.

As an aside, I don’t know why the BBC started using hashes instead of the actual program names in their URLs, but b00kgbcx is a small but hilarious comedy about a Kiwi two-man beat combo with an uncanny knack of using familiar musical stylings with quite funny plot-appropriate lyrics. Worth a watch if you’ve not seen it before.

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