We took a trip over to Hay-on-Wye yesterday, the book capital of the UK, to look for a birthday present for a friend of ours. It was a beautiful day, warm and sunny with just the merest hint of autumn. As in past visits, I was overwhelmed by the number of books available and suffered the usual lack of will to search miles and miles of shelving. Fortunately I quickly found a specialist shop with just the sort of thing I was after. This saved a lot of tramping around and grumpiness and allowed a lot more time for eating and image-making.Today's picture, taken looking through the door of an empty pub, does not shriek 'art' at me but it appeals on some level. It has diagonals (which must be my 'Theme of the Year'), reflections and an example of bounced soft-light (the lightening of the area under the window). Simple elements but inherently satisfying, to me at least. Also I find chairs photogenic which just goes to prove that there's nowt as queer as folk.
And here's a group of three plus a gargoyle with a Churchillian cigar.
5 comments:
What's an "empty pub"?
It is a satisfying photo, though. The eye keeps finding new angles.
I have a restraining order forbidding me from visiting Hay-on-Wye next year.
I'm not sure what I like the most about coming here to read, whether it's the pictures, the writing or that little slap of a sentence at the end sometimes, it's like you're going along quite comfortably, companionably in one direction, enjoying the trip, isn't it a lovely day, the language seemingly effortlessly flowing and then, bam! Gargoyles. I love that. (And I don't mean slap in a bad way, at all. It's like a jolt of cold water at the end of a hot shower, no, not that. Oh hell. It's like something. Pleasant, but unexpected - but not entirely unexpected, because such thing have happened before. Like a punch line, but from a different joke entirely, and it's the juxtaposition of the two that's so refreshing. Oh for goodness' sake. I'm making no sense.)
I so appreciate a clever writer. Not precious-clever (twee? is that sort of what twee is? or is that maudlin I'm thinking of, overly sentimental. Like you could know what I'm thinking of. How silly of me even to ask. Even I don't know what I'm thinking of) but just clever, not for effect, or yes, for effect but - yes, that's it, it's the naturalness of it, even if it's slightly intentional. And I can hear you laughing to yourself as I'm reading it, am I making any sort of sense at all? Do you chuckle to yourself, do you smile and feel well pleased when you write something like that? (You should. And I haven't at all forgotten the watcher on the diving board. I just take a long time to figure out what I want to say, that's all. Not that you were on the edge of your seat waiting.)
Am I going to regret posting this long nonsensical comment? No, probably not. Though at one time I would have. Now I think oh well, maybe it will amuse. Maybe it won't. In any case, it is what it is. I just hope I haven't misspelled anything. I hate when I do that.
See? Thing, and not things, which is what the sentence should have read. I trust those red squiggly lines too much. I should always - I'm making a note to myself, which I'll probably forget immediately - re-read a comment for grammatical coherence and clarity before I hit the post button.
I see we've both got an attack of chairitis this week, mate.
That's a great mixture of lighting qualities in one shot, Dave.
Thanks, Lee. I'll see if I can find you a good lawyer! Shouldn't take more than a few millenia.
Well that's just lovely, Shara, and I use the word in its most generous and appreciative sense.
You are right. I do chuckle, probably with just a little too much self-satisfaction. I think we probably write in a similar fashion. It's a stream of consciouness thing, isn't it. And you're right about the little twist at the end. I don't know where that comes from but when I wrote essays for my degree course (which I took in my forties) I always used to end with one - they were not always welcomed by my tutors who I suspect thought they were not academic enough. But who cares?
I'll await your comments on the Watcher with patience and fortitude.
And super (a substitute word for lovely) to hear from you at length now the brood has taken to its autumnal daily migration).
Peter, I think we synchronised again - people will talk.
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