a whole lottie love

I had hoped to share photos of Lottie I took with my "proper" camera back in late October. After returning home from being her companion, nursemaid and room attendant and having her as my therapist for almost two weeks.

Unfortunately, life has been (even more) exhausting on several fronts since early October.

Until now, I haven't had a chance to do more than import and edit the photos I took with my D700. Though I shared plenty of my iPhone photos to social media during my time in her home.

One of Lottie's adoring humans, Sarah - a talented wedding photographer and a fellow cat-sitter - became a virtual friend back in the mid-2000s on Flickr as part of the (now-defunct) Female Self-Portrait Artists Support Group (FSPASG).

We finally met in person in 2011 when we attended a workshop run by Miss Aniela and Brooke Shaden in Eastbourne.

It turned out we lived in adjacent suburbs here in London, but I think we'll take equal blame for how irregularly we've met up since then. Though we now live 30 minutes walk apart, and lived closer for a period when I was in Wood Green and then Bounds Green.

I think the last time we'd met up before October was for drinks at one of our joint local pubs for my birthday, along with at least one other FSPASG member, Sevgi. I don't remember the year.

When I posted to my social media accounts that I'd fallen into cat-sitting, Sarah mentioned the Cat In A Flat site. I stumbled upon it while researching what I should charge for my services. Once I established that cat-sitting was something I could not only do but enjoy.

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So, when she and Pete decided Lottie needed a sleepover buddy, not just a once or twice-a-day visitor, she messaged me to ask if I was free.

Lottie had been unwell for some time, but the vets couldn't figure out why.

I had scooped up dead mice and cleaned up poop from a kitteh going through some behavioural issues. So, the concept of cleaning up kitteh puke at least once a day for almost two weeks didn't put me off hanging with Lottie.

We met a couple of times before the sitting started, and she was such a sweet, placid kitteh.

Lottie proved even more affectionate and approachable when I arrived a few hours after Sarah and Pete left.

She spent a lot of time napping on the pillows on the bed. But when she felt up to it, she would come to listen to my Teams calls while I worked. I would clear a spot for her by my keyboard, or she would sit on my lap if there wasn't space to park her butt on the desk.

I checked on her regularly when she wasn't nudging my hands as I typed or draping her tail across my keyboard.

I brought her breakfast (lunch, dinner and in-between meals) in bed as she had lost interest in going downstairs for anything except using her litter.

The first two nights I stayed, she woke me at 03:00 and 06:00 with her loud eating by the bed. Thank goodness I don't have misophonia...

She quickly fell into sharing her night-time ritual with me. She waited until I was settled and lying down, then walked on my belly and chest. Sometimes she would settle down and curl up on me. Sometimes she just stared me down from her higher vantage point.

On one of the days when I could have a lie-in, we started our day this way, and then she curled up against my body on the bed.

The first couple of nights, she had her pillow chosen. I slept on the other side (which suited me as it was the opposite side, away from her food). But we fast fell into a pattern of her curling up on the pillow above my head, purring away. The proximity provided great comfort to both of us though sometimes her long whiskers made me giggle when they tickled my face.

I would wake at about 06:00 to her watching me. The sort of gaze that, if it came from a lover, might be disturbing or sweet, depending on your temperament (and maybe their intent and expression).

I'd rouse myself to fetch her fresh wet food for breakfast, and then we'd settle for a few more hours of sleep until I had to work.

Though there were a couple of days where the combined stresses of news from Australia about my Mum's health, the project in my day job causing me to work long hours and worrying about Lottie's health overwhelmed me. More often than not, spending time with Lottie and worrying about her distracted me from the other stresses.

And she was always an absolute pleasure to be around, even with her illness.

Sarah, Pete and I obviously all hoped that, once they returned, the vets would be able to finally figure out what was wrong with Lottie.

I looked forward to staying with Lottie in future when she wasn't feeling so poorly.

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So, I was heartbroken to hear that, a little over a week after Sarah and Pete returned, Lottie's health had deteriorated to the point that she had to be put to sleep. The vets finally worked out what was wrong, but too late to save her.

Sarah let me know while I was with Sammy, Lily and Poppy in Bromley, so I treasured my time with them even more than usual, having heard that news.

I wanted to edit photos of Lottie that evening. Especially knowing I'd planned to do so eight to nine days earlier. But I decided I'd prefer to write something and edit and share photos of her without rushing.

So here we are.

Such a beautiful, gentle kitteh. I feel privileged to have spent that time with Lottie. And to have (hopefully) been a comfort to her during her illness. The comfort definitely went both ways.

RIP Lottie (aka Peanut Butter Cup, as I was wont to call her).

I hope there are suitcases for you to claw and laze in where you are. That there are supine humans just waiting to be walked upon by you. That the humans there hold out the brush for you to brush your own chin. And the humans where you are will be more generous in sharing their Brie with you than I was. (Yes, I would have given you the same look if you'd put a chicken meal in front of me instead of Brie. Maybe I'd have been less cautious and more generous if I'd known how little time you'd had left).

mamma mia!

Just over a year ago, I unexpectedly fell into cat-sitting.

If you'd told me then I'd do it again, let alone that after a year I'd have regular kitteh clients and had cat-sat ten kittehs across five homes, I'd probably have laughed in your face.

And yet, this month, I'll spend just under two weeks with my eleventh kitteh client in the sixth home.

I'm looking forward to becoming better acquainted with Lottie, the kitteh master of my long-time Flickr friend, Sarah.

Lottie is a black cat with a sweet nature, and we seemed to take to each other well during our first meet and greet last week. I'll pop in to see her again this week before becoming her temporary companion.

I'll also return to be the ever-obedient servant of Lily, Sammy and Poppy later in the month. I think there have been only two months since December 2021 that I've not served those three kitteh masters faithfully. They are already pencilled in for December this year or January next year (or a bit of both).

And so, I finally set up a profile on CatInAFlat. Who would ever have thought my Top 8 (well, 10 actually) would be made up of cool cats? Tom never saw that coming...

Though I'm already booked out for most of October with overnight stays, I'm open to once or twice daily visits locally around those. (I think it's wrong to have affairs with other kittehs during my overnight stays. Lottie, Lily, Sammy and Poppy will smell other kittehs on me).

And I'm open to meeting more kittehs locally and further afield from November.

If you or anyone you know needs a cat-sitter, feel free to hit me up here or via my CatInAFlat profile. There's plenty of information on my profile but slide into my DMs if you have further questions.

I'll also sort out getting a police check done later this month, and I can provide references on request from those I've cat-sat for before.

Meanwhile, please enjoy this adorabubble portrait I took of Mia whilst we sheltered from one of the UK heatwaves this summer.

thank you for the music

Mid-morning on Monday, David messaged me. The notification flashing up on my phone's lock screen stopped me in my tracks.

Though I was working, I immediately switched to my own computer to visit Anthony Horan's Facebook profile. To try to fathom the message David had sent me.

Before I got to his profile, I hadn't even considered David's question was logical.

My eyes settled on a truncated comment from Chris, Anthony's brother. It opened in a way I immediately knew wouldn't end in any way I had wanted to imagine.

I felt like I couldn't breathe. I immediately started crying and didn't stop for a good half hour. Through tears, I emailed my manager and a colleague to advise I needed to take a break.

It felt like it took me ten minutes or more to read through the update from Chris properly. My eyes and brain kept stalling on the first few words. When I had finally managed to read it, I stayed to read all the lovely comments from Anthony's other friends. The tears just kept coming.

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I met Anthony at Retro within a month of turning 18. Along with friends, I discovered Club 383 seemingly randomly and tried out a new night there on a Thursday. We returned on a Friday night for Retro. And then a Saturday night for Collision. Anthony was one of the DJs for both Retro and Collision.

For almost a month before I turned 18, we turned up early. I was sober, and my friends bought non-alcoholic drinks for me. I was often the first person on the dancefloor.

I was excited simply to dance to songs I loved in a space that wasn't my lounge room. All the time I spent in nightclubs, I preferred being on an empty or half-empty dancefloor. I could dance freely with my eyes closed without worrying about being burned by someone's cigarette and without the distraction of some sleazy guy trying to hit on me.

I would harass Anthony, Andy and Craig through the sliding glass window of the DJ booth with my endless requests. Then I'd run onto the dancefloor excitedly as I heard the opening bars of my favourite songs.

I was like a child at a carnival.

A few months later, after a falling out with one of my closest friends who I regularly went out with, I decided I would venture out on my own.

By that stage, I'd got to know the Club 383 DJs: Anthony, Tony, Andy, and Craig. Well enough that I figured I had a DJ booth to hang out in or near if I didn't want to dance to a song but felt awkward standing at the edge of the dancefloor.

That decision led to me spending sporadic periods hanging out with Anthony in the DJ booth. Flicking through his extensive CD collection and behaving like an irritating younger sister, haranguing him to "Play this next!" or "Ooh! This!" He was endlessly patient and never patronised me. He didn't always play my requests, but he never made me feel stupid for asking for them.

When I worked on my final folio for the second semester of my first year at Photography Studies College, I shot a series of photographs at Club 383.

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It included a portrait of Anthony with his decks (though most of what he played was on CD, not vinyl). It was shot in standard nightclub lighting. There was no way to adequately capture him and the turntable together in any meaningful way. So I spent time in the darkroom compositing a portrait of him with the turntable. I don't have a quality electronic version at the moment, but the image above gives you a general idea.

I probably spent two nights a week almost every week from March 1995 to the end of 1998 at Club 383. My time out dancing dropped off in 1999 in the lead-up to leaving the country. But Anthony and I stayed in contact intermittently over that time.

When I returned to Melbourne in April 2002, we spent far too many hours nattering on ICQ, Hotmail Messenger and Yahoo! Messenger. We followed each other on LiveJournal, though Anthony barely posted. And then on the usual social media platforms. We spent the wee hours of countless nights hanging out in his flat, listening to music and drinking cider and/or wine.

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002/365 - dick laurent remembrance society

On Thursday, 21 August 2003, Anthony, Daniel and I formed the Dick Laurent Remembrance Society. A trivia team that last competed on 13 March 2018, with Dave in place of Daniel, though Dave was a regular member for much of the team's existence. Our team fluctuated from two to six members over the weeks and years.

For the lifetime of the team, Anthony and I were the most consistent members, often competing as a duo when all the other tables had four to six members. For various reasons (none of which were cheating), the two of us enjoyed many fancy and expensive meals at the Mitre Tavern's more prestigious sister restaurant. Prizes for our efforts.

Where mine and Anthony's geography consistently let the team down, Daniel's saved our skins many a time. Daniel joked on one occasion that our geography was so bad that he wondered how we found our way to the pub each week. Of course, we responded it was due to a well-worn trail and the scent of alcohol. All three of us failed, majestically, when it came to the sport round, though.

Anthony and I were massive nerds in some respects. And we both hated the heat. I still remember the two of us - sweltering in our respective homes - semi-regularly refreshing the RMIT real-time weather website for updates on incoming cool changes. Anthony lived in the city, and I lived in the inner northern suburbs. So if he finally experienced the temperature change, I could rush around opening windows and doors to let in the incoming cool breeze about ten minutes later. Anthony introduced me to many helpful online websites during our friendship, but this was one of the most valuable.

As most people will know, Anthony's passion was music. He reviewed it, he produced it. He supported artists both well-known and emerging, and he played hours of music at least two nights a week for much of the time I knew him.

His reviews were never the bitter, backstabbing type that might populate the pages of NME. Celebrating an artist one week then shooting them down the next. His reviews in Beat and InPress were always fair, well-considered and often focussed on female singer/songwriters. There was never anything pandering or fake about the reviews, but they were invariably positive.

He introduced me to so many talented female artists or female-fronted outfits. I put together a modest playlist of those who immediately came to mind on Monday evening. Along with some of the songs he patiently played repeatedly for me, on request. I had to include an ABBA track at the end. He was one of the only people I knew who would champion their music in the late 90s when grunge and indie were in fashion.

Amongst others, he introduced me to Sia, Soko, Emilie Simon, Dot Allison, Bat For Lashes and My Brightest Diamond. And he introduced me to the music and the actual personage of Wendy Rule.

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028/365 - general knowledge and miss information

He was an incorrigible flirt but never sleazy. He was gentle (though there was that one time he rugby tackled me!) Sweet, respectful, witty (though sometimes a bit on the 'dad joke' spectrum). Enthusiastic, passionate, genuine and down to earth. I never heard about him falling out with anyone, and he and I never had a cross word between us.

We spent Monday nights together for a season or two, watching the latest episodes of Lost. He donated his old TV - and the wall unit to hold it - to me when he upgraded to a flatscreen. It may not have been the best telly, but it was a definite upgrade from my 15" CRT!

Over recent years, with the difference in timezone and him working more "normal" hours, we couldn't catch up often. Despite us previously both being night owls. And unfortunately, we didn't manage to have another round of trivia when I was last in Melbourne due to his family commitments at the time.

His last message to me was in late August 2021: "Oh, by the way, I've gotta recommend a show on Netflix called 'Brand New Cherry Flavor' - it pushes all the right Lynch/Cronenberg buttons, and Rosa Salazar is awesome in it. Think Hollywood Lynchian noir melded with Clive Barker weirdness. And kittens. Lots of kittens."

Honestly, I had forgotten that. And now, as soon as I can renew my Netflix subscription, that will be what I have to watch next.

He shared that recommendation off the back of me enquiring about his middle name. I had a character in a novel I'd started writing for NaNoWriMo in 2016 that was primarily based on him, but a slight hybrid with two other DJs from Club 383. On Monday, when I found out he'd passed away, I kicked myself that I didn't share that excerpt with him while I could. Obviously, I had no conception of what the next few months would hold.

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All I can think as I finish writing this is how much I wish Anthony could have read this. I know we would have had such a laugh about it all. We didn't spend nearly enough time talking about all the hijinks we got up to back in the day. About all the moments we shared.

I know he knew how much I valued his friendship. That, whether we talked every day or every 365th day, our friendship was still strong. But we always write these things after someone we love is gone, and that's so stupid. They should be able to read these things and share them with us.

At least I know I wrote posts about Anthony that he read at the time, some of which fed into this post. But I wish I'd shared that excerpt with him when I mentioned it. It wasn't a starring role - a pivotal character - but it captured the easy friendship we shared. One I will miss so much.

Thank you for the music, Anthony. Somewhere you're filling the dancefloor once more. And there are penguins.

jazz at 11 (accidental portrait of the artist’s parents)

^{[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 8 September 2021].}

paparazzi

I was almost entirely unaware of it until late in the day on our travels around the Tower of London and then Trafalgar Square on the Wednesday after Kyle arrived, but whilst I was snapping off shots of the sights around London, often Kyle was snapping off shots of me [as well as myriad shots of the sights].

Only when going through our shots on our respective computers or on the LCDs later in the day did I realise exactly how many shots of me he was taking. Mostly captured as I was taking photos, or perusing what I'd taken on my LCD, or wandering ahead of him here and there. He was actually shooting me here as I shot him, I believe.

I usually dislike being photographed by other people, especially candidly, but he managed to capture quite a few that I really like [including some very odd ones]; though there are also many of me, as I turned to find him aiming his camera at me once more, with an "Oi! Quit that!" look on my face.

Between his recent visit and his random screenshots from our Skype conversations, I think his collection of photos of me might now have exceeded that of my parents, though would still run second to my thousands of self-portraits.

He also captured some excellent images of subjects other than me during his stay, including some taken on a reconnaissance around the cottage we stayed in, that I didn't go on [I was enjoying a rare lie-in, savouring the warmth of our cosy bed as the sun rose].

Admittedly I was a bit rubbish on the exploration side, as the cold was getting to me, and my trainers really weren't appropriate footwear for clambering over fences and clomping through mud and snow. Add to that the cold I came down with [and still have!] on the Monday after we arrived in County Durham, and I was a bit reluctant to venture too far from the car if I didn't have to.

I'm ashamed to say I didn't even manage any self-portraits whilst we were away. We were so rarely at the cottage we rented as we had long days exploring the local regions, and were usually knackered by the time we finally returned in the evenings, with only enough energy for imbibing a few cans of cider and Guinness, respectively, and a few quick games of Monopoly.

But sometimes you just need a holiday, right?

^{now playing: lady gaga - paparazzi}

living on the edge

I realised a few years ago, when standing on the bench in my bedroom to paint the higher sections of the wall, that I'm not specifically afraid of heights. I'm afraid of falling.

Therefore, one metre off the ground I can go into panic mode.

Walking down a spiral staircase I manoeuvred my way up without thought suddenly becomes a job undertaken in a crab-like posture (just ask my ex about such experiences in La Sagrada Familias and Caernarvon Castle).

An attempt to venture onto The Balconies in the Grampians National Park had me experiencing vertigo - feeling as though everything below was moving and whirling, and I had to drop to the ground to feel like I wouldn't fall off the edge.

So I ventured as far as I could with Phil and Aaron at Shady Rest. They walked to and stood at the furthest edge of the property at that point. I had to stop short from nausea. The best I could manage was to photograph them standing there, as though they were waiting for a bus, or an elevator, or something equally innocuous that doesn't involve falling to their death.

It sounds dramatic to say that, but every second day on the stairs in my house I almost over-balance from this fear of falling. I almost did today.

^{now playing: madonna - like a virgin}

100 people - #23: Mel

As is often the case, I don't remember the exact particulars of virtually meeting Mel Brackstone and first coming across her work, but as we mixed in the same RedBubble circles, it was inevitable that we would meet.

Her photography initially centred around landscapes (particularly seascapes), but over the years has expanded to incorporate humans and the human body, both those of her friends and models, and herself.

When I moved to Brisbane we organised to meet one day: myself, Mel, Kelly and one of Kelly's friends. After an early morning wander with Kelly around Redland Bay, the day was primarily spent sifting through op shops in Carindale, then lunch; after which myself and Mel adjourned to an abandoned property soon expected to be demolished near Eight Mile Plains, where I took le moribund.

On another occasion Mel and I met to shoot in her mother's house, which was being put on the market for sale, where I took this portrait of her with a Lensbaby Mel let me try out on my D50.

In all my dealings with Mel, I've found her to be extremely generous with her knowledge and happy to help others, and as equally voracious in her enthusiasm to learn more. She's always keen to learn how a new technique, a new piece of equipment, a new processing trick will help her achieve what she is after conceptually.

I always enjoy seeing what new avenue her work has taken, though I may now spend a lot less time around The Bubble than I have in times past.

^{now playing: lou rhodes - this love}

100 people - #22: Aaron

Where Catherine is a whirlwind of thoughts, words and movement, her boyfriend Aaron is often the quiet observer sitting by listening to what is being said, and occasionally interjecting.

From time to time he will take control of the conversation and speak animatedly about a particular subject or situation, but most of the time he's just content to be.

He and Catherine were both heavily involved in building the large kit home on Aaron's family's property in Wombeyan Caves, that overlooks an amazing view over an area at the base of the Blue Mountains in New South Wales.

He was keen to show us around the property - the site of the old home, the waterfalls, and the edge of the property overhanging the valley. I was not so keen on the latter two, involving extreme heights, so settled for the first.

I snapped Aaron contemplating the view whilst we relaxed with a few drinks one afternoon after some exploring.

^{now playing: pulp - sorted for e's & wizz}

100 people - #21: Catherine

I met Catherine in year 10 when I moved to Stawell and started at the local high school. We hit it off pretty much straight away.

She was pretty, intelligent, articulate, a talented illustrator and photographer, very into music and a very good friend. Over the years, very little has changed.

Despite our respective movements around Australia (both of us) and the UK (me), and the odd loss of contact here and there, we have managed to keep our friendship alive.

We were always willing subjects for each others' various assignments: I acted in her TAFE black & white 16mm film (which I wish I had been able to see!); she let me drape her in chains and seaweed (on separate occasions).

We have both been supportive and encouraging of each others' art, whether it be visual or literary.

During my road trip with Philip Ivens through the eastern states of Australia, we were lucky enough to arrange to meet Catherine and her partner, Aaron, to spend a long Easter weekend on Aaron's family's property, Shady Rest, in Wombeyan Caves at the base of the Blue Mountains in New South Wales.

The time spent there was a great opportunity for me to catch up with Catherine and Aaron, but also turned out to be a very inspiring one, with the old home site at my disposal to shoot self-portraits and other photographs amongst what was left of the previous home. I felt very spoilt.

During my time there, I only managed to snap a few shots of Catherine. She is animated to the point that finding a moment of calm in her is often impossible. Her mind and her body move at a rate of knots most of the time.

And though usually I would avoid shots like these; shots where someone is playing up to the camera, and specifically dropping into a defensive stance - the single finger salute taking centre stage - I think this actually sums up Catherine quite well in some respects.

She is done with the niceties of life. She doesn't really care too much what you think about her and how she lives her life. She's all about being in the moment and living her life the way she wants to. And she does.

^{now playing: r.e.m. - be mine}