crocosmia

^{[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 27 August 2024].}

It's been a hectic couple of months.

I've barely been home since the afternoon of Thursday, 4 July.

I pulled an all-nighter with a friend of over 24 years and a friend of fewer than 12 hours to watch the Tories finally thrown out of government after 14 years.

The following day, I went to sit my regulars in Bromley.

On the afternoon of 9 July, I went home for a night, with some back and forth and final prep for a sitting with new clients, Crikey (Cockapoo), Lottie (Staffy Shitzu cross), Dexter (tuxedo cat), Sammy (tabby cat) and Rebecca (fish) starting the following afternoon.

They were a delight, as was Julia's garden, where I photographed this crocosmia.

I managed to give myself food poisoning from eating black beans too long after opening, which wiped me out for a good nine hours or so the night before the sitting ended. I haven't had stomach cramps that bad since I was a tween, and I hope I never do again.

I had two nights at home before spending about a week and a half with my arch nemesis, Mia (tabby cat), in Crofton Park. She's mellowed somewhat with age (she's three now), but she's still very standoffish and swipey with everyone except her cat-mother.

I finally managed to ogle and photograph the exterior of houses at Segal Close and Walters Way, though I'm sorry to find that homes in Walters Way will be open this year as part of Open House London on a day I'm not in London.

I had another couple of nights at home before sitting my favourite, very good boy, Frank (Cockapoo), for about a week and a half.

Whilst sitting him, I managed to completely miss a step with my foot between the bedroom and bathroom and take two steps simultaneously with my lower left back, just above my hip, and my left shoulder.

Thankfully, applying ice and going back to bed for a couple of hours with Frank as my nursemaid, followed by a dose of ibuprofen, meant I minimised the bruising, and we could still go out for our morning walk.

The next day was less successful, as I woke with a sore neck, bruised shoulder and a dull headache and couldn't take Frank out. We did manage a sedate afternoon walk once the painkillers had taken the edge off and allowed me to move my left arm more freely.

The following day - a previously planned day of annual leave - my injuries had improved, and I could take Frank with me to meet Scott at the Railway Fields Nature Reserve by Harringay Green Lanes Overground Station as planned.

Frank was ecstatic to have a short bus journey, make a new friend, explore a new green space (albeit on a lead), take a short train journey, and spend a little time at the Great Northern Railway Tavern whilst Scott and I had a couple of pints and a long natter, some of which about the Welsh language I've been learning.

I went straight from sitting Frank to my regulars plus one.

The new addition, a hamster called Karl-Heinz (Charlie, for short), is very cute and amicable but keen on chewing at the bars of his cage. As he's nocturnal (like me), and his cage is quite close to where I sit to work and do creative things while I sit my regulars, I found this quite stressful, but his hamster-mother is pursuing avenues to make him more comfortable in his home (or rather, mansion).

I had another night at home before heading up to Bishop's Stortford, where I am now, to sit Betsy (Cockapoo) and Dudley (Maltipoo). Both are very good-natured and sweet puppers, but Dudley was a lockdown pup and has related issues, which means he's very reactive to other dogs and...well, everything.

But we've managed two weeks together and have another to go, and I love the snuggles we have, the fact they love sleep as much as I do (when I finally do go to bed), and their little quirks (just maybe with less barking ;) ).

My friend, Khanisa, also enjoyed meeting them, and we managed an enjoyable in-person catch-up on Saturday despite the persistent rain. I had a positive virtual catch-up with Dad in the wee hours yesterday morning and a good telephone catch-up with Phil yesterday evening.

This afternoon, on our last Bank Holiday before Christmas and after almost two weeks in the town, I managed to get out and about with my camera for a photo walk from where I'm sitting the pups, down along the town's edge to Castle Park (the remains of Waytemore Castle), along the Stort Navigation (the canalised section of the River Stort that runs through town), then back through town via the supermarket.

I'll share at least one photo from my walk with you in the next couple of days; all going to plan.

I head home next Tuesday. I have three nights at home before I head down to stay with my regulars.

Then, I'll have two nights at home before heading to the Isle of Portland in Dorset for a long weekend of photography with Phil. We've found a lovely Airbnb on the island to use as a base, and it promises to be a great place to explore with our cameras.

Dad and Cheryl arrive the following week, so I'll be playing tour guide with them and sightseeing around London.

I have a week of 'downtime' (or at least time without sittings or visitors) at the end of September, then three sittings in October before things quiet down a bit more in the lead-up to Christmas.

In amongst all that, I have to do a thorough clean of my flat (with my current flatmate's help), try to downsize my stuff (in progress and tougher than it seems), find a new flatmate, and try to catch up on photo editing and other creative outputs (I had hoped the bank holiday weekend would have helped with the latter, but I had to prioritise cleaning dog puke out of bedding and some other bits yesterday).

On the positive side, the first Friday I was with Frank, a neighbour offered an early 2015 Macbook Air for free to anyone who might want it and could reinstall the OS to make use of it. I saw the post immediately after shared and nabbed it for myself.

It's a little slow, can't run the latest versions of everything, can't run InDesign, and it's only a 13" model. But it can run most things to the level I need when away, and most importantly, it can connect with my primary external drive, so it's been perfect for three weeks away from home where it's completely impractical (specifically, due to expense) to bring my iMac.

Hopefully, it'll serve my purpose for six to twelve months. And I think it's demonstrated to me so far that - as long as I'm just looking for a portable machine, not a replacement for my iMac - a MacBook Air (vs a Macbook Pro) is a practical option to take away alongside my work laptop.

Thanks, as always, for sticking around through this slow period here (because of my busy period outside Patreon) x

along the sandstone trail

^{[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 1 April 2024].}

It's already been a week since I returned from Delamere.

I managed to edit the above photo and a couple of others for a separate post before I travelled down to sit my regulars in Bromley on Wednesday evening. I'd hoped to write this post while there, but you know how sometimes you don't realise how tired you are until you stop? That.

So, I'm writing this on my one full day at home after my return from Bromley and before I head up to Glasgow for the best part of a week.

For my second trip courtesy of Avanti West Coast (well, technically, my third, as I booked it last and it was the 'bonus' trip I would give up if I couldn't afford the accommodation or my leave request was refused, but chronologically, it was the second), I opted to return to Manchester.

I figured that, as I'd visited the city quite a few times already, I wouldn't lose anything if I had to give it up, and it was a sufficient distance to justify the enjoyment of a first-class seat.

I looked at Airbnb options in and around the city but couldn't find any that stood out. I had decided I would, most likely, stay in a hotel at Media City. But I would also keep an eye out for pet sittings in and around Manchester in case something suitable popped up to avoid me having to pay for accommodation.

I booked my train tickets and annual leave in mid-January, and then in late February, a couple of possible sittings came up through Trusted Housesitters and I applied for both.

To my joy and surprise, I received a positive reply to one of the applications the morning after I applied, with the invitation to a virtual meet and greet in early March. And I received an invitation to sit from the other, mere hours after the first pet parent responded.

While I would happily have spent a long weekend entertaining and being entertained by a corgi called Winston in Manchester itself, I held out for the virtual meet and greet with the owner of a cat, Peter, and (wait for it...) two peacocks, Bowie and Mercury, in a cottage near the village of Delamere in Cheshire, about an hour and ten minutes on the train from Manchester.

I was apprehensive about the prospect of sitting peacocks, but the location, the cottage and the opportunity to experience such things, were too good for me not to apply and find out more.

Long story short: my hour-and-a-half phone call with the pets' parent reassured me I wasn't taking on something I couldn't handle, and I was pleased to be offered the sit.

Peter the cat is a dentist, so I can't show you his face.

Or rather, for privacy reasons, I can't share photos of the pets I sat or the home I stayed in. But I will share plenty of photos from my time exploring a stretch of the Sandstone Trail, the nearby Delamere Forest, the walk up the Old Pale hill, and my walk between Delamere Railway Station, Delamare, Oakmere and Kelsall villages over the coming months (or years, knowing me).

The peacocks are beautiful creatures and seemed to warm to me over the few days I was there, though not enough to feed from my hand. I was less comfortable with the Angus bulls I encountered, though thankfully, none charged me. Sir Peter was an absolute sweetheart, and probably the snuggliest cat I've ever encountered.

The above photo was taken near the junction of the Sandstone Trail with the path from Delamere Railway Station.

The weather was somewhat unpredictable, with strong winds and short-lived showers creeping up on me, but I managed to experience some lovely spring weather and even get a bit of colour in my face (and my freckles came out) on my last full day wandering. It was a few degrees cooler than London, at about 7-9 degrees each day, but with a coat, mittens and leg warmers, and the body heat generated by walking, it was quite pleasant, and on the last day, more like sweater weather once I was moving.

I hope to return to sit those beautiful beasties again and explore more of the local area. I decided to forego wandering the forest itself, as on the Sunday I was there, every man and his dog and child (literally) was out doing just that. And Delamere is a perfect spot to explore nearby villages and venture further afield to Chester, Liverpool and Manchester.

friends in high places

^{[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 17 March 2024].}

I returned home from a week in Llandudno, Wales, on Friday.

After sitting Meg and Mog in Minera in October 2021, the Avanti West Coast (AWC) leg of my journey back to London was cancelled. I contacted them to see if I might be eligible for partial compensation, even though I had a flexible ticket to allow me to catch alternative trains from Chester to London. I arrived only half an hour later than scheduled, though I had to stand in a doorway with my suitcase on an overcrowded train from Stafford to Euston when I'd had a reserved seat on the original train.

They initially issued me two vouchers for free first-class advance single travel anywhere on the AWC network within one year of issue.

Because of my finances and life, I didn't try to book them until the last day they were valid, with fingers firmly crossed I would be able to use them. That's when I found the voucher codes didn't work.

It was an issue on their part, so AWC reissued the vouchers, and they randomly issued me a third voucher. I'm still not entirely sure the third voucher wasn't a mistake, but who am I to argue with free travel?!

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untitled #78 [great orme, llandudno, wales, 2024]

Once again, finances and life meant I waited until the last minute to use the vouchers. This time, all vouchers worked the first time.

I booked tickets based on quick searches for accommodation and suitable dates for leave from work, pushing things out as far as possible. I honestly didn't know if I could afford the accommodation for each or even one of them.

Ultimately, for my first trip away, I found a suitable studio flat in a converted house a short walk from the centre of Llandudno (let's be fair: everything in Llandudno is a 'short walk' from the centre) on Airbnb.

As the flat was listed by a company, not an individual, out of curiosity, I looked for it as a direct rental. I found it only slightly cheaper via the Finest Retreats website, but I also found a one-bedroom flat in the same building on their site for the same price.

Green versus blue.

Blue is my favourite colour, and a studio flat was sufficient for my needs.

But the green flat had floral wallpaper. It would allow me to create new wallflowers self-portraits.

You can guess the decision I made.

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untitled #80 [great orme, llandudno, wales, 2024]

I shared several mobile photos from my trip on my Instagram during the week. But I have copious photos I took with my Nikon D700 during the week, which I'll share early access here in due course, including the wallflowers self-portraits I took on one of my "rest days" when the weather was not so great.

While staying in Llandudno, I walked the length of Marine Drive, the road that circles Great Orme, a limestone headland jutting out into the Irish Sea just behind where I stayed.

On the first day of walking around Great Orme, I could hear sheep baa-ing above me soon after passing the toll gate. The signage told me to expect sheep and goats along the way and warned me against approaching them.

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untitled #61 [great orme, llandudno, wales, 2024]

The first time I heard them, I could only just see them above me (the photograph above).

At a later point, I turned to look back to where I'd come from and saw some sheep on a ledge above the road (as shown in the other three photographs).

A couple and their small child were coming around the curve of the road behind me. I caught the father's eye and gestured to the sheep, thinking he would point them out to his child.

Instead, he responded in a blasé fashion, "Yes, they're everywhere". I mentioned I had heard them further back but could barely see them. He commented on my camera's lens as if my only interest was photographing them.

Maybe he was a local, and it was all in a day's walk for him. Perhaps he was having a trying day.

But I thought to myself (and maybe muttered under my breath) that I hope I never lose my sense of wonder like he had seemed to.

I hope I never find sheep and goats hanging out on a ledge well above my head or below the road on sheer cliffs and grassy outcrops utterly and unspeakably ordinary and uninteresting, even if I lived in a place where I saw it every day.

What a dull life that would be.

coaxing life from death

^{[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 26 February 2024].}

a year later... or thereabouts.

So, it's been a year since Mum passed. Well, kind of.

I mean, she died at 06:10 on 1 March 2023 AEDT, but for me, that means her time of death was actually 19:10 GMT on 28 February 2023.

So, for me, that should mean the anniversary of her passing was on 28 February 2024.

Except that this year is a leap year, so 06:10 AEDT on 1 March 2024 was 19:10 GMT on 29 February 2024.

Confused yet?

If I base the anniversary on the date she passed away in Australia (as that's where she was), then I'm posting this late. But it's still only 1 March 2024 here in London, so I guess I get longer to mark the anniversary.

Has anyone noticed I possess a certain sentimentality and a penchant for marking such important dates at precisely the right moment?

Though I didn't have a chance to post about it at either of the potentially recognised moments, it's been on my mind for some time, particularly during the evening on 28 February when it felt like I should acknowledge the passing of a year since her death.

Dad and I acknowledged the anniversary within the hour of her passing on 1 March 2024, his time, in our family WhatsApp chat.

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untitled #2

Yesterday afternoon, a little before and a little after my day's sitting with Francois ended, and before I left for my first sitting of the year with my regulars, I edited these two photos to share with this post acknowledging the anniversary.

Although I don't think she had any particular preference for daffodils (I don't remember them appearing often within bouquets she bought or received), her death will now be inextricably linked to them in my mind because of her passing on St David's Day and, in particular, because of her Welsh ancestry.

So, I was already thinking ahead to today when I photographed these two specimens in Frank's backyard the last weekend I sat him in mid-February. Knowing there would be photographs of daffodils as part of my tribute to her this year, as I have access to very few photos of her, and most I've already shared. While thinking ahead to the date and time conundrum as the impact of this leap year had already occurred to me by then.

One thing I didn't get to do while I was visiting Dad was to pore over their photo albums. Two weeks isn't a long time when you're working part-time, sorting through your deceased mother's personal effects and catching up with family you haven't seen in person in about three years.

I didn't know how I would feel one year on. If I'm honest, I still don't.

I mean, there's definitely been a sea of emotions surging around me for the past week or so.

I initially hoped to write my thoughts on the "exact" anniversary (for me). But practical matters had to be dealt with. So, instead, I sort of softly welled up thinking about it without having the time or capacity to put the feelings into words. But knowing I would when I could.

I know it's cliched to say it feels like less than a year, but in the same breath, to say it feels more than a year. But it does.

It's been less than a year since we said goodbye as a family and scattered her ashes.

It's been more than a year since she and I last spoke. Or rather, I spoke to her, as she didn't have many words left by then.

So, the passing of time since her passing has been warped and bent. Though that's not uncommon. I know others feel similarly about the passing of their loved ones, even without the added confusion of leap years interfering with their marking of time.

I wrote a lot about her last year. And I don't doubt I will write more in time. I took photos while visiting my family in Australia that triggered memories, anecdotes, and so forth that I hope to capture in words. Some I'll capture for myself. Others I'll share.

In the meantime, as Spring drags its feet returning to England, the daffodils rush in and bloom on the verges and traffic islands, in suburban gardens, central London parks, cemeteries, the local supermarket, the vase in the entry to our building placed there by my Welsh neighbour who lives downstairs. And in my mind.

For Mum. In her memory.

a bird in the hand

^{[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 21 November 2023].}

drinking birds

^{[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 26 September 2023].}

A semi-itinerant lifestyle has impacted my ability to keep my Patreon as regularly updated as I'd like, so thank you for sticking around.

I have one more sitting this month where I won't have access to a decent monitor to edit photos. But then I'll be down to much more irregular sittings until February, so I'll edit my heart out as much as possible while I'm more settled.

Since late March, I've barely been home.

And when I have been, I've been wrestling with flat-related shenanigans, life admin and such.

Please don't mention the scaffolding that has encased our building since late March and prevents me from opening my bedroom window more than four inches. Or the boxes of books occupying most of the space on one side of my bed since early August, as I can't yet replace them on the bookcase while we wait for a section of paint in the lounge to be retouched (it's located directly above the bookcase).

The prints I previously had hanging in the lounge have also reverted to an inconvenience, as the repainting required their hooks to be removed. I'm reluctant to replace them on the walls. For reasons I won't go into here.

I'm trying to locate appropriate wrapping to stow them safely in existing packaging in our lounge in a way that infringes less on our living space.

On a related note: if you know anyone who would like to purchase framed prints from my alternate worlds series or selected work from other series (largely self-portraiture), please send them my way...

In addition to the times I've been away from home with only my work laptop, I've had two periods of about two weeks in May and August without my iMac due to required repairs, which hasn't helped.

As much as I love the furry personalities I've been sitting so much this year, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't looking forward to sleeping in my own bed for more than a few consecutive nights. To work at my own desk on a quality monitor with full access to my files.

In addition to the remaining sittings already booked for the next few months, I need to arrange other sittings and/or accommodation to take advantage of my rail vouchers, which will expire by mid-January.

But those will be trips with plenty of time for creativity, photography and being inspired.

I look forward to taking some proper annual leave after almost two years. (No, let's be honest, it will be four years in mid-November...)

But, on a positive note, I've been working on a new project inspired by a book a friend gifted me. And I've continued taking photos (not just of cats).

I look forward to sharing those with you soon!

thinking of home

^{[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 15 July 2023].}

I took these photos of Sabine's azaleas during my last cat-sitting for her before I went to Australia.

The blooms were beautiful and eye-catching.

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untitled #11 [bromley, london, united kingdom, 2023]

According to Wikipedia: Azaleas and rhododendrons were once so infamous for their toxicity that to receive a bouquet of their flowers in a black vase was a well-known death threat.

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untitled #12 [bromley, london, united kingdom, 2023]

But they were apparently immortalised by Tang dynasty Chinese poet Du Fu in the last two stanzas of his poem, Alone, looking for blossoms along the river:

The sorrow of riverside blossoms inexplicable,
And nowhere to complain — I've gone half crazy.
I look up our southern neighbor. But my friend in wine
Gone ten days drinking. I find only an empty bed.

A thick frenzy of blossoms shrouding the riverside,
I stroll, listing dangerously, in full fear of spring.
Poems, wine — even this profusely driven, I endure.
Arrangements for this old, white-haired man can wait.

A deep river, two or three houses in bamboo quiet,
And such goings on: red blossoms glaring with white!
Among spring's vociferous glories, I too have my place:
With a lovely wine, bidding life's affairs bon voyage.

Looking east to Shao, its smoke filled with blossoms,
I admire that stately Po-hua wineshop even more.
To empty golden wine cups, calling such beautiful
Dancing girls to embroidered mats — who could bear it?

East of the river, before Abbot Huang's grave,
Spring is a frail splendor among gentle breezes.
In this crush of peach blossoms opening ownerless,
Shall I treasure light reds, or treasure them dark?

At Madame Huang's house, blossoms fill the paths:
Thousands, tens of thousands haul the branches down.
And butterflies linger playfully — an unbroken
Dance floating to songs orioles sing at their ease.

I don't so love blossoms I want to die. I'm afraid,
Once they are gone, of old age still more impetuous.
And they scatter gladly, by the branchful. Let's talk
Things over, little buds — open delicately, sparingly.

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untitled #8 [bromley, london, united kingdom, 2023]

In Chinese culture, it's apparently known as the "thinking of home bush", thus my title for this post.

Sabine's home has become something of a second home for me over the past year and a half, and spending time with her kittehs most months last year and many months this year so far has impacted my mental health positively.

Not to mention the enjoyment I get from the evenings spent in conversation with her the nights before she goes away. And the delicious and varied salads she usually makes us.

water of leith

^{[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 13 July 2023].}

It may seem like I just came back from a holiday.

And I'm not going to lie: some parts of my time away in Australia were definitely a holiday.

But I worked part-time in my "day job" while I was away. And a lot of the time I was away was hard, emotional work.

Attempting to regain control of my finances, I've had my annual leave accrual paid out in cash for the past year and a half. So, though I was effectively paid for my leave, it wasn't money going into my bank account while I was away. I didn't have the luxury of being on an actual holiday.

There were some beautiful, wonderful times with family and friends during my time in Australia.

My visit with my Uncle John was far too short. I wanted to talk with him more. About him, about family. And, yes, even perhaps have another 2.5-hour debate about politics ;)

Despite having a two-week stay with Dad, I left knowing there were more things I wanted to help him with. Conversations not yet had.

A whole room of Mum's stuff left to sort through.

And more games of Scrabble to play, Canasta to learn with him and Cheryl, and even lazy afternoons spent together watching 'The Chase' (both the British and Australian versions) or evenings watching nature documentaries and eating ice creams.

Melbourne was crazy. I spent more time with friends and family in six days than I would generally spend in a year.

It was amazing, as someone who values the people I spend time with. As an introvert, it was exhausting.

And my time in Perth was far too short.

Though my Uncle Graham and I may have different views on many things, I would like to hear his.

I presumed that Mum - as someone so absorbed and obsessed with family - would have held all the family history. And that, with her parents, aunts and uncles and her gone, a lot of that would be lost.

But a short period with my uncle demonstrated he was just as attentive, though maybe attentive to different things. I would have enjoyed talking with (or just listening to) him more to try to piece together more of the family now that Mum's gone.

Dad wrote a long and lovely piece about Mum before she passed. If I recall correctly, I asked him to, as I should have asked her to do decades before. An extended biography that I still need to edit for him.

I've asked him to do the same, but I presume (and hope!) I won't read that for quite a while still.

While in Brisbane, I asked that Uncle John do the same. About him. And in partnership with Dad, about my grandparents, about their uncles.

I didn't ask Uncle Graham, but I would like him to and will email him to ask. Because Mum told me all the family stories, but I never asked her to write them down.

She told them to me as we pored over her family photo albums after dinner and red wine. I lapped up those stories in the moment. And I still savour them, but the reality is that I absorbed only morsels compared to the complete tales.

During this visit, I spent quality time with a cousin I had previously been mere acquaintances with. Perhaps not enough to feel we truly know each other. But we connected more and for longer than we ever had before.

I would have liked to spend more time catching up with my other cousin, who I had connected with previously. But we only briefly caught up during this visit, and our time was full of food and family chatter.

But at least, after this visit, I felt more connected with my Mum's family than before.

And I'm grateful to my cousin Rhys for playing tour guide and taking me to calm, picturesque places, which allowed me to wind down after such a hectic time in Melbourne (and provided me with plenty of photo opportunities).

All that to say that, after not having had a holiday in the true sense since October/November 2019 (and it's debatable it was even a 'holiday' for various reasons), I have, of late, been plotting and planning a return to Scotland.

It will hopefully take place in late September. And the plan is to visit two friends I met in 2000 in Reading while living there. Who I haven't seen in person since about 2002 and 2009, respectively. And who I've had intermittent contact with during that period.

And having actual paid time off to do that. To see parts of Scotland I've not previously seen (ooh-er!) and to spend time with good people. And, of course, to take copious amounts of photos.

It's all still very much to be confirmed, but to say I'm excited at the prospect would be an understatement.

To celebrate the possibility, a photo of the Water of Leith, near Dean Village, that I took in August 2011. The last time I was in Edinburgh.

hypoxylon

^{[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 31 May 2023].}

Some hypoxylon I stumbled across in Brockley and Ladywell Cemeteries a few weeks ago.

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deadwood [brockley and ladywell cemeteries, london, england, 2023]

memories of you

I started writing about Mum about two hours after I learned she had passed away. My Dad had shared the news with my brothers - Robert and Peter - and me about 10 minutes after her official time of death.

Through tears, I just started writing. But it was hard to organise my thoughts.

And, as Pete and I had shared photographs of Mum on our social media accounts after we got the news, family and friends who knew about her long battle with frontotemporal dementia realised what had happened, despite our lack of words accompanying the images.

I was overwhelmed with so many kind words that I couldn't focus on writing.

And it felt too raw anyway.

I needed time and space to come back to it. Which I've been kindly given.

So, the thoughts, memories and feelings I've pushed down in my heart since that Tuesday evening have been able to bubble back up, and I could finally allow them to play around the edges of my mind.

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margaret hyde by malcolm or eunice lodwick [batemans bay, new south wales, australia, 1966]

Memories of a woman who was creative and resourceful.

Over time, after Mum moved into the nursing home, her clothing gradually needed replacing. When it did, my Dad struggled with finding replacements from clothing shops. She had made her own clothes for most of her adult life. Very little of her clothing had tags inside the collars, along the side seam or at the waistband telling him what size she was because it had been stitched together using her own sewing machine and overlocker, using fabrics she selected herself and patterns she'd perfected over many years, sometimes decades.

She didn't care for passing fads or seasonal styles. She made clothes she felt comfortable in, both formal and casual.

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peter and bronwen hyde by margaret hyde [aspley, queensland, australia, 1980]

As we were growing up, she also made most of my and my brothers' clothes. I probably didn't own any store-bought knickers until I was almost a teenager. The bathers we wore in our kidney-shaped swimming pool in Aspley were all made by her.

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bronwen and joshua by margaret hyde [aspley, queensland, australia, 1982]

Growing up, I had a favourite plum-coloured dress with floral-patterned panels, which she made.

As a tween and then a teen, I finally owned my first pairs of denim and corduroy jeans, and I went through a phase of wearing hand-me-down surf wear Rob had tired of. But often, these were paired with knitted vests my Mum made for me.

When I moved back to Melbourne to go to college and spent many a night out on dancefloors of indie clubs, I must have told Mum about my habit of putting my money in my socks by my ankles. And about the loose change bruising my ankles as it banged against my skin while I danced because none of my club clothing had pockets.

She quickly produced a solution: a collection of small "pockets" made from off-cut material with a strip of velcro across the top. She sewed the other half of the velcro strip (the soft side) into the inside of the waistband of polyester trousers I wore under skirts at the time, so I could wear the trousers with or without the pockets. When I danced, the pockets held my ID, bank cards, notes and loose change. When not in use, I could pop them in the washing machine to clean them of the sweat I produced over three to five hours of dancing.

When I could no longer get the trousers and skirts I liked in the shops, and other people's cigarettes had left burn marks in mine, we found almost identical material in Spotlight. And Mum made new trousers and skirts for me, using the originals as a pattern.

Many years later, she used the same skirt pattern (a simple A-line) to create a range of skirts I could wear in a business environment, complete with lining. I picked out the colours, and she did the rest.

I still have all those skirts though they don't currently fit me. But I wore a different colour almost every day of the week, matched with shirts and tops bought new and secondhand, along with matching tights and shoes. They served me well for many years, and if I could fit into them and had to be more corporate again, I would return to wearing them.

I lost count of how many dresses and skirts she took in, took up, or redesigned for me. I would buy brightly coloured and boldly patterned dresses from charity and vintage shops and take them with me when I visited for her to adjust. She was more than happy to, in most instances. Though, when I was a size 10, and I took her a size 16 dress, after wrestling with it for a time and finally successfully transforming it, she told me never to bring her anything above a size 14 again.

When we lived in Darwin, she took up screen printing and would decorate her homemade t-shirts with distinctive floral designs.

She embroidered clothing, cushions, and pictures that hung on our childhood bedroom walls.

She taught me to knit as she made jumpers and knitted vests for herself (though I barely remember how to do such things now).

She explored and took me through almost every late '70s and early '80s crafting trend: macramé, papier-mâché, tie-dye, patchwork, crochet, découpage, etc.

She even made a doll's house for my Littles using patterned contact paper as wallpaper.

She also loved to take photographs. I don't think she ever saw it as more than a hobby (though she and Dad both sold prints, postcards, etc., on RedBubble), but there is at least one photo of her with a telephoto lens in her 20s.

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bronwen and robert hyde by margaret hyde [aspley, queensland, australia, 1983]

She was always armed with a camera during holidays and whenever one of us kids had a dress-up or other important event. And, over her life, she captured so much of her time living in various parts of Australia and Papua New Guinea and her extensive travels before marriage and with Dad and us kids.

When the letter arrived to tell me I had been accepted into the Diploma of Illustrative Photography course at Photography Studies College in Melbourne, she called through the bathroom door to hurry me out of the shower as she was possibly even more excited than I was to find out whether I had got in. (Mum would never open other people's mail without their permission, even when we were small children, so she had to wait for me to dry off to find out!)

Memories of a woman who encouraged my creativity and learning.

Before I fell in love with photography, my Mum was enthusiastic for all three of her kids to learn an instrument. She researched and tried to find musical instruments matching each of our temperaments.

She had learned to play the piano growing up but would honestly have admitted she never grasped it that well. She loved the sound of piano music, so I think she was thankful I took to it and played for so long.

She bought me a piano when I first started learning around four years old with the idea that if I didn't take to it, she would play it. I don't think she ever really had many opportunities, as I often sat on the piano stool practising, even during the week after I said I didn't want to play anymore when I played even more than usual.

Every time I visited after I moved out, she would encourage me to play. She would listen to anything I wanted to play while she made dinner around the corner in the kitchen. She was as happy to listen to me playing hits by Madonna from the 1980s to Radiohead songs she probably had never heard the originals of, as well as classical and modern pieces I learned for various exams over the years.

It was like an extension of our time together when I was in late primary school and sat at the breakfast bar in our kitchen as she prepared dinner and read to her whatever book I was devouring. I honestly couldn't tell you what I read to her, but I presume at least some of it was Judy Blume's novels. I'm sure I didn't read any of the terribly saucy Jackie Collins novels I used to borrow from the library or the Sweet Valley High series I was prone to reading in grade six. But I'm sure the content wasn't even that important to her.

It was initially a way to encourage my reading and help me with new (to me) words. But it would also have been a way to relieve some of the tediousness of making dinner for five most nights of the week and to feel less alone and like a servant to her family. I know Mum enjoyed cooking, but I'm sure there were days when she would rather have had a break. I probably never thought of it that way at the time. In retrospect, I was an analogue version of Audible for her.

Memories of a woman with a wickedly impish sense of humour.

It's probably safe to say I got my dirty mind and love of double entendre from Mum. Possibly my love of puns. And she, in turn, probably got her sense of humour from her parents.

When Mum and Dad ran a motel and restaurant in Stawell, a small former gold-mining town in Victoria, she loved to pick up dirty jokes from the sales reps who regularly passed through. She relished retelling them to anyone who would listen. I rarely had the talent for joke-telling, but Mum truly enjoyed sharing those jokes with the staff and guests and the belly laughs or groans they inspired.

When we were kids, Mum never seemed to shy from causing controversy in the neighbourhood. She raised a bit of a stir roaring down the incline of our suburban street in the billy-cart my Dad made for us kids (using the wheels from my pram to my initial mortification but then enjoyment). Apparently, that was a bit much for our north Brisbane neighbourhood.

To this day, I don't know why Mum put a pig's head in our oven (maybe pig's cheek recipes were popular in the '80s?), but I do remember finding out that several of the neighbourhood children's parents expressed their horror that Mum gave their kids the teeth of said pig to take home.

That was one of the hardest things to grapple with when Mum's dementia took hold. She literally lost her sense of humour. Her laughter was almost entirely absent for much of the time after she was finally diagnosed.

There were exceptions: the day I arrived in Tasmania in October 2019, mere days before her 74th birthday, she knew me. She was pleased to see me. She proudly told anyone who would listen who it was that had come to visit.

Though her recognition of me slipped away within a short while with the distraction of being in a hospital and her confusion about the various things attached to her body, every now and then that day and the next, a wry grin would sneak across her face. And we poked our tongues out at each other playfully on one occasion. They were the last moments of humour I shared with Mum in person.

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margaret hyde [meercroft, devonport, tasmania, australia, 2020]

There were the odd moments on Skype calls when I returned to London where I would see glimmers, but they were 'blink, and you'll miss them' moments.

I was wearing a summer dress with thin shoulder straps one night when one of the carers helped Mum and me have a call, but my long hair obscured the straps causing Mum to think I was naked and to make a cheeky joke about it. And another time, when the carer told Mum she was talking to her daughter, she made a self-deprecating joke that I was too pretty to be her daughter.

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margaret and peter hyde by peter hyde [devonport, tasmania, australia, 2020]

Pete took two self-portraits of him with Mum in the last few years that capture her true essence in what I imagine was a brief moment of her old self re-emerging. I will forever be jealous of that moment and that he managed to freeze it in time. But happy for him that he had that moment and caught it for all of us.

Memories of a woman who exhibited endless affection.

Those self-portraits also capture Mum's all-pervading affection. Another aspect of her personality that was all but obliterated by her dementia. She went from being one of the most affectionate people you could know to someone who often seemed repelled by human contact.

Mum was always giving hugs, asking for hugs, kissing all of us on the cheek, and open to us kids curling up into the crook of her armpit or sitting on her lap as we watched television or when guests visited. Her family was like that, and she encouraged that environment in our home.

Dad and his brother had grown up in a loving but not physically affectionate family. My Mum gradually and proudly brought the affection she was accustomed to into their lives.

When I was a child, my uncle would shake the hands of my brothers and me as a greeting and on departure. As we grew older, he had been so well trained by Mum that hugs replaced handshakes.

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margaret and bronwen hyde by graeme hyde [rivett, australian capital territory, australia, 1977]

Memories of our ever-changing relationship.

My almost 46-year relationship with Mum went through many stages.

Almost without fail, she was an encouraging and supportive guide when I was growing up. She saw my potential in many areas and nurtured it. She encouraged my love of reading, music, photography and learning, even if she didn't always approve of what I read, the music I enjoyed, the photography I created and the beliefs I earned through my learning.

In my teens, she was protective and supportive but let me find things out for myself. To forge my own way. Maybe she figured she had no choice, as I was often headstrong and stubborn. But she would also have known she'd prepared me well for those years. In my formative years, she was always open about puberty and sexuality. And tried to reinforce common sense and self-worth.

When I left the family home, she took me completely by surprise by saying goodbye through tears. I had presumed she would be glad to have another child out of her hair, and I was excited about what the future held and looking forward to that. So it had never really occurred to me before that moment how this event would affect her.

But in those next few years, I saw Mum as my best friend. We spoke on the phone for hours at least once a week. I knew I could ask her about anything. I gave her updates on my life, and we talked about everything and nothing.

I called her each time I realised I hadn't been paying enough attention to what she'd taught me about cooking, laundry, or whatever. Despite my parents giving us plenty of guidance on cooking and implementing a monthly meal where the three of us prepared a three-course meal, I had forgotten even the basics of boiling water. And I sought her advice on methods to know if my eggs were safe to eat because I'd taken them out of the carton, put them in the fridge door, not kept the use-by information and couldn't remember when I bought them.

In my late teens or early 20s, I spoke with her one evening to say that I'd often felt she was there for my brothers more than me as we grew up. It wasn't recrimination. Just telling her honestly how I felt.

She took my comment as intended and told me honestly that she had often felt I didn't need her as the boys did. That I always seemed to be so self-sufficient. I never really seemed to need anyone, as so much of what I did and enjoyed didn't require anyone else. That I always seemed to enjoy my own company.

Our strong relationship was based on our ability to talk honestly like that. As I moved into my thirties, we seemed to lose some of that and grew apart.

Memories of a woman with insatiably itchy feet.

When I moved to the other side of the world for the first time, I gave my parents another excuse to travel. So I was able to see them and travel with them in 2001.

My parents shared an insatiable passion for travel. They travelled a lot before they met but even more together, including with us kids.

We also moved so much during my childhood and adolescence that people would ask if my parents had been in the RAAF, especially having lived in Darwin and Stawell. At the time of Mum's passing, my parents had lived in five of Australia's eight states and territories.

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margaret and graeme hyde [london, england, 2017]

Mum's last international trip was in 2017 to the UK and Ireland, and I joined my parents for a road trip around mainland England for some of their time here. It was a difficult trip.

I'd had difficult holidays with Mum before because we clashed more often than we agreed by about 2010. And, on some trips since then, I'd felt like an interloper.

But 2017 was harder as her (as yet undiagnosed) dementia was evident. It caused stress for my parents as Mum frequently put valuable items like her passport in unexpected places. So there would be frantic last-minute searches for the item with the possibility that she had left it somewhere (thankfully, she hadn't).

When I was travelling with them, Dad and I would discuss our hopes for the next day (we knew they would often only be hopes as we didn't know what Mum might cope with, how far she could travel, and when she might suddenly change her mind and refuse to do something she had been enthusiastic about earlier in the day), and Mum would often become paranoid. As though she wasn't entirely sure who I was or why I was there. Or that we were talking about her behind her back (which we were, but only because of our love for her, trying to figure out what would be manageable).

Despite how difficult that trip was and how far dementia had already impacted Mum's memory and personality, I loved seeing moments like the one I captured between my parents in the photo above as they walked through London: still reaching for each other's hands after 47 years of marriage.

One of my strongest memories of Mum will always be her love for Dad and their love for each other, though dementia obscured her feelings for the last four years of her life.

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margaret hyde [lamington national park, queensland, australia, 2010]

Memories of a woman who was quite different to me.

Despite my grandparents being quite progressive in many ways, Mum grew up in a home where you didn't talk about politics or religion in polite company. So over the years, as my views on both became more outspoken, particularly about politics, Mum and I often clashed. I would have healthy discussions and debates (though quite heated at times, I wouldn't have called them arguments) with Dad and my uncle that Mum found quite stressful, which I, in turn, found hard to understand.

Despite the conflicts that arose from those exchanges, when the conversations turned to her family, the places we'd lived together, and so on, we would find common ground again. And we would pore over her photo albums, and she would tell me stories of her family.

I wish I'd encouraged her to write down those stories and experiences. Some of them stick with me still, but as I only have two cousins and she had 36, keeping track of the who, let alone the what and the when is hard enough. I don't know that her brother carries those stories the same way she did, and with most of her cousins passing before her, I fear many of those stories are forever lost.

I think Mum and Dad's overarching hope for all three of us kids was for us to be happy, whatever that meant for us. But I think Mum also struggled with the fact that the paths each of us took were quite different from her own. And maybe different from what she would have wanted for us.

I know, for example, that she would have loved to have been a grandmother. But, for various reasons, that never happened.

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margaret hyde [paris, france, 1991]

Now just memories.

We knew this day was coming for years, but it still feels unreal in many ways.

It's been about five months since things started to feel imminent, but I've been grieving since the last time I left Tasmania on 31 October 2019. Knowing it would be the last time I'd see Mum alive and hold her as we hugged in the Devonport airport. I couldn't contain my tears as the stewardess went through the safety instructions once we'd boarded the plane and taken off.

We managed Skype calls here and there with the help of the supportive staff at Mum's nursing home and Dad when it timed in with his visits. But we'd had to give that up when it became evident it was too stressful and confusing for Mum.

Our last Skype call was in early October 2021, and I couldn't return to visit since.

When the nursing home advised in early to mid-February that Mum had lost the ability to swallow and hadn't eaten anything for two days, we knew the time for false alarms had passed.

Her time of death was at 06:10 AEST. With the time difference between Tasmania and London, she passed away at 19:10 on 28 February GMT. But, in reality, she died on 1 March. For the evening, I could almost pretend her death hadn't yet happened.

Before she passed, I asked Dad in one of our Skype calls if he could take a photograph of her after she passed when the time came. He did and sent it to my brothers and me via WhatsApp when he was with her for the final time.

As you'd expect, it's a hard photograph to see (and I'm obviously not sharing it here). But it was a way for me to acknowledge her passing fully and for the reality to sink in as I was so far away for so much of her illness.

Although the grief has come in waves for so long, and things became "final" two weeks ago, I'm still not sure it will hit me fully until I can visit Dad in Tasmania and be in their house and feel her permanent absence.

Rest in peace, Margaret Alice Hyde.

24.10.1945 - 01.03.2023

I love you,

Miss Mouse.

bosham

^{[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 10 February 2023].}

I've been working through my photographs of Bosham in West Sussex from a visit there in September 2021 since mid-January. Hoping each week to share a batch of the images with my patrons on a Tuesday as part of my Travel Tuesday curated series.

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untitled #236 [bosham, west sussex, england, 2021]

I finally finished this batch (edited down from about 21 photographs that would have worked together) last Thursday evening. And I finally shared them with my patrons on Friday evening. So, not quite as planned.

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untitled #197 [bosham, west sussex, england, 2021]

I'm trying not to be too hard on myself about it.

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untitled #213 [bosham, west sussex, england, 2021]

October last year was a tough month.

Sitting a gorgeous but poorly kitteh proved to be both stressful and therapeutic.

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untitled #194 [bosham, west sussex, england, 2021]

My day job involved long hours in the lead-up to go-live of the rebuild of the organisation's website.

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untitled #195 [bosham, west sussex, england, 2021]

Amidst all that, there was worrying news coming in about my Mum. News that settled again, thankfully, but there was a lot of heightened emotion and stress to deal with until things seemed to return to her version of "normal".

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untitled #241 [bosham, west sussex, england, 2021]

Once all that died down, I still found myself feeling fatigued. My sleeping patterns were erratic. Getting out of bed was really, really hard. Staying out of bed during the day was just as hard. But in the evenings, I'd find my second wind and could make-up day job hours and work on some creative things.

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untitled #215 [bosham, west sussex, england, 2021]

In early November, about a month after my fast-track round of B12 jabs ended, I felt like the effects had already worn off.

I was still going through the process of elimination with health issues (technically, I still am, but the worst options are, thankfully, off the table). So I put some of it down to that but had my B12 and vitamin D tests redone in early January to check those hadn't started to backslide.

I had my next B12 jab a few days after the results came back. And though my vitamin D levels are still "insufficient", they're not terrible, and my B12 levels were back within an acceptable range.

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untitled #206 [bosham, west sussex, england, 2021]

But I didn't feel any better. And not knowing why was more frustrating than anything.

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untitled #228 [bosham, west sussex, england, 2021]

That is until a couple of weeks ago, at 05:00. As I lay there in the dark, unable to sleep, it occurred to me that I was suffering from seasonal affective disorder (SAD) again.

Although knowing the cause doesn't mean the issue immediately resolves itself, it does help me feel less uneasy. I know what to focus on until the weather changes and that many symptoms will subside with time and by taking specific actions.

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untitled #201 [bosham, west sussex, england, 2021]

But then another bout of worrying news came in from Dad last week. We don't know if it will prove another false alarm or if it's the beginning of the end. And that almost makes it harder somehow.

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untitled #237 [bosham, west sussex, england, 2021]

All this to say that, right now, life feels a bit like wading through molasses. And it could get worse before it gets better.

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untitled #196 [bosham, west sussex, england, 2021]

But I have good days when I spend hours lost in ideas for new projects, instalments of existing projects, writing and planning and editing, and I'm excited about everything. And I try to hold onto those thoughts on the days when I lose hours lying in bed feeling emotionally paralysed.

I also have many sessions booked with my therapy kittehs and soon-to-be therapy doggos this year.

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untitled #216 [bosham, west sussex, england, 2021]

This past weekend I was with my regulars in Bromley for the first time this year after a break in January, and I hope it was as therapeutic for them as it was for me.

I hope you'll stick around to see the fruits of the good days as I have the chance to share them with you. And I will continue to share them with you as often as possible.

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untitled #193 [bosham, west sussex, england, 2021]

arseways round

The portrait of Mouri above I took while cat-sitting her and her father, Dugla, nicely sums up 2022.

It wasn’t a bad year as such.

It was just a bit befuddling, stressful and a constant balancing act.

I experienced worse and more frequent panic attacks earlier in the year due to health issues. I’m hoping the trigger has just turned out to be a new food intolerance (the jury’s still out). But I became near-agoraphobic for a period.

In addition, I got a bite guard and discovered I was both vitamin D deficient and B12 anaemic again 15 years later.

With some time, stern self-talk, medical tests and procedures, I seem to have brought the psychological impact of the potential food intolerance under control. But I need to confirm my suspicions before things return to “normal” (though, even then, the likely culprit is so widespread that “normal” is definitely subjective).

My year started well with temporary work beginning in mid-January. It allowed me to get back on my feet financially after a couple of years of sporadic work and the lingering psychological impact from previous jobs.

And the job offer came despite my being open about my experience photographing roadkill. I shared that in the context of the organisation focussing on haematology as I would potentially have to interact with graphic and disturbing imagery.

Almost a year on, my managers and co-workers are some of the best people I’ve worked with.

They’re inclusive. They understand work-life balance. There’s zero bullying and no alpha male egos to contend with. Bliss.

At this stage, I expect to continue to work with them for a few more months at least, but we’ll see what lies ahead.

Despite the positive start to 2022, the year was bookended by death. And there was also the loss of a beautiful kitteh I stayed with in October.

Anthony left us unexpectedly in January, and a friend’s mother passed in November. So I attended my second-ever virtual funeral toward the beginning and my first-ever in-person funeral toward the end of the year.

Though the degree to which I knew each was quite different, both were meaningful losses.

On the positive side, this year I:

• Had my hair cut and coloured for the first time since early October 2019.

• Attended my first live gig since the pandemic started.

• Visited four art exhibitions.

• Read a book cover-to-cover in one evening (okay, technically, it was a short story, but it’s the most I’ve read in book form since 2021…)

• Resumed my language studies (late in the year, this is recent).

• Continued my letter-writing (albeit just one this year…)

• Took some new self-portraits.

• Continued to share curated series from my sepulchre work and travel photographs, and I swapped fungi for flowers.

• Created the odd digital collage.

• Dabbled in AI art.

• Engaged with at least 40 people on dating apps (though at least five turned out to be douches) and went on dates with 10 of those I chatted with (who were mostly not those who turned out to be douches).

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primark, formerly medhursts [bromley, london, england, 2022]

This year, I found something of a second home in Bromley, cat-sitting Lily, Sammy and Poppy most months of the year.

The current Primark was originally Medhursts department store, where David Bowie used to buy vinyl. And I popped by to look at a couple of the houses he lived in as a lad.

Earlier in the year, while cat-sitting, I revisited the Imperial Arms in Chislehurst and wandered through

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untitled #59 [elmstead wood, bromley, london, england, 2022]

Elmstead Wood and

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untitled #91 [marvels wood, bromley, london, england, 2022]

Marvels Wood.

I didn’t travel as far afield as I’d hoped, but I did manage to venture out of London to visit

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untitled #21 [leeds castle, maidstone, kent, england, 2022]

Leeds Castle and

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bletchley park [bletchley, buckinghamshire, england, 2022]

Bletchley Park.

As well as catching up with Meg and Mog in their new home

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untitled #6 [cotton end, bedfordshire, england, 2022]

in Cotton End, just outside of Bedford, and an overnight stay in Bedford a few months later.

And days out in London included revisiting

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untitled #2122 [regent’s park, london, england, 2022]

Regent’s Park with my new co-workers and visiting

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the sky’s the limit [sky garden, city of london, london, england, 2022]

the Sky Garden for the first time with friends old and new.

It was a quiet year on the cemetery front.

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untitled #52 [abney park cemetery, stoke newington, london, england, 2022]

I revisited Abney Park Cemetery on a first date.

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watering can [grove park cemetery, grove park, london, england, 2022]

I visited Grove Park Cemetery for the first time.

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untitled #2540 [bunhill fields, islington, london, england, 2022]

And dropped in to see William Blake and John Bunyan in Bunhill Fields for the third time.

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untitled #2553 [bunhill fields, islington, london, england, 2022]

Stopping to chit-chat with the resident squirrels.

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untitled #2 [new river, hornsey, london, england, 2022]

Sitting Lottie (and her loss) led to a renewed friendship with Sarah and a wander along the New River (not new, not a river) from Hornsey to Bowes Park.

Hopefully, in 2023, we’ll continue that walk north from Bowes Park.

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untitled #45

It was an absolute pleasure sitting with Lottie earlier this year despite her being poorly.

I love this portrait I took of her because it’s so uncharacteristic of such a sweet-natured kitteh. Obviously, she was yawning - not threatening to decapitate me - at the time. Though it may seem otherwise.

Alongside my new friendship with Lottie and recurring stays with Lily, Sammy and Poppy, and Meg and Mog, I added

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untitled #36

Mia (including her cat-sitting me with her cat-mother, Sophie, post-medical procedure),

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untitled #89

Dugla,

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untitled #71

Mouri and

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untitled #27

Bentley to my close feline friends this year.

In 2022, I spent 63 nights with smooshable kittehs and visited kittehs locally 13 times.

I had 10 furry clients. Five of them were new clients.

I’m hoping my mojo will be fully restored in 2023. So I can enjoy kitteh-sits, doggo-sits, and photo walks further afield. And continue to hang out with my faves closer to home.

And on the creative side, I look forward to creating and sharing:

• Themed chapbooks (including photographs, writing, collages, sketches, musical compositions and curated playlists).

• Collaborations.

• Possibly some AI art (but likely incorporated into other work).

• More instalments of existing series, including my love letters to london.

• New series I’m yet to discover.

I hope your 2022 went as smoothly as possible and that 2023 will bring you lots of good things. xx

lichenometry

^{[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 19 December 2022].}

I love when my photography leads me to discover new (to me) and very geeky things.

In seeking an appropriate word to use as a title for this image, I read about an intriguing way of measuring time and dating rock.

No, not that kind of dating.

Rather, establishing the age of exposed rock.

weeping willows

^{[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 29 November 2022].}

RIP Yasmin Jafferali Riaz.

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untitled #21 [river great ouse, bedford, bedfordshire, england, 2018]

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.

moth orchid (yellow)

^{[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 6 September 2022].}

Here are some beautiful Phalaenopsis or moth orchids I photographed the weekend before last in the home of a woman I regularly cat-sit for.

My own have also been flowering, and I captured them a month ago when some of the flowers were still in the bud. I'll share images of those in my next instalment of a floral tribute.

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untitled #58

I'm playing 'catch-up' again after returning from my latest cat-sitting gig and dealing with some personal bits and pieces.

There may be a break in my regular cat-sitting for a bit, so that will mean fewer hiatus here, hopefully.

I absolutely adore the kittehs and love spending time with them. But the laptop I use when I'm away isn't great for editing photos (or anything creative). Aside from anything, the screen is too small.

I also feel like I should savour every chance for kitteh snuggles when cat-sitting. So, sitting at a desk instead of reclining on the lounge where I'm more likely to attract those snuggles seems silly.

The impact of my vitamin deficiencies has also been heavily felt lately. I'm thankful I'll have a follow-up appointment with my GP next week as I imagine she will start me on B12 injections, and then maybe I can start to get my energy back. The lethargy and fatigue I fight are becoming... well... tiresome.

I hope you're all doing okay. Feel free to leave a comment to check in and say hello!

...and a shed in the back

^{[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 6 August 2022].}

I took these photos in October last year when I was in Minera, Wales, cat-sitting Meg and Mog for friends.

In a few days, I'll be cat-sitting Meg and Mog again, but it will be in a village a short distance south of Bedford.

When I went to Minera, it was because Meg and Mog's mothers were house-hunting for a new home within a more manageable commuting distance from London. They had previously been neighbours living at the other end of my street.

I'm hoping to head back to north Wales sometime this summer. But with my health issues making travel nerve-wracking at the moment, Cotton End will be a chance to test the waters, the effectiveness of my new meds and, hopefully, get my mojo back.

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untitled #51 [minera, wales, united kingdom, 2021]

Cotton End is a shorter journey from my home than Bromley, where I stayed last weekend to cat-sit Sammy, Lily and Poppy. While I was there, I chose not to venture out much. Literally, two supermarket runs less than ten minutes walk from the house.

Unfortunately, the mercury is set to soar this coming week. That will make going out less appealing for me. But I hope to get out at least a little with my camera.

If possible, I'll also meet up with a friend and her mother who live in Bedford. But it will depend on their schedule and health.

storksbills in the cemetery

^{[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 27 July 2022].}

Hello, my lovelies.

It's been far too quiet around these parts. For that, I offer my sincerest apologies.

I've been trying to get back on track, but I've been thrown a little off-kilter the past few weeks. And, in some respects, the past few months.

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untitled #60 [st kilda cemetery, st kilda, victoria, australia, 2007]

My last post here was pre-scheduled. Which was handy, given I was sequestered (willingly!) in a friend's flat with her kitteh, Mia, and the slowest iMac known to woman (the last bit, not willingly!).

Unfortunately, that weekend also marked the beginning of a heatwave here in London.

Had I been home, the temperatures would have been higher than I'd have liked but manageable. However, in a first-floor flat with a curious kitteh, the windows could only be opened a small amount. When Mia wasn't hiding from the heat in a drawer under the bed, she was perched on the window openings cooling her tush.

Consequently, I spent most of the weekend lounging under a 10cm fan and keeping Mia company in her hatred of the heat.

The sun's emanations were too much for me to endure to see through my plan to visit some distinctive housing in the nearby neighbourhoods. Or to visit the Brockley and Ladywell Cemetery, as I had planned. Next time, Gadget, next time.

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untitled #15 [st kilda cemetery, st kilda, victoria, australia, 2007]

A busy but part-time week of work followed 'hot' on the heels of that.

I managed to sneak in some socialising outside my flat on Friday despite my ongoing health issues. Followed by a weekend of socialising inside my flat and hiding as much as possible from the heat.

The hottest day on record in the UK and the day preceding it blew out any plans I had for productivity outside my day job the following week.

It took most of the week to get my bedroom back down below 30 degrees, even at night. When it finally cooled almost enough, I celebrated by creating a Spotify playlist.

Health issues scuppered plans to walk the remaining section of the New River between Harringay Green Lanes Overground Station and Manor House/Finsbury Park with Scott and our cameras last Friday. At least we managed a pleasant afternoon of beers, ciders and conversation in place of that (with a detour to my GP's office).

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untitled #105 [st kilda cemetery, st kilda, victoria, australia, 2007]

On the positive side, at least I found out that day that the fatigue I've been feeling the past month or so wasn't just my imagination and or me being lazy. I'm vitamin D deficient and have low levels of vitamin B12 again. The former is being managed with some heavy-duty supplements. The latter requires retesting in six weeks. If still low, it will mean injections as I had back in 2007. Between now and then, I need to see if I can improve things from a dietary perspective to pump them back up a bit.

My other ongoing health issue hasn't been 100% diagnosed yet. I've been referred for further testing, but I have a new medication I started yesterday. That will hopefully manage the issues and get me back to photo walks and day trips soon enough. Fingers crossed.

Though, between dreams about the medication and my new bite guard, I've not had the best sleep the past few nights!

This is the first night I've managed to keep being creative after midnight for weeks. For someone who's a night owl and for whom this time is usually my most productive time, that has been beyond frustrating. I suspect this is because I took a long lunch today to nap for an hour and a half.

I hope to share more posts later in the day. And schedule new work for the weekend as I'll be away from home cat-sitting Lily, Sammy and Poppy from Thursday evening to Monday evening.

I'm also still working on my chapbook and other creative things. They're just taking far longer than I would have liked.

Thank you for your patience through all this.

death and roses

^{[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 8 July 2022].}

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untitled #306 [holy trinity church, bosham, west sussex, england, 2021]