untitled #270 [the nut, stanley, tasmania, australia, 2018]

off yer nut

May 30, 2023

^{[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 25 May 2023].}

After so much time away from home, I've finally caught up on most things, excluding sleep.

Unfortunately, poor wee Dougal had an operation on Monday afternoon and is still recovering, so we cancelled my sitting with him. His owner and I both hope he comes good soon.

As much as I don't like to hear about Dougal being poorly, having more time at home has been helpful for my mental health and catching up on life admin.

I will still go to Bromley on Friday evening until Monday to sit my regulars plus one.

untitled #272 [the nut, stanley, tasmania, australia, 2018]

In the meantime, I'm pleased to be home and that the repairs to the building are currently paused between the roof replacement and re-pointing (and then painting).

Footpath reconstruction is due to start on our section of the road next Tuesday, so it would seem I chose the ideal time to GTFO of Dodge.

All of these things are well overdue, but so is my sleep!

If I'm being honest, that's the one thing I'm looking forward to most with my time away: some relaxation, alongside catching up with family and friends. I suspect it will still end up hectic.

I woke to a less-than-positive update about an extended family member in Australia today, but I'm hoping the cause proves to be minor. At least, hopefully, I can be of some assistance during my stay.

I've managed to import the photos I took in Brockley and Ladywell Cemetery one day while sitting Mia. And those of Jilly I took with my D700 during my sitting with her. I hope to share some of these with you soon, along with other photos and artwork.

untitled #271 [the nut, stanley, tasmania, australia, 2018]

In the meantime, please enjoy a few photos of The Nut in Stanley, Tasmania, I took in 2018. I didn't know this was a volcanic plug until I looked it up to link you to more information. And I didn't know what a volcanic plug was until now.

Photography feeds my curious mind.

untitled #239 [dip river forest reserve, mawbanna, tasmania, australia, 2018]

dipping back in

May 14, 2023

Once again, I find myself apologising for seemingly going AWOL from sharing new work with you here.

I can assure you my absence has not been intentional. I've been trying to edit and share new work with you here, but life has been a whirlwind (sometimes more like a hurricane or tornado) lately.

I've barely been at home since 29 March.

I spent Easter with Shiloh and Susie. It was lovely, for the most part.

Except for the fleas.

I still had the shadows of flea bites on my legs when I arrived at my current sitting on 1 May though I noticed today they finally seem to have disappeared.

I was at home for a few nights after that sitting. I spent it working my day job and trying to close things off before another long weekend. Importing photos, backing everything up, etc., before heading away again.

On Saturday, 15 April, I went to my next sitting with my regulars in Bromley. I celebrated my 46th birthday a night early with Sophie at The Partridge. I spent the day with my lovely feline friends and wandered the nearby Plaistow Cemetery with my camera.

Poppy must have got the memo about my birthday, so even she was tolerant (welcoming would be an exaggeration) of my pats and presence for a few days.

untitled #238 [dip river forest reserve, mawbanna, tasmania, australia, 2018]

I went straight from that sitting to Bounds Green to sit Jilly for the first time. Jilly is Lottie's successor and equally as charming, though, thankfully, in good health.

A more floofy black kitteh than Lottie, she loves playing fetch. She had a penchant for my suitcase, like Lottie. Although Lottie preferred to scratch it up in the middle of the night, Jilly just liked to sleep on it. We regularly caught each others' eyes across the landing whilst I worked at Sarah's computer and Jilly chilled.

We spent time snuggling, playing fetch, seeking out wand toy lures hidden behind pillows on the couch and binge-watching episodes of 'Succession' before falling asleep on the couch until the wee hours.

I also spent a lot of time trying to troubleshoot power and water supply issues around the roof replacement at my rental flat from afar during that period. (Given how little I've been at home this year so far and how little I will be for the coming months, I often ask myself why I'm still renting).

I was home (late) for one night on 30 April. And that night, my iMac's SSD finally decided to pack it in. So, I spent the wee hours of the morning messaging Apple Support to troubleshoot it and more time the next day.

And, on a Bank Holiday when the roofers weren't supposed to be doing any work, they AND my neighbours decided to work. I swear my neighbours were hammering non-stop, sometimes in tandem, for 2.5 hours from 08:30 until 11:00 and intermittently through the rest of the day until I finally left at about 17:45.

Since the evening of Monday, 1 May, I've predominantly been sequestered with temperamental tabby, Mia, who I've started calling 'Pickle'.

We hung out for a prolonged period last summer during a heatwave. We were both struggling and spent most of the time moving as little as possible and hiding from the heat as best we could.

This time, she hasn't had the energy sucked out of her by the heat, so we have struggled with each other a bit.

She climbs on and claws everything and is prone to slapping and scratching. But we've got to a point where she approaches me affectionately, invites herself to sit on my lap and even touches our noses or head boops me (though, even when she initiates affection, she can still resort to slapping or scratching me if she loses her balance resettling herself on my lap, for example).

She enjoys chasing the star symbol projected from a laser pointer and has found new pleasure in my hair bands, one of which I will have to locate before I leave.

I'm here until early afternoon Friday, spending two nights with Sophie on her return, and then I'll go home for the weekend.

From the evening of Monday, 22 May, I'll be sitting my senior special needs doggo friend, Dougal, in Wimbledon Village. We'll be together until early Friday afternoon. He needs more attention than Mia demands but is far less aggressive in extracting it from me and more appreciative.

From there, I'll go down to Bromley to sit my regulars plus one. Oscar has joined the team there, and I look forward to meeting him properly. If Poppy doesn't like him, then I'm sure we'll get along fine!

I'll be there until the 29th or 30th, then home for a few days.

Amidst that, I've had to venture from south to north London for work, plant watering, transportation of my iMac to an Apple Store and many hours there while a knowledgeable and helpful member of the Genius Bar ran diagnostics and so on.

Thankfully, Apple Care agreed to cover the cost of replacing the SSD, as I raised issues before the end of my coverage. Hopefully, I'll be able to collect my iMac on Saturday.

untitled #231 [dip river forest reserve, mawbanna, tasmania, australia, 2018]

This brings me to another of the reasons I've struggled to keep up with editing and posting the past few weeks. I've been looking into my finances, flight prices, and itineraries and contacting my extended family to arrange a trip back to Australia that could encompass visits with my immediate family, my uncles and their other halves, and my two cousins and their families, post Mum's passing.

Yesterday, I finally booked flights to spend most of June in Australia.

My trip will begin in Brisbane, move to Ulverstone in Tasmania, and then Melbourne and Perth. Flying back to London on a direct flight for the first time (eep!)

For those of you in or around those cities: I would love to catch up if we can arrange it.

On returning to London, I have another longer sitting booked with Dougal. A three-week sitting with Frank, a gorgeous cockapoo, from late July into August. And a sitting with two adorable-looking ragdoll kittehs in late August, early September. I'll meet them in early July, but from the photos, they are unspeakably photogenic!

And another sitting in mid-September with my regulars in Bromley to look forward to.

Somewhere before the end of the year, I hope to visit friends (and their doggos and kittehs) in Scotland and venture back over to north Wales.

And, more importantly, I want to edit and share work with you.

In the meantime, in celebration of my upcoming visit with my Dad in Tassie next month, here are some photos I took in Dip Forest in 2018 that I haven't previously shared.

I hope to share more new work with you during the coming week and while I'm away.

Thank you for your patience and understanding.

agrostemma

March 17, 2023

^{[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 11 March 2023].}

Sorry once again for the radio silence.

As I mentioned in my post of images from Bosham back on 10 February, I had some worrying news about my Mum.

At 19:20 GMT on 28 February, I found out my Mum passed away 10 minutes earlier (though, technically, she passed away at 06:10 on 1 March 2023 AEST. Time differences are weird when dealing with someone's time of death).

So, as you might expect, I've needed some time to process that.

As I do in these situations, I've been writing.

It took time, and there were many tears along the way.

I'm currently editing photographs of Mum and photos taken by Mum to go with the piece.

I'll share it here and on my blog as soon as it's ready. Hopefully, tomorrow but definitely in the coming days.

In the meantime, here are some Agrostemma (common corncockles) I photographed in the gardens at Helmingham Hall on the last road trip I took with Mum and Dad in 2017.

Hold your loved ones tightly.

margaret hyde [redland bay, queensland, australia, 2009]

memories of you

March 15, 2023

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

February 14, 2023

^{[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.

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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".

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

twelve

January 18, 2023

In the final hour of my twelfth Londonversary, here are twelve photos of my adopted city from the Sky Garden.

You can see three of my workplaces in these photographs and many of my favourite places, including St Dunstan in the East church garden and Tate Modern.

arseways round

December 31, 2022

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).

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

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

Elmstead Wood and

Marvels Wood.

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

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

Leeds Castle and

Bletchley Park.

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

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

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

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

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.

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

I revisited Abney Park Cemetery on a first date.

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

I visited Grove Park Cemetery for the first time.

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.

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

Stopping to chit-chat with the resident squirrels.

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.

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

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

Dugla,

Mouri and

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

mamma mia!

October 1, 2022

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.

...and a shed in the back

August 9, 2022

^{[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.

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.

let's take this offline

July 10, 2022

^{[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 3 July 2022].}

Meeting people online is always interesting.

It can be the best place to meet people and, simultaneously, the worst. And, sometimes, it's just average.

I met some of my closest and most valued friends through social media before it was called that. Some of my lovers who have since become good friends I also met that way.

I've always seen it as an equally valid way of meeting people, like dancing with and talking to someone at a club or a bar. Meeting them at a gig or meeting them through a friend. Just that you can have a more involved conversation without shouting into each other's ears…

Dating apps are no different, though the intent is generally more overt.

I mean, I always went into meeting anyone from Friendster or Myspace with the view of meeting them as friends. Even if it ended up that we became more than that.

If you go into meeting people through dating apps with that same thinking, I think you're seen as disingenuous.

I'd rarely claim I was "in a relationship" with someone I met in a club less than two months after we met but starting from friendship seems "the wrong way of using a dating app" to some.

There are potentially many "wrong ways" to use a dating app. Finding clients. Finding Instagram followers. But, to be honest, even none of those are "wrong", in my view.

The only thing "wrong" is being dishonest with yourself and others about why you're using the app.

I currently have multiple professional and personal interactions with people I've met through dating apps across the spectrum of "why".

I know why I'm on those apps, but I'm open to why others are and don't impose my reasons on them. I just choose which connections I make.

And, worst-case scenario: I make some new friends along the way to finding a life partner, or I spend time (virtually or in-person) with someone that might not be a good match.

Do I honestly think I'll find a life partner on a dating app?

I'm sure I'll tell you if I do.

^{The self-portrait accompanying this post is a newly-edited outtake from day 104 of my 365 days project completed in 2007/08, addiction.}

a ca(p)tive audience

June 5, 2022

Now that Meg's gorgeous face has got your attention...

I have a couple of return tickets to use for travel on the Avanti West Coast network by late November.

Ideally, I'd like to travel back to north Wales and Edinburgh on those tickets. I haven't been to Edinburgh since 2011, and most of my travels in north Wales were back in 2001. I'd also like to venture from Edinburgh to Inverness (or thereabouts) to visit a friend.

Related: I'd like to find some cat-sitting (or dog-sitting, or just house-sitting) work in Edinburgh.

And also somewhere on or near the Avanti West Coast network in north Wales. Potentially around Llandudno.

My full-time temporary work will drop to three days from July, and I can work fully remote. So I'm relatively flexible about location and duration as long as I have decent internet access.

To allow me enough time to get out and explore, it would need to be at least a long weekend, but I'm open to a week or more (my first cat-sitting gig was three weeks).

I can provide references for my cat-sitting and photographic evidence of happy kittehs I've cat-sat. I keep lines of communication open while looking after kittehs, and I'm a clean and tidy occupant.

I also feed fish and can guard goldfish against kittehs, if required ;)

And prints from kitteh portrait sessions are an optional extra.

I thought I'd put my feelers out through friends first before potentially listing myself on Cat in a Flat or similar. In case I know (or you know) anyone in or around Edinburgh or Llandudno/the Avanti West Coast network across north Wales.

My only real restriction is that I don't drive. So anywhere I'm cat-sitting has to have reasonable transport connections (foot, train, bus, cab, etc.)

Bonus points if the home has a room with floral wallpaper, and I can take self-portraits in and around the place I'm cat/dog/house-sitting if I'm so inspired.

If you or someone you know might be interested, slide into my DMs for more info and a confidential discussion ;)

thank you for the music

January 26, 2022

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

eye on london

January 18, 2022

Today is my eleventh Londonversary!

To celebrate, here's a selection of photographs I took from the London Eye back in 2012 that I finally edited over the weekend.

a low ebb

December 31, 2021

2020 had its challenges, but I’m not going to lie. For me, personally, 2021 was a bitch.

I’m not going to expend more energy expanding upon that topic in this post.

I’ve tried to stop giving oxygen to elements in my life that proved to be unhealthy this year. Possibly for the first time in my whole life, that involved cutting ties with an ex-partner.

While this year has been a hard one for many reasons, there have been definite highlights.

And, especially when I was sick with Covid-19 back in July, I was overwhelmingly reminded of the brilliant global support network I have. I’m still gobsmacked by that. To those of you part of that network, both family and friends (and I’m sure you know who you are), I send you my love, and I’m forever grateful for you.

Before things went a bit more than pear-shaped this year, I managed to complete another 100 Day Project starting on 31 January 2021. I had a proper go at sketching every day. And, while I don’t profess to be a master illustrator, even after those 100 days, I created some not so terrible drawings.

The 100 Day Project for the coming year will start on 13 February 2022. I’ve had a few ideas of what I’d like to do, but we’ll see which one I settle upon.

Through my Patreon, I shared writings from my attempts at NaNoWriMo in 2009 and 2016. These are still rough second drafts and are currently only available to patrons.

I shared curated series from my sepulchre work, mushroom photographs, and travel photography.

I started my series of love letters to london, which I’d hoped to complete in 2021, but I will continue into 2022.

This year I took self-portraits for the first time since mid-2018 and have shared some that continue my interior/exterior series or fall into my new wallflowers series. I already have images from the latter to share in the new year.

I won’t bore you with my plant progress this year but suffice to say, my indoor plants fared better than the garden.

And I wrote actual handwritten letters for the first time in decades, inspired (or guilted?) by my friend Phil.

The things I let fall by the wayside this year were reading (beyond news articles of varying lengths) and language studies. Both I want to get back into in 2022.

In May, I unexpectedly found myself confronted by what is believed to be the oldest tree in London. A beautiful yew, she may be 2,000 years old.

She was more impressive up close than from a distance. I’ll share more close-ups of her beautiful contours in the new year, though I shared one previously.

In May, there was also a pleasant day out in Hertford. Exploring the source of the New River and wandering along the River Lea. Though there was also a bull charging me for photographing him!

In October, Scott and I explored the section of the New River (not new, not a river) between Hornsey and Finsbury Park.

At the end of 2020, I wasn’t overly hopeful for much travel this year. I would have settled for a weekend away somewhere within the UK.

Thanks to one of my longest-suffering friends, Phil, I visited Chichester and Bosham (first image in this post),

Itchenor

and Arundel.

And thanks to a cat-sitting gig for Jo and Becky, I was able to visit Minera,

Coedpoeth

and Wrexham.

However, the most unexpected and surprisingly fulfilling element of 2021 for me was becoming a cat-sitter.

Growing up and into my 20s and beyond, I was always a dog person. I couldn’t fathom cats. I would have said honestly at one point that I hated cats. So cat-sitting was not even close to being on my bingo card for 2021.

But really, in retrospect, I think it was more that I didn’t understand cats.

A chance pub quiz with friends led to me becoming a cat-sitter for the first time this year, and it’s something I hope to continue into 2022 and beyond.

There are side bonuses, like exploring new areas of London and beyond and locations for shooting self-portraits. And going “on holiday” but being paid for it.

But I’m not going to lie that the kitteh snuggles are lovely, and winning over an anxious or difficult kitteh brings a particular buzz with it. (Though I would be all good with less claw-to-skin action in demonstrations of affection…)

So, in order of appearance, here are the cool cats I’ve met this year (apologies for the photo quality with some. I hope to get better photos of them in future!)

Shiloh

Susie

Bao

Paczi

Meg

Mog

Sammy

Lily

Poppy

I’m not going to chance my hand predicting what 2022 will hold. But I have credit for travel that will hopefully take me back to Wales and Scotland, so that’s a positive start.

Anything else is a bonus.

I hope your 2022 is better than 2021.

a week in wales

November 9, 2021

^{[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 3 November 2021].}

Speeding toward Wales, I watched the English countryside fly by the train window. It occurred to me then it would be my first visit without my mother to the country of many of her ancestors.

My third visit to Wales also had interesting numerological synchronicity. My first visit had been part of a 'round the world' trip with my family around Christmas 1991. My second visit was in 2001 with my parents and my then-boyfriend. And I was taking this journey in 2021. I trust that number pattern won't repeat itself, leading to me not returning to Wales until 2061!

On top of those realisations, it occurred to me it was just a little more than two years since I'd last left England. Though this time, I was only going across the border into Wales. Rather than through the air, over land and sea to Australia.

So, to say high expectations were hanging over the trip might have been an understatement. There was a lot of anticipation and excitement about what the week may hold.

After a week of kitteh hijinks with Bao and Paczi, there was also a yearning for a low-stress week. One that would allow me to concentrate on things other than kittehs while still enjoying kitteh snuggles and pets.

Despite taking about five hours to travel each way due to train delays and a wait for a cab from Wrexham to Minera, the week and Wales definitely delivered.

As well as being able to complete various life admin tasks ahead of my new flatmate moving in and enjoying many, many kitteh snuggles, Minera proved to be a much-needed change of pace and very picturesque.

Though there was drizzle for at least part of most days. And though there were a couple of days of gusty winds. And temperatures were in the low teens most days. The weather really turned it on for me on Monday.

Once the morning drizzle stopped, it left the landscape and details super-saturated in colour. The beautiful post-rain light across the countryside and across headstones was lovely.

I'm excited to share photos from this trip with you - as I am those from my recent trip to Chichester - as I really enjoyed the mixture of subjects: village life; natural landscapes; manmade incursions into the landscape; derelict buildings; industrial sites being reclaimed by nature and the beautiful graves in St Mary's churchyard.

As I wrote in a post to Instagram a short time into my wanderings around the churchyard that day, "Honestly, if every week started like this, I'd be content". Exploring new places (including their graveyards and churchyards), taking photographs, marvelling at (all kinds of) beauty in the world, and knowing at the end of the day there would be a cold pint of cider and the company of some charming creatures to finish up with.

The 5.5-hour walk was challenging for me in parts (muddy, leaf-strewn paths up and down inclines that made me a little nervous) and left me bone-tired afterwards, but in the best possible way.

I generally love being a woman. The only downside is the trepidation of walking solo off the beaten track while carrying expensive camera gear. Wanting to explore further but thinking perhaps that may not be a sensible course to take. Thankfully, I was able to put aside most of those thoughts that day. Though I didn't venture as far into the Minera Quarry Nature Reserve as I would have, had I not been alone.

When not second-guessing my decisions, as I ventured up hill and down dale, I was able to get lost in the moment and in my own thoughts, which was also something sorely needed. Cathartic and cleansing.

My thanks to Jo, Becky, Meg and Mog for presenting me with the opportunity to get back to Wales after too long.

september reflections

October 12, 2021

^{[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 6 October 2021].}

It's been a very mixed three to four weeks.

About a month ago, I predicted September would be a month of impermanence. At the time, I thought that due to being temporarily in residence with two kittehs on the other side of town.

Instead, it ended up feeling more like a month of constant minor upheavals.

On only my second full day in Shepherd's Bush, I had to return to my own flat to meet a fellow assessing maintenance to be done. Later in the month, I had to return two days in a row to be around while the maintenance was completed.

I was generally okay with this, as it was expected, and I knew I'd have to pop back once or twice a week to water my plants anyway.

However, when I relocated to be a live-in cat nanny, I was relieved I wouldn't have to schlep back and forth across town for flat viewings, after all. I believed I had a lovely new flatmate lined up to move in the day after I returned from Shepherd's Bush and could concentrate my time in the West on photography, cats and client work.

Unfortunately, by the fifth full day, it became apparent that my potential flatmate had gone AWOL midway through the referencing process. So I was unexpectedly thrown back into advertising the room and arranging viewings - with three viewings taking place on two days shortly after.

Between the various visits for maintenance and potential flatmate viewings, there was also a long weekend jaunt down to meet Phil in Chichester. Our trip had been planned months before the cat-sitting gig landed in my lap.

My first actual holiday since returning from Australia in November 2019, I had hoped it would be a chance to escape reality. A long weekend of sightseeing, photography and good conversation.

While it was full of sightseeing, photography and good conversation, I wasn't really able to relax and escape reality. Not with all the other things constantly throwing my days into turmoil and minor upheaval on either side of the trip.

Throw in a health scare with my Dad, and September was stressful and exhausting in many ways.

At the other extreme, September had some quite enjoyable moments:

Spending an afternoon entertaining good friends in an actual house and getting to show them all the quirks of my temporary abode.
Spending time and having engaging conversations with the chatty kittehs. They were the perfect distraction when I needed it most during my stay (and the rest of the time).
Having my friend Don just around the corner for late-night rambling chats in person as well as by phone, and even getting to visit his 'bat cave' finally.
Having the chance to explore Chichester, Bosham (pronounced Bozzum), Itchenor (captured above) and Arundel with Phil and our cameras.
Being inspired by art exhibitions and long conversations about art, writing, travel and life.

As previous posts illustrate, I also managed to take my first "proper" self-portraits since June 2018.

Unfortunately, with the aforementioned minor upheavals and other commitments, I didn't have much time. Not nearly enough time to explore the many set-ups and ideas I'd had whirling around my mind before relocating and while I was in situ.

I was also limited by practical issues. Such as the multitude of outfits I had to hand not fitting and not having enough cash to hit up the local charity shops for alternatives.

I was also disappointed not to have had more time to explore the other creative ideas I'd planned to indulge in: collage (physical and digital), sketching, writing, reading, letter-writing, as well as poring over the vast collection of books bursting out of the shelves promising further inspiration.

An actual residency without other concurrent commitments and distractions would have given me more time and freedom. The time and opportunity to indulge my numerous creative ideas and take better advantage of all the quirks the house and its surroundings offer. And even manage some time to relax and fully enjoy the house as well.

Perhaps sometime, the kittehs will have me back for a period of uninterrupted creativity when I better fit into my clothes and my own skin.

For now, though, I already have another kitteh-sitting gig in south London lined up for a week later in the month. I'm not guaranteeing I'll produce self-portraits during my stay there. But it will give me a chance to explore a new (to me) area of London with my camera and befriend some more cute kittehs.

jarring

October 5, 2021

^{[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 28 September 2021].}

Hello, my lovelies.

I'm so sorry for the radio silence the past week or so.

I have a lot to update you on. And I had hoped, finally, to do so tonight.

But I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed at the moment for various reasons. I feel like the kittehs are feeling the same way tonight. Everything feels a little on edge.

Tomorrow is my last full day of cat-sitting. I'll return to my flat sometime on Thursday.

I'm hoping to spend most of tomorrow and perhaps some of Thursday taking self-portraits. Something I've ended up not having very much time for during my stay, unfortunately.

But tonight, as the rain falls, savouring the company of my feline companions feels like the right thing to do.

Where rain is usually my calmative, I'm finding it slightly anxiety-inducing and distracting tonight. It's jarring for someone who loves the sound and smell of rain to feel like this.

ca(p)tivated

September 24, 2021

^{[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 17 September 2021].}

So, the cat's out of the bag...

The new side hustle I somehow fell into is cat-sitting! :o

For anyone who's known me more than a few years, I've never previously been a cat person. I was always a dog person.

But, over the past I-don't-know-how-many-years, the idea of cats has stopped repulsing me. I've realised I'm an "animal person". Not just a dog person.

So, when friends asked if I'd be willing to cat-sit for them for almost three weeks - even though I'd never met their feline companions - my first questions were:

Will your home make a photogenic backdrop for self-portraits, and are you okay with me sharing your home on the internets?
Can I bring my iMac as I don't currently have a laptop?
Are you okay with me disappearing for four days as I already have time out of town booked during that period?
Will it cost me anything?

The answers to all those questions were more than satisfactory, so I ventured across to West London at the beginning of September to meet my potential gaolers.

Not only were the kittehs cute and friendly - I bonded immediately with Susie, who's apparently the most hesitant with strangers (not pictured; this is Shiloh). But I fell in love with the house.

The colour schemes and decor. The abundance of bookshelves and bookcases. The furnishings. The hidden doorways (literally, not figuratively). The decorations. EVERYTHING.

My only real struggle since relocating almost a week ago was getting in front of the camera again. Which is largely due to my weight (pun intended).

But I'm tackling that - mentally and emotionally - and from the one shoot I've done so far, I have a selection of photos that don't offend me. I'm hoping to do more tomorrow and at the beginning of next week. And to share more with you.

I just need to be gentle with myself.

I'm also dealing with some worrying family medical news from Australia. And some unexpected flat stuff. And, obviously, having to continue to pick up client work.

But the kittehs help.

They 'meow' and make Mogwai-like sounds at me when they're ready for breakfast (and they've realised that won't be at 5:00, so they're patient for when I'm actually awake).

They make me laugh at their tap-drinking antics even though I can't entertain those antics for long.

And I haven't killed any fish yet.

And I've had the pleasure of giving friends a grand tour of this lovely haven I'm in until the end of the month.

If anyone wants to remind me how squatters' rights work... ;)

Or, if you have a photogenic mansion/house/flat/caravan/van and a pet or pets you need looking after while you go on holiday, DM me.

I'm open to payment in photo ops, pet love and booze ;) (Money's also good).

Also, for you folk who thought I'd struggle with collaborating artistically with cats: Shiloh joined me on the couch of her own volition. Without any real coaxing and, definitely, no kitteh treats. The beeping of my self-timer was all she needed to focus her laser-sharp gaze for this portrait :)

connecting the dots

August 28, 2021

A bank holiday weekend probably isn’t the best time to be pimping my professional profile. But I haven’t known what is “the weekend” and what is a “workday” for over a year now. All days are equal to me, and to be honest, I only remembered it was a bank holiday weekend this morning.

Anyway, I’ve spent the past couple of days updating and adding more projects to my profile on The Dots. Though I still have more projects to add, I thought I’d share the link and a screen capture of my public profile. In case you or anyone you know may be looking for a freelancer or employee with my skills and experience.

Unfortunately, you can only view the content of my projects when logged into The Dots, but it’s quick (and free!) to sign up to have a nose around.

If you’re already a member, feel free to connect!

I’m also working on profiles on other sites and a portfolio website showcasing my design, social media, book design, editorial photography, writing work, etc. I’ll share those links as soon as I can.

So, if you or someone you know is looking for someone like me to work with or to be part of your team, hit me up at propaganda@bronwenhyde.com or get in contact through The Dots or LinkedIn.

I’m happy to have clients globally, so don’t be shy if you’re not in the UK!

emergence

July 30, 2021

^{[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 23 July 2021].}

Hello, my lovelies!

I'm so sorry for the radio silence, but today has been my first good day since my update on Monday. Conversely, yesterday was probably tied for worst since I started experiencing Covid-19 symptoms on Wednesday, 14 July.

It's been a long week punctuated by the most intense headaches I've ever experienced. As well as dizzy spells, wobbliness, checking blood oxygen levels, fevers, odd aches and pains, fatigue, dehydration, head sweats and an almost complete loss of appetite.

I managed to go all the way until yesterday without crying. But the headache I'd had since at least 23:30 on Tuesday finally broke me, then it broke me further an hour or two later.

I spent most of yesterday afternoon wanting to gouge my left eye and about three inches behind it out with a grapefruit spoon. When I gave up on the lounge and watching even short YouTube videos and went back to bed, I remember wondering whether, if I called 111, they would send me out a drip.

I've always had empathy for those with conditions that cause chronic fatigue due to the fatigue and lethargy that often accompanies my depression. But it has increased tenfold after spending so much time this week exhausted by the most basic activities.

My sense of smell returned on Wednesday after being MIA since probably Friday (I didn't realise until Saturday afternoon). Though, I'm not sure it's back to 100% yet.

Since late yesterday evening, I've had a clear head with only the need for one dose of painkillers today. Ironically, I don't think it was a Covid-related headache.

I've managed to complete some life admin I'd hoped to do on Monday before being told by the GP to stop. I had a 1.5 hour Skype call with my Dad. I still rested when I needed to and resisted the urge to overdo things and anger the Covid gods again.

Barring any unforeseen relapse, I'll try to do more tomorrow, including starting to de-Covidify my bed and flat.

On the positive side: my week was also full of friends and family calling, messaging, commenting and cheering from the sidelines for me to get better, and I am so incredibly grateful for every single one of them.

Apart from Sunday evening, which I posted about here, I haven't had time to feel isolated or alone since, because of all of my lovely friends and family.

In the process, I learned that by catching Covid between doses of the vaccine, I may develop much greater immunity. And I've lost 3.1kg since 14 July.

Please note: I do not endorse this method of gaining hybrid immunity against Covid-19 or weight loss. I would rate the experience -5/10. Would not do again.

I'm hoping to be back to (near) daily posting again from now on.

I hope your week has been better than mine xx