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

we interrupt your regularly scheduled programming…

July 26, 2021

^{[I originally posted this entry as a public post for my Patreon patrons on 19 July 2021].}

Hi folks,

I’m down, but not out.

However, there will be a hiatus in posts for a little while.

Despite feeling mostly normal, the wobbles are more frequent and more intense, and doctor’s orders are to literally do nothing but chill in front of the TV and do lung physio and sleep.

Even sitting at my desk for short periods to do small administrative tasks, edit photos, or share images and write posts sends me into a headspin (literally) after about 30-90 minutes.

Subsequently, this is my first Patreon post from the app on my phone. Apologies for any typos or grammatical boo-boos.

I now have a pulse oximeter to keep a regular eye on my oxygen levels. And, for once, I’m obeying doctors orders, though there has been more messaging and phone calls than TV so far today.

I hope you’re all keeping well and safe, and I’ll be back sharing the beauty of the world around me with you once more as soon as I can xx

locked out

July 24, 2021

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

So today, continuing the theme for the year, the result for the PCR test I took yesterday came back positive for Covid-19.

Because, of course.

Though, hilariously, because of everything else that's already happened this year, somehow, this is the least upsetting or disappointing piece of news I've received in the past seven to eight months.

It just seems like another piece of the puzzle that is my 2021.

Thank Science, I'd already had one dose of the vaccine, so the worst of it already seems to have passed.

No thanks to all the English football fans on the Tube on Sunday shouting 'It's coming home!' at the top of their lungs. While wearing masks around their necks instead of over their massive gobs.

Even with all my obsessive hand-sanitising, masking and not touching a damned thing while commuting, I'm sure that's where I caught it. And based on my symptoms, I'd lay bets it was the much more contagious (but, thankfully, less deadly) Delta strain.

Amusingly, today, as I completed the NHS Test and Trace documentation after receiving my results, I realised I have, in fact, lost my sense of smell. Though not my sense of taste.

To confirm this, I:

sniffed heavily of my dried thyme (which has been my go-to for checking for covid previously),
stuck my nose into a large jar of peanut butter, and
sniffed rosemary and oregano in their bottles.

All registered a complete blank for scent.

Despite not having showered since leaving the flat at 11:30 yesterday to go for the PCR test, further confirmation has been provided by my apparent lack of body odour at 19:00 the next day. Anyone who knows me and knows how I sweat in 26-degree heat (yesterday's temperature), especially after walking for more than 90 minutes, knows this is a physical impossibility. My sense of smell has definitely left the building.

And, I guess, so has my shock and indignation at anything 2021 has left to throw at me.

on the fence

July 19, 2021

^{[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 12 July 2021].}

Despite the hormonal cocktail of the past weekend and a bit, it was predominantly filled with much-needed human interactions.

Long conversations - both virtual and face-to-face - with people I've had long-lasting friendships with.

A mix of topics, a mix of emotions. But all, ultimately, supportive, inspiring, empathetic. And, once again, demonstrating how lucky I am to have built up such a wonderfully supportive network of humans around me.

I had the chance to repay one of those good friends by visiting him in hospital yesterday while he's in for observation. (He's doing well and in good spirits). That's pretty much the only way you'll ever manage to lure me into central London on the day of a football final, especially where England are in the finals and hosting them.

Unfortunately, England's loss last night resulted in an utterly predictable outpouring of racism, hooliganism and destruction. I'm not convinced a win would have changed that aspect of the night. The only positive I took from the situation was a deathly silence post-game which I would not have enjoyed if they had won.

On the positive side: venturing into the city yesterday provided me with a chance to refocus my attention on someone else's situation and away from my interior monologue.

We had a two-plus hour conversation about our respective futures. About writing. About my art. About grasping opportunities.

On the negative side: I finally saw the National Covid Memorial Wall along the Thames, below St Thomas' Hospital, firsthand. It was overwhelming in its sheer extent, and I didn't have the emotional strength to walk the length of it. The complete lifting of England's covid restrictions in a week feels all too soon.

Some contract work I've been doing has now ended. My latest freelance gig was completed last week. So this week, I will be busy drumming up some new work, creating for you, and having at least one potential flatmate viewing my flat.

I also have many ideas whirling around in my head that I'd like to start developing.

And, at least for the rest of this evening, I'll be enjoying the sound of the rain outside my window while I edit more photos.

I hope your week is full of rainbows after the storms x

i have an unhealthy relationship with my body

July 10, 2021

^{[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 4 July 2021].}

CW: eating disorders, body dysmorphia, body-shaming, fat-shaming

This piece also includes language some may find offensive.

I have an unhealthy relationship with my body.

It started just as I was becoming a woman. At least, as much as I recall, though maybe there were other signs before I can remember. I would be surprised if there weren't.

But the first instances that come to mind of my unhealthy relationship with my body were around 11 years old. Definitely by the time I finished primary school.

It started with a combination of examples set out for me, some from family, some from glossy magazines. You know, the way most of us learn and internalise these things from a young age. Not all are intentionally put there to harm us, but others are seemingly as old as time.

I first remember discussing healthy weight ranges with my Mum. I don't know how it came up. I don't even remember weighing myself much at that age. I had to go into my parents' ensuite to do so. I don't recall a scale in the main bathroom when my brothers and I were kids. At some point, maybe I asked my Mum how much I should weigh. Perhaps she looked it up to see what was healthy for my height and age.

I wasn't overweight; I was slim. I was active in the school playground. I played sports: netball, Newcomb ball and softball. And I was one of the few girls in my grade five and six classes who would go in to catch the ball when we played Kanga cricket. I usually tried out for various athletic events for interschool sports: the 100m, 400m and 800m races, relays and, hilariously, looking back, high jump. At the time, I was around the second or third tallest girl in my year, though I never grew any taller after I turned eleven.

But I remember my Mum taking a magazine out of the bottom drawer of her bedside cabinet to show me a graph. I was near the bottom of the healthy weight range for my height.

I never asked my Mum why she kept her Slimming magazines tucked away where she did. It was the kind of place someone might hide away pornographic magazines, not health magazines. So, to this day, I don't know if she kept them there because it was handy for her to read the articles.

Or if she was ashamed of buying them and reading them because she felt shamed by her weight issues.

Or if she kept them there to avoid setting an example of body-shaming to her daughter. Maybe she didn't want me to be obsessed with weight loss and body shapes and sizes and fixate on such things as an impressionable pre-teen.

If it was the latter, unfortunately, it didn't work.

I didn't become obsessive about weighing myself straight away. I still don't recall weighing myself every day at that point.

But I know I regularly went to her drawer to pull out that magazine to check where I fit on the graph whenever my weight wavered. I checked and re-checked it to reassure myself. Eventually, all I needed to remember was to stay as close to eight stone as possible. Then all would be okay.

My discovery of that graph would have coincided with a friend introducing me to Dolly magazine.

Though we were only about 11 and 12, her sister was a couple of years older and already deep in the world of glossy teen and fashion magazines.

I was still crushing on teen heartthrobs in the pages of Smash Hits, Bop and The Big Bopper and reading magazines that were supposedly more healthy for young women, like Girlfriend.

My friend introduced me to Dolly, Teen Vogue, I think, and other magazines handed down from her sister. Magazines to ease young girls into the constant mixed messages they would become accustomed to as they grew older. Glossy pages full of articles about loving yourself whilst simultaneously working out which parts (physical, emotional and mental) of yourself to hate this week/month/year and what the best ways of covering up those shortcomings were: makeup, creams, tablets, fashion.

Like most teenage girls, I internalised all of these expectations pretty quickly. And what the magazines taught me was rapidly reinforced in the halls of my high school.

In year eight, when a boy I fancied told me I had a "fat arse" as I walked up the stairs into the building in front of him, it played over and over in my mind. For most of the following three years, I wore oversize t-shirts over my jeans to cover my "fat arse". I don't know what I weighed then, but it was unlikely to be much over 55kg, but likely less.

At 16 or 17 years old - the earliest I would have been allowed to use a public gym - my younger brother and I signed up at a gym in the small town where we had moved.

By the time I was in year 12 and allowed to wear casual clothing to school every day, I realised I had a flat stomach. And my arse wasn't fat. So I finally gained the confidence to wear midriff tops and my jeans down on my hips.

For the three years I was at college, I spent almost as many hours per week dancing in nightclubs as in the classroom. I spent three to five hours a night, three to five nights a week, dancing to indie, alternative, retro and disco hits with friends.

When I finished college, I managed to get a much-reduced price on a gym membership. I got back into exercising regularly there as well as on the dancefloor.

By the time I was 18, I had internalised an image of how women should look. So much so that I didn't flinch when a guy I regularly went out dancing with would point at and ridicule other women around me for having "cunt-pots". All I thought at the time was how good it was that I didn't have one.

Another friend put up "pool rules" for his inflatable pool bought with his redundancy payment. The first rule was "No fat chicks", and the last rule was "Definitely no fat chicks". I still didn't flinch. I wasn't a "fat chick". Why should I?

When a guy I slept with bragged about how he'd never had a girl in his bed who weighed over 60kg, I was once again proud I didn't weigh over 60kg.

It was only later, when I got together with a woman I met through the last guy, that I thought about how fucked up his thinking was when she pointed out that she had been in his bed and she weighed over 60kg. She was taller than me, far from overweight and gorgeous. There was a shared sense of victory in her breaking his rule without him having a clue.

It wasn't until about 1998 that I realised how much interest I'd lost in food. Up until about 14 years old - with some exceptions - I enjoyed most food. My parents always served up hearty, delicious meals or took us to quality restaurants to sample a variety of world cuisines.

Sometime in my early teens, I switched to ordering entrees instead of main meals most of the time when we ate out. That may have given me space for desserts on some occasions, but, equally, I may have declined dessert. I claimed it was because my stomach wasn't that big. An entree-sized meal filled me up. And, arguably, it did. But it was ingrained in my mind to eat less; stay slim.

When my parents started running a motel and restaurant in country Victoria when I was in year 10, I lost more interest in food.

Most of what we ate the chefs prepared in the kitchen at the restaurant. By November 1993, I had become vegetarian. There were usually one or two vegetarian dishes on the menu at any one time, or the chefs would knock me up a quick and easy pasta. Or I'd have a bowl of fries. Or microwaved veggie burgers, sans bread or fillings.

If you have a limited range to choose from, even the most delicious meal becomes boring and repetitive. I loved snow peas until we lived there, then I just found them uninspiring. The only element I never tired of was Hasselback scalloped potatoes.

When I was at college and in my first year of working, I spent more time drinking Coke and cider and dancing than preparing food. I wasn't unhealthy. I still ate, but it was purely functional.

I rarely ate much before I went out for a night of dancing or before a session in the gym. I still won't on the occasions I do those things. Dancing or working out on a full stomach has always disagreed with me.

But between college, then work, and dancing and sleeping, there wasn't much time left for eating. At the time, I didn't see this as a problem.

However, while I completed a 365 Days project (a self-portrait a day for a year) in 2007, I looked back on a short video I made for college in 1996.

In retrospect, I think it's safe to say I was verging on anorexic. The video consisted of repeated loops of footage: me in the corner of my bedroom in a huddled position, the refrigerator door opening on an empty fridge, and the soundtrack of In Heaven (Lady in the Radiator Song) from David Lynch's film, Eraserhead.

Add a mild case of alcohol poisoning on a near-monthly basis, and I obviously wasn't in a good place at the time.

When I incorporated a still from the footage in my 365 Days project, I was reaching back across time to try to reassure my younger self; to attempt to help her. It took me those 10 to 11 years to see her as she was then.

Until I was about 22, I had never weighed over 53kg. And then he started feeding me.

In 1998, I started dating a partner who loved cooking. Who loved food. He'd had and has continued to have battles with food and his body, but he rekindled my taste for food after about six years. If I found a meal I enjoyed out and about, he'd figure out how to make it for us. He'd always make far more than we could eat, but somehow we would eat it all. He would make it in the belief any leftovers would be eaten the next day, but they never stayed in the dish that long.

We were both working and saving to move to the UK within six months of officially becoming a couple. We also spent three months housesitting for his parents on the outskirts of Melbourne. So our activity levels dropped dramatically. We hibernated a lot during the Australian winter, and we spent a lot of time in front of the television.

My weight went up, though not drastically so. I was simultaneously comfortable and uncomfortable with that. I still didn't go above the upper ranges of the healthy weight range I'd memorised from my early teens throughout our relationship.

Between 2002 and 2007, various factors came into play that contributed to my weight gain. Depression, excess alcohol consumption, sedentary work, far less physical activity (only on rare occasions out dancing by the time I was 30), not enough sleep.

Sometime in 2007, I reached 72kg for the first time. By June 2008, I dropped again to 61kg. By November that year, I was within about 5kg of my ideal weight. By March 2010, I managed to regain all I'd lost plus some to reach my new heaviest weight thus far of 74kg, in time for a road trip from Melbourne to Brisbane with my friend Phil. Somehow I still managed to take self-portraits during that trip that I don't hate, and some are arguably my best work.

Soon after my return from the road trip, I joined a gym again, and by the time I departed for the UK in January 2011, I'd managed to drop to 67kg. I somehow lost another 2kg in transit to arrive in London, weighing 65kg. I steadily whittled that weight back down to 53kg, one kilo above my ideal weight, by February 2012.

Late in 2010, I'd met a partner when I weighed about 68kg. We decided to try out a long-distance relationship when I moved back to London.

He had been on a weight loss journey before we met, with much more baggage to shake.

We both continued to lose more weight between January 2011, when I left Australia, and February 2012, when we reunited in person for the first time in London.

Although he was proud of my achievements, that visit left me perplexed. I had reached within 1kg of my ideal weight, which had made me happier about my body, and yet, somehow, he seemed less attracted to the new "tiny" me. Although there were other factors at play, I'm not going to lie that his reduced attraction to me didn't play at least some small part in my regaining weight.

Meanwhile, to drop to that weight and maintain it (or near enough), I realised my mind had had to shift a lot. Some of it was a healthy shift. But some of it was seriously unhealthy. Not the same type of 'unhealthy' as during my late teens and early twenties, but still not healthy.

I was obsessively counting calories and weighing myself. I spent at least five hours in the gym every week in 2011. In 2012, and until I sustained a foot injury that curtailed my gym-going for a while, I often spent over seven hours in the gym per week, taking part in lots of Les Mills classes and caning myself on a stationary bike.

Whilst seven hours per week in a gym isn't unhealthy in and of itself, the internal dialogue I was having with myself was anything but healthy. The time I was in the gym was penance or payment for poor choices made in my eating and drinking habits or my lack of activity in my daily life.

When I wasn't overtly punishing myself, I was trading calories out for calories I would subsequently be able to take in. If I burned 600 calories on the bike and 450 calories in a Body Pump class, I could eat that pizza or drink that cider, and everything would be okay.

Whilst reducing my weight to my ideal in 2011/2012, even the MyFitnessPal app ceased telling me how much I could expect to lose in five weeks "if every day were like today". I was regularly achieving a deficit in calories in/calories out that was deemed unhealthy. I consumed fewer than 1,200 calories and often burned more than 1,000 calories. Even fitness apps have a conscience.

By January 2013, I'd developed what a GP believed to be Morton's neuroma in my left foot. It was subsequently successfully treated as rheumatoid arthritis in one of the toe joints. The pain in my toe was so severe that it forced me to cut down and then stop exercising entirely.

After cortisone injections, I was discouraged from any impact exercise - running, jogging, jumping - for a while, at least, but possibly permanently. I was also warned not to wear high heels - even low ones - for any period. They would place more pressure on the ball of my foot and potentially rekindle the issue.

With my exercise options and time at the gym somewhat limited, I still spent a lot of time on the stationary bike. I was still keeping my weight within a reasonable range, but it crept up again over time, much of it caused by a lack of exercise and an excess of alcohol. But also through continuing to consume large quantities of food. That quantity of food was acceptable while I was exercising to excess. But, without the exercise to trade the "calories out" against the "calories in", there was a gradual weight increase.

Mixed in there, though not directly related to my weight, my relationship broke down. That contributed to more poor decisions on eating, drinking and exercise as well as depression, anxiety and poor sleep.

Since then, I've hit new highs and had lows again, though not as low as 53kg.

I've tried to be kinder to myself. More gentle.

I've tried to see myself the way I see other women now. Not the way I used to see other women, which was in an internalised misogynistic fat-shaming way. I see other women in a way where I don't think, "She would be beautiful if she lost some weight". I think "She is beautiful". And her weight - whichever end of the spectrum it is, or in the middle - doesn't influence why I see her that way.

It takes a lot of work. I can more easily see others as beautiful irrespective of their weight than I can look at myself in the mirror. Or look at photos others have taken of me when I'm overweight. Or that I'd taken of myself years ago when I was 70kg+.

It's still hard. I still have to re-train myself every time I look at photos of myself. It contributes heavily to why I don't take self-portraits anymore, though I want to.

But, even without being overweight, when I weighed in the low to mid-50s, I could pick apart every inch of my body to tell you what still needed work. What still made me "less than".

I've also grown up in a culture where to be desired is everything, even when I can see past a relationship being a measure of my worth. If I'm 100% honest, desire is still something I use to measure my self-worth. Lack of desire within a relationship is probably an even harder pill for me to swallow.

And it's so easy - when a former lover admits they find me less attractive due to my weight gain - to fall back into unhealthy behaviours, to punish myself. Because maybe my weight gain led to me being less desirable and to our break-up. But that doesn't fix anything that wasn't already broken. And it won't help me be who I want and need to be going forward.

Depending on the day of the week or the hour of the day. How many hours since my last meal and how much or how little I ate the day before. I weigh about 10kg less than I weighed at the new heaviest weight I reached a year ago.

I'm not "happy" with my current weight. I'm not "happy" with how I look, how my clothes fit me and how I look naked. And I know I have a lot of unhealthy habits.

But I also know many of my previous tactics that kept me at or helped me back to around 52kg aren't healthy.

I have to regularly remind myself that those who've never had an issue with weight will rarely understand or empathise. Whether blessed with a fast metabolism or never experienced an eating disorder, addiction or mental health issue.

I need to find a healthier way to get back to being strong and fit and resolve issues I have with my lower back strength. Not to mention regaining strength and confidence with my left ankle after the fracture I sustained in October 2019.

I need to continue to seek a healthier relationship with my body. I've been trying for so long. You would think it would become easier over time, but it doesn't.

untitled #26

July 2, 2021

^{[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 25 June 2021].}

So, I've known this was coming since December last year, but it took longer than expected.

Subsequently, it's landed at arguably the worst possible moment for me: my flatmate has given notice tonight that he's moving out at the end of next month.

a gentle reminder

June 26, 2021

^{[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 19 June 2021].}

A second long, emotionally exhausting call today. The final clarification. Confirmation of the closing of a chapter.

I got some answers. I got an answer I expected, but that still stung and disappointed me.

At the end of it all, I still feel there are puzzle pieces forever lost down the back of the couch. But the jigsaw was thrown out months ago, so does it really matter anymore?

After the call and freshening up, I ventured outside into an overcast day.

And there, in our garden, just by the path across the front of the building, I saw a poppy.

I've never seen them in our garden in all of the five years I've lived here. But there are also some - yet to flower - along the main path. I noticed them on my return from the supermarket.

I took some photos with my phone on the way out but took my D700 down to take some more once I had returned and put away my purchases.

Seeing this delicate beauty in my yard - seemingly having appeared out of nowhere - was a gentle reminder to me on a day like today. When everything feels like it's gone to shite, that even in darkness, there is beauty.

There are new beginnings to be discovered and embraced. Unexpected but treasured.

The past two years have been difficult and stressful for me for so many reasons, and the past six months feels like it has reached a fever pitch.

Maybe this final gut-punch is what I need to move forward and find my focus again. Focus that's been gone for too long. But particularly so in the past year.

I value genuine lovers, close relationships, loyalty, honesty and openness. But I've never defined myself by my romantic relationships.

I've never needed a relationship to prove my self-worth, and sometimes they actually serve to make me lose sight of my own self-worth and direction.

To lose focus by creating a distraction and additional problems to solve, instead of solving the most important things I should be focussing on.

And, at times like these, I'm reminded that I crave new beginnings. New seasons of self. And the blossoming of new ideas and opportunities.

Here's to new beginnings.