Tag Archives: holidays

Bank Holidays

Months pass without time to stop and think, an endless treadmill of work, gym, family, TV. As the buds of spring start to blossom, days stretch out further than Lance Armstrong’s stamina, mornings and evenings gradually blending into one. Bank holidays at Easter result in terminally long weekends. Bank holidays at the end of May result in extending this joyous month, a riot of colour and for one year only, no rain on the plain like Spain, parching the grass, concreting the soil. Another break arrives. Time to forget about the 9-5, replaced by excessively trying to catch up with all those other things which life throws uncaringly in front of you. Cleaning, tidying, sorting, moving, gardening, driving, deadening. Easter provides a break but one that defines the next stage, part two of the year. Winter is now truly behind us and beautiful bucolic times stretch ahead. The chance to watch your team lose twice rather than once over a long, long weekend. Top top players needed. So, by repeating words that means they are doubly important. We need a top top top top upgrade on all our players, manager and coaching staff. The food is good though, for the players. Fans suffer with blasted dodgy sausage rolls and overheated Balti pies. Extended weekends sometimes provide an opportunity to think about being creative, write some words, catch up on research, make music, take photographs. It always feels like the busiest time, when extra hours available are eaten by Pac Man munching creatures. Also, a time to read, books, paper, articles, to take a breath in and move forward. The pope died today after a long illness. Thoughtfully waiting until after his Sunday sermon before letting go, joining his friends in heaven and beyond, a good person by all accounts.

Bank holidays do have an end, but they are points in time where lots of people have the same time off. Not emergency or health workers, service trades or tourist spots. They are busier than normal coping with the mass of over drinking, overeating, dangerous swimming, human abandon. Time off from the daily grind. Moments which can feel uplifting and liberating if you are in a happy space, a couple, with family and friends but can be isolating, alone, watching men pot balls on a green baise, endlessly from cue tip to round object, bouncing around, trying to escape and leave nothing behind. The empty carnage from the stacked-up start of a frame. It is relaxing apparently, the heat of battle but with gentle contemplation, unfolding over time. Day after day after day. Bank holidays can change the flow of time, stop us in our tracks, Halt. Who goes there or where. Routines upended by not needing to do anything. So, we could mow the lawn, fix fittings, dump the unused wardrobe, reconfigure our spaces. Or just go for a long walk, aimlessly meandering off into the distance, not knowing when to turn round as there is no time limit. It just goes on. All is quiet in the countryside, whereas cities hum with eager anticipation, music, drink, desperate to party to ignore the upcoming slip back into tedium of normality. A release. Melancholic moments as your team finishes the season either relegated to a lower division or deep in mid table mediocrity, months of time off to contemplate the start of another cycle. New manager. New players. New kit. New hope. We start again.

End of May sparks festival season in my brain. Time to dive into the gently rotting shed and brush mildew off my festering tent. Will it appear again this year? Not yet, but in due time. preparing to stand outside in various weather forms, jigging and dancing and chatting, music wafting through the the ozone ecosystem pollen infected air. Time can finally standstill.

Making decisions

Coming to a conclusion, gathering all of those thoughts together can be such a difficult process to go through, something which affects your life and those around you. Some people get comatose by the perceived enormity whilst others make it without a second thought. Going on gut instinct, coordinating all those different elements into one coherent whole within seconds. They know that is the right decision. Others struggle to leave the house. Deciding what the take with them, to wear, which bag, shoes, hat or not, a couple of coats. Really they are well prepared, ready for any situation except perhaps nuclear war. Others just leave like that, a thin raincoat slung over their shoulder and off they go. Every moment of every day is about decisions. Our lives are defined by them. Planning who to go and see, what events, how to balance your weeks Go to the gym or a run down the beach. Entering into the duty free area of an airport and faced with that unique scent of a million different perfumes, sparkling dayglo bottles ready for a little body taste. Rub some on your neck and no idea if it suits you or smells nice, matching with your pheromones or smelling like petrol. It is a good decision not to rub hands around the neck region after putting petrol in your car. Venturing further in the concourse a selection of familiar shops await. Maybe some new sunglasses for the trip. Gucci, Ray-Ban or Polaroid. Millions of lenses gleaming back at you, frames with subtle differences. How do you choose? Go for the cheapest option perhaps that looks remotely suitable. Can you decide what looks good on your face or do you need an accomplice to help. Choosing a certain pair will alter your overall look, almost personality. Big and brash or cool and sophisticated. Bookish or biker. You are at the airport with decisions already made. A holiday planned. Weeks of pouring through travel guides and Facebook posts to come to the ultimate Greek Island. How do you choose? Undiscovered Greece, near islands you can hop to, beautiful but unspoilt. Searching for your own bespoke piece of paradise. It’s your honeymoon so this needs to be right. Not a half-built apartment with builders staring through your window, providing the chainsaw morning chorus like a Greek Einsterzunde Neubauten. You could just rock up at the air take off place and see what’s available. Go for the moment. Close eyes and point at a map of the world. How exciting. Too exciting or unpredictable perhaps. Part of the joy of holidays is planning, building up a perceived idea of what it’s like. Inter railing. City to city. Walks in the mountains. Going to visit friends. An academic conference with a holiday tacked on. That seems to be quite an effective way of deciding where to go, following the call for papers which can be connected to your own research but which land in interesting places. Canada, Jamaica, Finland, Porto, Korea, Paris. Random American cities which might be worth an extended look. But all this travel. Is it really worthwhile and hey, have you heard about climate change. Altering the world in front of us. Surely we should just stop flying. Stay local. Cycle. Walk. Do nothing, be inert. Agh, such a difficult choice. A lack of real knowledge or collective behaviour. Why should I sacrifice these extra elements of my life when I see friends and foe jetting off around the world. If they stop, I do. Leave the decision to someone else. If the price was too high then I would find alternative things to do. If I knew by not flying the world would be saved, then absolutely, I’ll never set foot in a WH Smith’s again, trying to decide what novel or non-fiction book to get, something that will impact my holiday so directly. A book connected to the place I’m going or something which completely transports me to a different world. Should I stay or should I go?

SUMMER

The Longest Day

The long hot days of summer are something that many of us look forward to. A yearning for sunlight hours stretching beyond infinity. In the UK this can lead from 4am to 10.30 pm but the timing and amount of light varies depending on your longitude. As author Lavinia Greenlaw ponders in the Vast Extent there is an almost overbearing happiness to sunlight, commenting on the experience of Nordic countries leading into the artic circle, when sunlight can be almost constant by mid-summer. Without the madness of throwing yourself off cliffs. The light never disappearing. Just slightly dulling before rising again. Following the rhythm of light is a healthy way to exist, waking and sleeping with nature. In the winter you need to fight through this, to rise before the sun. Days stretch out in the summer, festivals arrive, people come outside, there is a buzz of happiness and life that emanates. In the summer you can go to the beach after work, meet up with friends for a drink, go for a walk, swim. Life is so much fuller. It’s way it is so tempting to follow the sun, move to Australia every winter. There is almost a forced element to being happy in the summer though, which can be overwhelming to some people. The need to stock up on vitamin D and happiness, ready for the long gradual march through autumn and winter. As a photographer the light is less interesting in summer months. It’s too flat, overbearing, constant, whereas the glimpses through winter cast long arrowing shards that pinpoint elements, highlighting and throwing vast shadows. The colours out to sea have a metallic vibrancy in winter that is rare in summer, where the haziness adds pastel shades. Paddle boarders silhouetted in waters which seem to lose their definition, floating in mid-air, Fata Morgana. I am always waiting for the summer. The gorgeous scents emanating from hedge rows. Freshly cut grass. No mow May, wildflowers dusting the air streams and delighting visual colours. June always seems to arrive too soon. A month of change and extremes. The longest day, leading onto the nights gradually starting to get darker. The hump month. Mid way through. Festival season, the end of school and university years, the start of summer for some, the gradual waning for others. In the UK it’s a beautiful month, beach swims, country walks in shorts and sandals, gardening, after work trips to the beer garden, a run along the coast. Always with the looming figure of Glastonbury at the far end, bookending the month and providing the turning point of summer. There is a sadness to summer I can never quite put my finger on. Maybe it’s the fact that it will end. Be existing, summer shows that it will finish. A bittersweet symphony. Or maybe it’s just the hay fever which is making my eyes itch and head swell. Hot, sweaty. Waking up in a tent slightly hung over, dry, parched. The expectation of summer. Looking forward to it through the long winter months only to be disappointed when it arrives. Although some days are magical, stretching out for ever, picnics under trees, by winding rivers. A lightness to the sounds. The longest day, eternal daylight stretching beyond your imagination, a dream state. Pastel coloured shades lighting the sky, drawing pictures of longevity and life.

Weekends

I always get excited from a Thursday late afternoon onwards. The rhythm of the week drawing towards the excitement of the weekend. The end of the week. The finale. Why are we so drawn towards endings, not present in the moment but reaching out for the future. I am like that through the seasons. Desperately holding on through the everlasting dark of winter, looking for the first signs of spring, a new beginning, waiting for the end and a new start. Fridays are exciting, because it is soon going to be time for leisure. To relax. Unwind. But are weekends in reality like that? When you have children this is the time to fight your way to clubs, watch boring cartoons, worry about how to keep them occupied, stop them being bored. As an ageing adult I still love the approach of the weekend, but maybe it is this moment which is the most exciting part. The anticipation rather than the reality. We are constantly waiting. For that lottery win. For one of my tracks to be played on the radio. For that perfect job to arrive. For the post. For an email. For guests. For partners. For your football team to win. If they lose then this can ruin some weekends. How crazy is that. You wait in excitement and then are just bitterly disappointed yet again. Today, though, it is 6.30am on a beautiful late April Saturday morning in Devon. The golden sun is rising, starting to spread through our bungalow, glowing, rich, golden. All is quiet except for the occasional sound of rising birds. The beautiful dawn chorus interrupted by horrific seagull squalls. Two beautiful days spread out in front of us. The chance to chill. Mm possibly. Well actually my mother is arriving in a couple of hours and this place is a bit of a mess, so cleaning, scrubbing, tidying, shopping, cooking needs to happen. Daily chores that wait until the weekend. Surely the week is better then, when all you have to worry about is the day job. And that’s quite fun. Meeting friends, hanging out at the beach, sharing dinner, walking along the coastal path, swimming, exercising, browsing shops. All this is good. Saturday is activity day. Get all those chores and things out the way. Sunday. The only day of the week where I allow myself a lie in. Papers, books, articles, music. Through the week I mainly listen to talking on the radio but Sunday changes things. Sunday is music day. Exit from the real world and dream. Read articles on holidays. Plan your life. Allow a hangover to gently flow through your body, taking away an over active mind so that you exist in a semi dream state. Awake but chilled. Sundays can allow you to go with the natural flow, let the weather take you. Drift around. A holiday. A chance to potter in the garden. Hang out with friends. Take them back to the station after Sunday lunch. That great ritual. Lamb, chicken, pork, nut roast, gravy, too many potatoes. Sticky toffee pudding. Custard. Local beers. Snooze. Walk it off. Snack. Spend ages trying to find a film that might be good on the overly numerous streaming channels. One that you will both like. Possibly. The film comes to an unsatisfactory conclusion leading some debate on its merits. Then it is time. Time to think of the week ahead. At this moment the weekend ends. Abruptly. Getting ready for the week ahead. Meetings, emails to send, places to be, projects to rescue, people to support, money to be made. The dynamism of the week ahead racing through your mind, looking ahead to the next weekend.

What is the point

What is the point of life. Arriving with a fanfare then relegated to a footnote. A few people make a mark on the world but the rest of us exist on the planet, stationary, moving, quiet, talking, blah blah blah. What is point? If everyone existed to make the world a better place, a purely philanthropic existence then I can see why we exist, to demonstrate the pure spirit of humanity. Buying stuff to fulfil empty voids shows the futility of life. It is only the internal that is going to be satisfied. When you achieve something like the creation of a new song, finish a book, create an amazing meal, put on an event, get married, see your kids pass exams, see your kids, swim in ice cold water, complete the Grizzly (marathon), move house, plant some veg, get rid of the rats, or have a good day at work. That means something, but it is sometimes difficult to put your finger on exactly that is. If you stop to think then danger.

What are the most pleasurable experiences of life? Making love to your wife? Getting an email from a publisher saying they love your book, are going to publish it and give you a juicy advance? Connectivity with friends? Those moments where you feel there is real purpose because you are in a group who connect. Prince (symbol) shone so brightly but then he was gone, suddenly out of view, a retrospective guitar wielding funky moment in time. A back catalogue to be cherished, but by who? Not Prince himself. He is gone. How will history look back on him? As a genius but with dodgy lyrics. Slightly reincarnated in the form of Thundercat, Janelle Monae, Orgone, Electro Deluxe, or Dirty Loops. From Dirty Mind to Dirty Loops. Prince defined a generation, the end of the 20th century, partying like its 1999 before the millennium crash.

What does life mean to me? Love and friendships, being creatively successful and having a nice place by the sea. Not worrying about money so that it isn’t a central block on the mind and imagination. It is amazing that our world is full of people who want to kill life, cut off the very supply we exist within. Life at the moment would be a couple of days where there is no rain, the possibility for the garden to dry out rather than living in a swamp. Currently hailstones are raining down outside my window. Will this climatic changing weather ever stop. What is wrong with the world. It feels like we are slightly off axis, out of sync, there is something deeply wrong with the patterns. The wettest year on record causing pollution to stream through our waterways. Wild swimming, which became such in vogue through the covid pandemic, is fraught with coli danger. I have never seen anything like this in my lifetime. During the first few months of Covid-19 the world seemed almost at peace, beautiful clear and calm days, birds awakening through our cities, animals taking control as goats roamed through the streets of Llandudno. We need some way of regaining our equilibrium, restoring the faith, shoving us back in the path. Maybe if a meteorite crashed at exactly the right velocity and point then it would jolt planet earth back into its happy place.

I love waking up and seeing the view from my kitchen. The endless variety that the same picture conveys, changed by seasons and the vagaries of the English weather. Coastal winds transforming the seascape unfolding in front of me. The variances as the sun rises from a slightly different position each day, although often there is just a greyness the flattens everything. Mood and perspective. Whilst studying for a PhD I used to cycle between Bristol and Bath most days, stopping at the same point and snapping a shot. Again I was entranced by the differences in similarity, the chance to look more deeply when you start to know every element in your picture. Not a set of holiday snaps which blindly take you around the pool, beach, lunch, church, beach, afternoon drinks, sunset, dinner, party. A beautiful view is to be savoured, unfurled through the ages, the chance to measure your life alongside the beauty of humans and nature.

A view from my kitchen window looking South East towards sunrise, the sea and some dramatic clouds after another crazy storm.