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Our wholesale providers for fine photographic tomes has an office on Wardour Street. It is, to all intents and purposes the Ali Baba’s Cave of rare books. It also feels a little like it exists on Diagon Alley and I like to believe that it sometimes does.

Do I have the two to five hours spare required for this particular foray into this precarious structure?

Every time I think I may be approaching the point where I might begin to formulate a map of its Tardis-like geometry, I find another stack of Photolooks among which may lurk a Warhol ‘Wanted Men’ manuscript and I have to stop myself and ask: Do I have the two to five hours spare required for this particular foray into this precarious structure? Have I told anyone where I’m going? Should I be wearing a GPS tracker? I’ve seen that movie and James Franco lost a mother fucking arm.

These things turn up at the bottom of desk drawers, behind sofas and nestled in between small clothes

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It’s funny because I have only just introduced AD to the literal concept of Tak, primarily as being a game that one does not necessarily play to win and Tuesday’s Be Kind, Rewound “episode”, more commonly referred to as FTV, featured at least part of my own personal gestation with that game. That’s not necessarily the word I was going for but let’s roll with it. The idea that one might play an ostensibly competitive game purely for the journey is a novel concept for her but one that I think she’s warming to. She watched a couple of games play out and revelled in how each match resulted in wholly, seemingly unique formations and city states and the moment I saw that thought form and crystallise and the corresponding glint in her eye, I knew we were in. Oh, and that Mick Jones track? Still slaps. Still slaps real hard.

Having polished off season one of ‘Foundation’, I suspected it might be a little too back and forth for the sake of it…a touch on the “pledgy” YA side? While I enjoyed my time with much of that season, perhaps there were just three too many goodbyes and despite them good bones, a brief dip into the opening salvo of season two confirmed my feelings on the matter. That is to say, you can shut. The front. Door because Disney’s brought ‘Scrubs’ back and it might even be good??!

Two points of order here: 1. Being that this season of scrubs, while not being denoted a numerical value is distinct from the original first season of scrubs from ancient times; so far so removed in fact that such specific clarification need not be made for it is written (albeit very LA handsomely written) on the face of the cast themselves and 2. That the afore unleashed double question mark / exclamatory punctuation does feel appropriate for this particular Ratatouille moment in time.

They played it out unto the bittersweet end with them back then and I think everyone had probably had enough

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I took a couple of peeps from the studio for a cosy lunch at the Barley Mow in Marylebone over the weekend. Their pie is not to be trifled with. The ale is good too. Moreover, they have two very private little garden sheds inside the bar. I am told these are commonly called ‘booths’ but are to all intents and purposes, in direct kinship with that most traditional of man-caves in their capacity for both plotting and quaffing. Buy a bigger set of pants and dig in.

So blown away were we that we decided right there and then that ‘dance organ’ is a veritable thing.

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This week has flown by while simultaneously lasting for nine lunar cycles and I’m struggling to maintain anchor points. Monday was…I don’t recall what happened on Monday. Tuesday was swimming but also dental times for yours truly and I’m still processing exactly how I feel about that. Things were removed and now things have to be substituted in their place. It’s a process and one for which a price is being extracted. It was also World Book Day…yesterday, I think (???) which for some reason these days necessitates dressing up as characters that are not from books instead of actually reading a book which…I would like to believe might somehow lead to someone, anyone somewhere reading a book? Wishful thinking maybe.

Potatoes were also painted in place of donations which seems like a societal double own goal in so many ways but I could be missing the point, at least in part because much of it was Adorable +1 with some description of critical re-roll and she did have a good time. Eventually. Then out of nowhere, Nintendo dropped their indie showcase thing and now I have a whole bunch of titles pinging my radar that I need to keep track of and squeeze into a spare hour/day/week? In addition to this, things feel like they might be hitting a fan somewhere with regards to the band…most likely in a positive fashion but I’ll have to report back on that…

there must be something worthwhile under here, if only I dust around the edges with a gentle type of brush

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Saturday is normally a contemporary low-fi affair in the shop. Think Dum Dum Girls followed by a touch of something heavier, i.e Von Bondies. I like to dial things back a bit in the afternoon, a la Cream or The Sonics but for the most part, it’s a fairly easy choice to make. Predictable even. That may explain in part why a few of my regular miscreants (because ‘friend’ is such a strong word after Friday night) raised at least one of their collective eyebrows at this particular foray into the boxes this weekend.

It is, according to the record sleeve, an opera without divas.

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Today’s column comes to you late for a number of reasons. First, there were email troubles and I spent a season of my life in two separate chats with two very helpful tech warlocks for two totally different companies in order to re-right the electronic ship. This involved much wrangling of MX codes and other assorted DNS bullshit and I would be a happy man were I to never set foot in those sticky halls ever again. Incongruities now being rectified, I shall hopefully never have to. Secondly, yesterday was a day of much rejoicing in our household and also a day on which I personally did weigh the passage of time, what with those monsters being a whole thirty years old? Christ. Let us dive in and we can be out of here and back to Kanto in no time and all shall be copacetic.

Cometh the hour, cometh the ‘mons! Of course 27.02 came and went and so wrapped up were we in festivities that in the end, I gave up any designs on wrapping this whole thing before bed and instead retired to a dark corner of Viridian forest with my bugs. I picked the tiny one up shortly before six and we headed straight home via the dumpling place, thereby enacting a super effective Pokémon/Chinese combo, straight out of the ‘Winning At Fatherhood 101’ playbook. Understand, I wasn’t entirely certain if she was totally physically ready to be the main pilot on this flight but here we are, setting out into the known unknowns with her at the joy-cons and daddy as an assist for walls of text.

To sit with her as she made her first, baby steps on this journey, into this world was…choice, to put it mildly

She has the battle system down cold and already trucks with the rock/paper/scissors system for those starters. Naturally, she is a Charmander main and I am at a disadvantage and I’m absolutely okay with this. To sit with her as she made her first, baby steps on this journey, into this world was…choice, to put it mildly and not a moment I shall forget any time soon. It might even be one she remembers. We’ll find out and we’re going to as we’re getting those Winds and those Waves next year, if all goes to plan so yeah. We’re in it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to catch a number of Abra and sweatshop them into Kadabra and y’all can find me in the lot out back trading eggs for bulk black market Alakazam…

I’ve been trying to get out of my comfort zone a little in the studio lately and was afforded the opportunity to try something new the other evening. Uilie is a new face for IMAGEX models and an absolute pro, straight out the traps. I didn’t even believe them when they said they’d never really been in front of a lens before. Wild. Before we got into my usual lighting setups, I decided to try going a little off-piste and landed straight in neon land. There are (counts) around four different lights in this setup: an eye-dropped yellow lifted straight from the Brazil shirt on the right, a really hard blue on the left that gives us a green blend mid shot, one stupidly red shoulder light behind on the left for the hair that also throws some incidental purple into the mix, and a siren blue flood on what was my favourite green backdrop. It…worked?

a proper conversion in ‘shop gives you almost unnatural control over what the once blue shadows are doing

I think? Particularly with this wardrobe and someone with such striking bone structure. I have to admit that I might just shoot all my portraits with this rig from now on. Maybe…and then convert them to monochrome. Shut up and hear me out! Look, the conversion is something to behold and I swear, I barely needed to over-juice a single damn thing. Proof, if ever we needed it that shooting in colour with different colours/gels really does make a difference when eventually landing in black and white. You end up with a completely different suite of variables to play with and while either version has totally legitimate vibes, a proper treatment in ‘shop gives you almost unnatural control over what the once blue shadows are doing on your off side, absolutely zero pun intended. I suspect there is a lesson in there somewhere, if only I can find it…

I am well aware that I am about as late to the party as I ever have been or it is possible to be but I have reasons? I might have heard that ‘Foundation’ was bad but then someone told me I would probably like it and while I’m trying not to be offended by that, it is a visual feast and it’s difficult to be mad. Also, I have heard very good things about the second and third season, proving that things can indeed only get better? Encouraging then that they have started in such a great place. It doesn’t quite have the mystery of something like Battlestar…but it might be close.

It also can’t only have been me to find the whole design of the vault to be a strange, circular experience

There are certainly things we don’t know that Harry probably does and it does have the lived-in feel of a Star Wars, if not the character and that hard, tangible quality that an Alien movie cuts its teeth on. These are all good things. It also can’t only have been me to find the whole design of the vault to be a strange, circular experience in which Asimov inspires ‘No Man’s Sky’ inspires Asimov ad infinitum…the effect is dizzying and it might just be greater or at least as great as the sum of its parts. That’s a very good place to be.

JD out.

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I really have kept it to the knuckle today. This is partially because I was informed by more than one person that I went overlong on Saturday but also for some other unknown reason. I have been utilising tools that I had not understood were being discussed and termed as ADHD distraction / victory tactics, whereby when your spicy brain rails against unloading the dish washer, you go and empty the litter tray instead. This avoidance feels like a victory and also has the added bonus of being really damn productive. The logical extrapolation of this of course then offers one the opportunity to unload the dish washer as opposed to hoovering the lounge that is now covered in extraneous litter. I’m attempting to dual wield this weapon alongside a Just Do One Thing mantra. It might even be working.

They’re actually gonna do it. I mean, I don’t think anyone thought for a moment that we lived in a world where they wouldn’t because money as per but yeah…it’s happening. I only ever experienced these gen one games when they were not red and green but red and blue and/or yellow and/or ‘Let’s Go’ and the catching/nix battle system in those latter, more recent games did not grab me. While there seemed little to figuratively grab, the way my brain works prevented me from walking away from doing the thing they want you to do when it would be a sensible time to do so. I got stuck and I walked away and go I did not.

Of course because of the way that time works and the way in which I have personally fallen through it in a very physical sense, I originally experienced Pokemon Blue and Yellow on the OG Greyboy, hence I never got to see any actual colours and it wasn’t until a whole age of this world later that I even got to see them on an legitimate Gameboy Colour (eternal props to Canterbury’s legendary Level Up Games) and never these vivid iterations on the Gameboy Advance because by that point I was briefly over it. All of which is to say that they have me now and I am cranked up to the nines on Kanto’s finest.

I’d happily negotiate a deal whereby I give them whatever they damn well please in return

It is preordered at what I must admit feels like a totally reasonable price point for a remaster (sure) of a twenty-two year old game and locked in. Now, if they can just find a way to make the hardware work for a HeartGold and SoulSilver, I’d happily negotiate a deal whereby I give them whatever they damn well please, first-born larva absolutely being on the table, in return for an afternoon with those games on the Switch. Honest to blog, I’d even take a Crystal port and I suspect that might be easier and therefore more likely.

We were a little mystified as to why they chose to announce/shadow drop the preorders last Friday and not this Friday, i.e. Pokemon Day and also their actually fucking thirtieth birthday? It feels like it could be a pre-teaser type situation and maybe we’re getting something else? One of those other games perhaps? Gen ten? More likely. A gen ten I actually want to play? Hmm. I need something to keep me busy for the next seventy-two hours or so. Thankfully, with this week being what it’s shaped up to be, we are “blessed” in this regard.

Pokemon’s not the only cultural touchstone in my life having a “Big O” moment right now and the card that came with this says it all. This is an exquisitely (and I do mean exquisitely) produced new publication of one of the greatest American photographic projects, if not photographic projects period, of the twenty-first century. Richard Avedon’s ‘In The American West’ (Abrams, 2025) has long been on my hit-list. Indeed, I used to have a copy, which of course I never owned, mainly because it was for sale and I had to sell it and even that was the French copy, even if it was one of the first 1985 copies?

I had basically come to terms with most likely never possessing my own copy in this reality or the next

That this is a new English edition means that I can actually get around to the foreword and background now and that might be something that needs to occur tomorrow morning over a coffee, kept at a respectful distance, naturally. Out of print for more than a decade, I had basically come to terms with most likely never possessing my own copy in this reality or the next, hence that they have actually gone back for such an incredible reproduction is a pretty big deal. If I can manifest a copy of that Tina Barney book now, I think I could find some modicum of peace…

I have heard people decry, nay cry in the streets about the fact that the last Muppet Show should always have been one more season but how in the seven hells is this only one episode? They could run this thing every single weekend and an infinite number of bums would fill an infinite number of seats. I had been meaning to take them up on that very offer for a bit but have only just properly resolved the Disney Plus fiasco…I think. Spoilerth: It was absolutely worth the wait and now I’m even more mad that this is all we get for the time being. I’ve just checked and we really are three for three today because 2025 was only the seventieth anniversary since Henson created the now moderately cursed ‘Sam and Friends’? Seventy years of muppets? Shit’s wild.

The humour is still gold AF and there was something in every scene for both my small person and I

But yeah. Perhaps especially in light of this, a Muppet Show Singular is less of a “show”, if we’re honest and might qualify more readily as a “feature”, one that does feature an admittedly very good Sabrina Carpenter and sometimes Seth Rogan? The magic is still very much there and these cameos have always been part of it when it’s been at its best. From what I can gather (and this is directly referenced early on in the show), there are absolutely plans to feed demand while keeping production value appropriately high. The humour is still gold AF and there was something in every scene for both my small person and I, which should speak volumes about the quality of the writing and the warmth with which it’s pitched, culminating in a closing number for the ages for all ages. I Stan the frog.

JD out.

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It is true that we skipped Tuesday this week. I may also have skipped Sunday and Monday and while Wednesday did happen in the end, the pox held both offspring and myself in its thrall for a deathly span. I spent much of my time inside the dying hole working via home, from whence I could broadcast from a predominantly horizontal configuration. While we did not perform the ritual here, any real or imagined efforts to bring an end to our bloody embrace were but a pyrrhic victory, for I have endeavoured elsewhere to bring about a new era of noise and/or alchemy and I present the following, such as it is, as penance for my absence.

The TNA store front is risen and the tee is back! I have had some comments that the featured rendition of Lemmy Cat is, if anything, too laid back but he’s evidently living his best life in this depiction and who am I to stop him? The accompanying advice is, I think, sound advice and that which I give my daughter daily on the drive to the place wot teaches you things. You can’t go wrong and if you do, I can be sure you were really listening. For those of you whom are truly far too cool for school and always have been, there’s a notebook for your “very important” and not at all compromising notes, as well as a mug shaped receptacle complete with fair warning.

If the most exciting thing about all of this was the fact that the shirt comes in either white or black, I could go and lie my weary body down but it can’t be because this is. I have long been of the opinion that whatever differences any one person might have from another person; be they predicated on racial difference, cultural difference, religious difference, sexual preference, gender, taste in music or daytime television, whatever…these are either reasons to celebrate the proverbial spice of life or they are nonsense divisions, devised to divide us.

that much talked about One Percent are screwing the rest of us here on Earth six ways from Sunday

These differences are often leveraged in this way by those with a vested interest in retaining their position at the apex of a one-hundred precent shitty pyramid. To divide and distract us accordingly, mostly from the many ways in which that much talked about One Percent are screwing the rest of us here on Earth six ways from Sunday with regards to money and more pertinently Time, resource and provision. The most excellent humans at Hope Not Hate have provided us with an irrefutable opportunity to materially combat this virulent form of devilry.

All profits from the purchase (post production and postage) of this incredible head ornament go directly to that cause and the effort to push back against such rubbish behaviour. Against racism, against fascism and against hate, while standing up for stronger, more united communities. I do believe that together we can make a difference and I do believe that can be evidenced quite readily. Look at the whole Disney v Kimmel debacle! Look at how they fucking blinked. I’m getting ahead of myself, point being that you too can absolutely be a Real One and you know what? I think you’ll feel better about some if not all of it almost immediately…

So yeah. I had cancelled Disney back when it became as apparent as it ever has been that the friendly face must be a mask that masks that which is less than friendly but mostly after they went after the First and not for the first time although that get problematic real fast. While I am on record as being in acceptance of the fact that discontinuing their service and depriving a household of the princess library may constitute an unscripted form of child abuse, I felt safe in the knowledge that we had appropriate stand-in viewing available on Netflix, of course until we didn’t.

Amazon does not feel like an ideal place for a nascent mind to have to spend any measure of time and so while we did find a not totally terrible detective thing on there to fill half an hour while I cleansed myself, a return to the House Of Mouse was all but inevitable. Or at least, it could have been? We ran into some weird bug that prohibited being re-tethered to their dark body and I spent a hot minute on chat to their surprisingly spry and robust technical support. They granted us a free two day pass to roam the halls until I attempt to clear whatever denotation of a bar this might be. I can’t complain as it really should always be this easy.

despite the whole “circle of eating” shtick being very shticky, I was in there like swimwear

Either way, while she did not end up getting to partake in a Walt adjacent IP, I did end up with the new Predator thing, which paints very quickly a shockingly human portrait of a protagonist who is very much not human, albeit a deeply vulnerable, flawed not human at that. ‘Badlands’ conjures up a remarkable tenable living, breathing alien world that’s totally not Pandora and despite the whole “circle of eating” shtick being very shticky, I was in there like swimwear. Someone has obviously been taking legit notes from the Mando/Kenobi crew or at least it feels that way.

I’d forgotten that this could be of the same…I want to say ecosystem that bought us ‘Alien Earth’, even if it’s far more a beast of action at first blush but you can’t tell me that a lunar bug isn’t also a Rathtar by any other name? I can smell cross pollination from a parsec away and while I don’t have the Earth standard necessary to go searching for it, I know it’s out there. I can feel it in my better knee. Sorry, I lost my train of thought. There are also some Monster Hunter vibes in there too. I am compelled to return to crafting weapons of great and specific utility, all in the service of the hunt and around we shall go.

there are always gonna be things that don’t add up and if you’re not going to throw yourself into it

Is it perfect? Not in a millennia, naturally. Given the earlier Middle Earth travel montage of the first episode (not an episode), there are evident geographical inconsistencies in the pacing of the Rambo portion of this tale but there are always gonna be things that don’t add up and if you’re not going to throw yourself into it, plot holes be damned, maybe this isn’t for you. It’s not entirely for me but it caught me in an amenable mode and I had a similitude of popcorn. Probably. It’s not bad and it’s not totally stupid but it’s not designed for scrutiny at a molecular level.

Perhaps my biggest takeaway is that I wish we could take away more but in a more episodic format, like some kind of serial thing or indeed a “series”? This is not that and it’s definitely a movie and I think I read somewhere that he intended for it to be a standalone thing but now that everyone seems to dig it: Money. I suspect that we could absolutely end up with a sequel but again, I would have taken / would still take a season or two at the very least and then they could cancel it and I’d probably have fun. I did not see the monkey coming but I do need more of that and also her.

There was some BTS I found on a hard drive from a hair shoot with Anne Veck, last February and hence shunted to the ‘gram the other day, in addition to a more recent video unleashed by Anne herself and if you were wondering if I have more, yes. I do. I have lots more. Shooting with The Anne, is always a great day and it’s usually a whole day and it is definitively full-on. The act of shooting BTS is, I find, in and of itself a fun time to begin with. It’s low stakes, incredibly social and it’s only your job to be everywhere. Think of it like a wedding but you’re not the primary tog and no-one wants an edit?

killing it with the energy of two people at least half your age and on a normal day, fewer people get divorced

You’re about half the way there, except in this instance the bride is an insanely brilliant, extremely French hair maniac, whose business is killing it with the energy of two people at least half your age and on a normal day, fewer people get divorced. That these shoots are often geared toward a competition of some sort usually means I cannot nor dare not share diddly until after the podium’s called, which can be a ways off. In this case it entered potential mortal territory back in November but I hadn’t realised. We were in fact back in the salon only just the other day but I’ll have to see you for that jaunt closer to Christmas.

JD out.

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I came to the beginning at the end but this time I did it to be absolutely certain, Dear Reader, that I wouldn’t be lying to you. I’ve kept it…more succinct for today and shan’t keep you from your très romantique endeavours overly long. I myself have a stupidly optimal Daddy/Daughter date to make and she will not be kept waiting. While I shall not expatiate here, the issue of timekeeping did come up this week and I decided to take my own sweet time to gather my thoughts on the subject before attempting to explain the importance of and nuances therein.

Time keeping is important because time is all any of us really have. One should not assume that one’s own time is more valuable than anyone else’s and while, yes, if you are “important” enough, people will wait for you, this should not be a given or taken for granted and doing so certainly does not make one a better person. It is beholden of us to respect the time of other people as we would respect their existence, as we would expect them to respect our own. That said: Everyone and I do mean everyone is five minutes late some days and everyone has had days where it is necessary to wait or work a little longer in order to make things happen for other people. Knowing this, understanding this and being understanding of other people when they and/or yourself are in this position, absolutely does aid in making you a better person and it’s within your power to choose that reality and that version of yourself on the daily…

So yeah. It finally happened. We are signed. The Heat Inc. have signed. We have signed with Republic Of Music and Album II (as it shall be known for just a little while longer yet) shall be with you…sooner than you or I might have thought. Well, I expect the singles shall at any rate. As for the wax itself…this year, he said, with some confidence. I include here, for your convenience, a little artwork in progress and please believe me when I say that I’m pushing my luck in doing so…

It’s a pretty poorly kept secret that this second record was actually recorded not that long after we released the first, ‘Asleep In The Ejector Seat’ back in (checks) the latter portion of 2023 and the master has been in the can for a good while after that now. I shall go so far as to say that we are very happy with it, enough so as to spend a good couple of years hunting for the right deal to bring it to your hands and ears. I think it deserves this much and I am incredibly grateful to my brothers Incorporated: V, Rigot, and Marco himself. Without you and your belief, your passion and dogged determination, none of this would have happened the way it is now happening and I would not have it any other way. You are all the band I needed, even if I haven’t always deserved it. I see ya.

we look forward to working with them in the extremely near future to bring you Rock ’n’ Roll as intended

That said, it takes someone special or someones special to come to the table for Rock music, the world being as it is and I would consider us blessed in this regard. Republic Of Music are a fantastic group, whose work is a credit to them and the artists/labels they have worked with and we look forward to working with them in the extremely near future to bring you Rock ’n’ Roll as intended; as the fun machine but only all the time. We can write the damn thing and record it and perform it but if it never gets a platform or a megaphone, you’d never be any the wiser and I think that would be a shame?

This, I hope and believe, is the deal that the record deserves and it is hopefully one that shall bring you so much more from both the past as well as the pertinent and ever nearly present future. As much as this was a deal for Album II, it’s also a deal to bring Album I to all of you, lifted from the sold out vinyl itself where a veritable half of that record has existed almost exclusively until now, to all ears everywhere and your platform of choice. In full. All of it and more. Soon.

If it’s at all possible, the second season of ‘Severance’ is several sideways steps more unilaterally unhinged than the first. And darker…or perhaps weirder. I’m around half way though, I think and have just hit the “And Now For Something Completely Different” episode of the season, ‘Woe’s Hollow’ and there are severe American Gothic vibes in the mode of ‘The Revenant’, Poe’s ‘Ligeia’ or even something like Jordan Peele’s ‘Us’. While it’s most likely an idiot statement to state that the middle feels very much in the middle and a good place to call the middle, that’s definitely what this is. The change of pace is a refreshing one and I’m excited to get back to the office, which is an utterance I don’t think I have ever uttered nor would contemplate IRL.

I had been enjoying this season and it had begun to feel a little like a job I did not want but felt compelled to return to

For clarification, I do not count The Studio, musical or photographic as “the office” for to do so in an at all pejorative way would be anathema. I enjoy my works plural but I would be pressed to say I had been enjoying this season and it had begun to feel a little like a job I did not want but felt compelled to return to, which I am aware is a job for many folk. It’s not that ‘Severance’ is not brilliantly written, more that I think I keep expecting it to not be as well written as it is which seems and feels both unfair and exhausting in equal measure. It’s suffocating which I could easily believe is the onus but Anna Ouyang Moench’s very special episode serves as an indelible palette cleanser and I am ready for seconds.

Stella and I shot this toward the end of last year but what with everything else, that session has been sat on my hard drive, admittedly waiting very patiently but gnawing at my cerebellum nonetheless. I love shooting for GNISSU because over the years, it’s taken on a semi-ritualistic process. There is always the same light and trusty reflector, there is always the same wall, and I always set out with the same camera and/or roll of film. There’s also one candle and you couldn’t convince me that it makes no material difference and even if you tried, I would insist until we were both blue in the face that it A. Definitely does, 2. You’re missing the point and it doesn’t matter and X. Shut up.

a solid hour swishing a black mesh dress around with wholly unrepeatable and markedly desirable results

On the other hand, Kodak Tmax (the real deal or simulated) is an integral part of the process and as core to the ethos of this project as my general preference for wardrobe sans brands or text, as well as an insistence on juxtaposed textures and high contrast lines. If I had to cop to it, I’d say that I know a shot that belongs in the collection, almost as well as I can spot one that doesn’t. The “b-sides” from a GNISSU shoot are often great fun (Freya and I once spent a solid hour swishing a black mesh dress around with wholly unrepeatable and markedly desirable results on every shot) but there is always one that’s It and It stays with you.

JD out.

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I was contemplating on keeping today’s column relatively to the point but I always set out to be brief and I usually get sidetracked along the way. We’ll see how it goes but there are a number of reasons why I’m considering this, chief among them being Time. There is a whole slew of admin mulch that needs to get done this week/month pertaining to social media and portfolio stuff and betwixt that, the band, and togging stuff in order to feed the child, I’m not sure when exactly I might find time to breathe. And if I’m totally honest, I have become quite partial to that particular activity. Breathing, that is.

We recently shifted publication days from Mondays to Tuesdays…last week I think, primarily so as to allow for a little more headroom but now I’m eyeballing this Thursday post and considering its longevity. I would have quality over quantity any day and I posit that neither shall happen if I become any further out and/or burned. If I recall correctly, the original incarnation of this thing eventually levelled out as a two-posts-a-week type thing and if this iteration ends up being a version that occurs on Tuesdays and Saturdays? I could make peace with that.

Speaking of The Column That Was, I came upon this very shortly after the first wave of The Apocalypse and never found a chance to talk about it. ‘Hot Damn!’ by Chloe Sells is the book about the cabin that belonged to the guy by the girl who was his go-to and it’s every bit as beatnik ramshackle as that sounds. I have a feeling it ended up getting optioned during cut-up sessions for Album II and that’s about as far as it went at the time. I’ll mea culpa to being a total dilettante with literature that comes across my desk at times but please understand, that we are talking about volume and bandwidth and the period in which I came into possession of this particular copy was that period and that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.

there’s an equal dose of material that makes me pretty sure about where he would have stood

Yes, there are a fair few shots in common with Richard Prince and his propensity for snapping porn on TV sets in the ‘80s but there’s an equal dose of material that makes me pretty sure about where he would have stood on most of today’s current nonsense. I only very recently discovered there’s actually a whole back section to it with even the briefest of notes to accompany massed apparent miscellany and ephemera that ensconced Thompson in his final days. The tie-dye “ink marblings” that are blended with the photography certainly make it its own thing and there is a…totemic quality to the book. I confess that this may be what drew me to it in the first place and now I am obsessed once more.

The other night felt like a movie night for no reason and those are always the best reasons to have a movie night. My favourite kind of movie night (apart from actually going to the damn movies) is a movie night at home. Alone. I maintain temporal control over the flow of the evening, in addition to access to sustenance and beverages and no-one talks during the screening apart from when I have to take a phone call and then there is no one else to lose their collective cool with me because again, we are at home and we are alone in this scenario. I’m gonna take a phone call, ‘Bugonia’. Deal with it. The infinitely cray-cray OST was the first thing to hit. It’s fantastic but those terrifying orchestral swells feel utterly incongruous with the film’s lush colour grading and very Spielberg cinematography. At least, it does at first.

it’s possible to be both crazy and correct and now I have ‘Territorial Pissings’ on at pugilistic volume

The word unique kept surfacing while attempting to parse Lanthimos oeuvre, no less than five salacious times and so I have removed all usage. Except that one. This makes more sense when you consider that the guy was behind the wheel for ‘The Lobster’ and also ‘Poor Things’ with Stone. As per usual for much of her recent output, it’s a wild ride and quite a lot to unpack, which is a funnier sentence to even consider writing if you’ve actually seen it. I may have described part of my takeaway to Mr. T as being assured that it’s possible to be both crazy and correct and now I don’t have ‘Lithium’ on at pugilistic volume. Without spoiling anything (and I do strongly recommend you go in as blind and immersed as humanly possible) the ending is something you either will or won’t have seen coming and to be honest, it could have gone either way right up until the ever-loving titles but the most interesting way was definitely the way to go.

I have shot with Julia a few of times now and if the rumours abound are that she’s a total pro and a fantastic emerging talent, those rumours are to be believed. That said, it takes different people different quotas of time to acclimate to different things and it’s always interesting to watch people begin to understand a thing and themselves better in real time. Watching Julia bring the lens to heel under her own terms and the resultant quality of creative output ascend accordingly…there’s a very real chance that’s one of my top five reasons for shooting portraiture at all. A working relationship is a wonderful thing. Mastering an idea with another mind at the controls alongside you? That’s the good shit.

their sensor has its own game going on, much in the same way that Canon does but totally different

This is my favourite capture from last weekend’s FOTO FOLIO for now. I shot it on the Fuji X100V, as I’m inclined to do for workshops and the like, as jpegs outta that brush perform heavy lifts without breaking a bead. That said, I did get into the RAW for this one and was pleasantly surprised. No, it doesn’t resolve in the same way that a knife edge does on Sony’s Alpha series but it renders beautifully and their sensor has its own game going on, much in the same way that Canon does but totally different. It might be a pastel deal. I keep thinking it’s too magentary (now a word) but every time I go to correct for it, another part of my brain has the bit and I’m learning to leave it alone.

JD out.

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If you aren’t familiar with, nor can you decrypt the exact parameters that might define a Fuggler or delineate it from a Labubu, then I cannot help you. It is simultaneously true that you are safe and I am in fact the one that requires saving. The former of these lifeforms are breeding like quintuply cursed rabbids ‘round our house at present and the situation feels increasingly untethered from any kind of controlled descent into The Chaotic Realms. I can’t even blame it on a usual suspect either because I am entirely to blame and I was totally blindsided by the insane dental factor, specifically where it intersects with the fluff factor. If they weren’t such…unique beauties, they might even be cute and the reverse is a balanced hypothesis.

People talk a lot (and for good reason) about the big changes that sobriety can bring to a person’s life and they’re not wrong. It can change your life and life can be pretty damn good on the daily. Understand me: I’m not saying that sobriety itself is easy. Not in a hundred-thousand years. Sobriety can be hard, really hard and it requires being ready or becoming ready for a change but as an old friend of mine is wont to say, we find our own level and we choose our own hard. What can be easy, is making the decision that this is something one might want for themselves but I don’t think it’s necessarily for the big reasons that you might do it or see apparent in your life, particularly in the all-important immediate reality of a person who may or may not be an addict or have an addictive personality.

It’s in the little things, those little luxuries that suddenly aren’t affordable when you have a monkey on your back

It’s in the small spaces that are created by a clearer mind (and yes, a far less abused, more available bank balance) where you begin to find space to be present and really live, rather than just piling through each day in survival mode. I have found this to be the truth. It’s in the little things, those little luxuries that suddenly aren’t affordable when you have a monkey on your back: Candles, fresh bars of soap, extra treats for the cat, an impulse toy for the child, a range of rainy day canned soups in the kitchen cupboard, one new coffee mug, a pair of vests, shoe polish, good ground coffee, and a packet of madeleines. Any one of these alone could be a great reason to get out of bed without a hangover. In concert with the big stuff? It’s an absolutely ordinary rainbow.

It’s also in the stupid stuff, like not sweating about dropping a cold, hard twenty on Konami’s incredible birthday present to everyone who’s birthday it both is and is not. I have supernaturally vivid memories of playing Wario Blast on the original grey Gameboy and yes, I’m that far decayed but no, that game is not on here. While this is a shame, we are still showered in an embarrasment of shadow-dropped riches with this incredibly nostalgic offering. That’s not to imply in any way that ‘Super Bomberman Collection’ is merely Member Berries, without substance or chops and I would go to lengths to have you and/or anyone else but especially Mr. Rigot have that fixed firmly in your Emersonian mind.

There are…a lot of Bombermens on here and the gameplay is tight enough to stand up to a battering with one through three friends in tow, despite there being an own goal’s omission of online multiplayer? I can’t really bring myself to complain and burned…a portion of time yesterday evening when I definitely should have been abed. That second game has teeth and the Makers hath thrown in a bunch of courtesy quality of life options too, including both an extremely welcome yet entirely period incorrect save utility? I do feel like something is lost in the absence of keeping notes/continue codes and having to type them in, although I believe you can absolutely do that if you’re a total sicko and require the congruity of inconvenience.

I could feel the dust shedding from my skin like so many grains of parched, ancient sand in the process

There is also a totally unnecessary albeit utterly essential option for scan lines. She asked me why the screen was funny and I had to explain about life in another dimension that occurred a whole lifetime before the one that we inhabit now and I could feel the dust shedding from my skin like so many grains of parched, ancient sand in the process. I’m not sure if she is yet capable of understanding why I insisted the lines were left on but she did appreciate that it looked different and might even have been cool? Maybe. Well, I thought it was cool and at this stage, she is unlikely to disagree with me and I’m gonna ride that wave while it lasts, for sure, preferably in a house boat with snacks.

The rad little manuals the developers have included alongside the 3D renderings of their respective carts was another story entirely and they were all fully dissected and assimilated, in curious and ravenous fashion. In a parallel universe, this may have counted as a passable weekend stand-in for a bedtime story. Hmm. That the funny lines are also an artefact in the same way that this distinct literature is an artefact from a different time might be something that seeps into awareness over time, akin to osmosis or something else that seeps. Either way, we had a blast with the thing and I suspect that this ends up in current rotation with Kart and Party, at least until Wonder hits next month…

I was on the hunt for something new the other night or at least new for me and boy, did I find it. ‘Motherfucker, I am Both: “Amen” and “Hallelujah”...’ from Shearling is…not what you think it’s going to be based on the first full four minutes of what could be either a very long song or an album with few discernible breaks. The term avant-garde gets thrown around a tonne with stuff like this but I feel like if ever there was a time to be apt, it’s now and it’s with this. To be reductive, I get weird (in the best kind of way) Jesus Lizard but what if that band was a one man show and what if it was actually the opera vibes?

it wouldn’t normally be my bag except for the fact that I am honour bound to respect this degree of passion

He’s been pretty open about the harrowing inspiration behind this and you can go out there and find interviews if you’re interested but if you want to go in cold and buckle in for a performance, brace your good self. It’s one-hundred percent not easy listening in any sense of the word and it wouldn’t normally be my bag except for the fact that I am honour bound to respect this degree of passion and level of dedication to the form and to the evident self in such a piece of work. It’s the kind of meaningfully credible art that speaks to an inherently cult quality, the kind of which might be spoken of in dank basements years hence.

JD out.

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This week has either been relentless or my spirit begins to weaken. It could be a combination of the two. Rest was an absent friend last week and I fear I may be burned at both ends and in this analogy I may be the candle or a film strip suffering from freak dual exposure. As is often the case in the life of a person who has made making things (often intangible things) their pleasure and their business, it’s either the dearthful, barren in-between lands wherein nothing is happening or it’s everything everywhere all at once.

For no healthy reason, the deliberate optioning of “down-time” in whichever of these two, utterly discrete situations one might find themselves feels like anathema to the creative self. It feels sinful and full of sin. The directly apposite opposite of the axiom may in fact be true then, that for the wicked there is too much, nay an abundance of rest. I need to lie down in a dark room and not talk to anyone for a minute.

If you’re reading this as it goes live there is a solid chance that we are in the studio and indeed in the midst of February’s FOTO FOLIO. These workshops initially came about because because neither me nor my camera particularly like the rain and October through April is generally cursed with regards to photo walks in the out of doors. Actually, I say that my camera dislikes getting wet but in actuality it’s most likely weather sealed. I however, am not and that would be my point if it had not already been made by The Schneider. Whatever. A wet model hiding under an umbrella is a very specific shot and not necessarily the stuff afternoons are made of, hence we decided to move the party indoors during the late autumn/winter/spring months.

they provide incredible value for an afternoon that tends to be as instructive as it is productive

They have proved to be a thing that people want, which is always nice. That there is a demand vindicates the necessary effort and manifest cost in time. I am inclined to believe they provide incredible value for an afternoon that tends to be as instructive as it is productive as it is enjoyable. The company tends towards the stellar too and if Julia and I aren’t already punching a hole directly through the middle of your creative portfolio, we could absolutely make that happen in the near future? There may just be time to squeeze one more studio session in, perhaps early April sometime and then we’ll be back under the elements once more with our fingers crossed and superfluous sunscreen at the ready…

As I explained while solving for the whole Tetris equation, the eternal contract with Netflix went on permanent hiatus at the end of last month and now we are an Apple TV household. This has meant that thus far I have been spared having to climb a building with Mr. Honnold, the beauty being as they say, in that doing so is entirely fucking optional. Christ. I watched the trailer earlier this evening and my palms are still sweating. ‘Free Solo’ gave me extreme rubber neck and somehow this is worse, possibly because I feel like I have greater faith in the structural integrity of El Capitan than I do in that tower. Also, there are people up against the damn windows at one point? I would hide in the basement and hold my breath until I passed out purely to save raising even a fraction of that man’s curiosity or diverting his attention during that ascent. There is no way.

Perhaps there is a specific condition were one cannot stand other people being in proximity to edges

The smallest one and I watched a little of the trailer/highlights for his climb in Yosemite and she derived no minute amount of glee at my visible discomfort. If I need to clarify at all, it’s not that I have a fear of heights, as such. I dislike edges over which there is a height and I’m not sure if that’s the same thing as acrophobia but I don’t feel like it’s vertigo either. I’m assured by people who might know what they’re talking about that these are two distinct things, the former being a “get me the Sweet Jesus away from that thing” situation and the latter being…dizzy? Perhaps there is a specific condition were one cannot stand other people being in proximity to edges over which there are heights. All that said, these things are sent to inspire us and if a certain someone has their way, we may have to find out how to parse my particular malady while returning to the flicks wot net.

This came out toward the…middle of last year? In the summer? I think? I recall being asked about it in interviews circa June/July, right around the same time that everyone was still asking about ‘Hot Milk’. Which is to say that I recall it having given the impression of a band that was Busy with a capital B. Which…we weren’t not busy but I know for a fact that I recorded the vocal for Marc Urselli’s punk-rock baby around two years before anyone heard it, in the summer of 2023 if memory serves. Much like pipelines in the movie business, pipelines in the business that is music have a tendency to run long. Though I am still unable to go into granular detail in the immediate, album two does come to mind and now I shall stfu.

It’s about as faithful a rendition of any of the tracks from this album and a banger of a mix to boot

‘Best Of The Ramones (Redux)’ is a lovingly assembled offering from Magnetic Eye and I recently returned home with a copy on shut-up-beautiful transparent wax, courtesy of Marc himself. Not every track on there is exactly to my palette but that’s kinda the point with these remix/mashup/reimagining type things and while I was wary going in, I’m very pleased with the version of ‘You’re Gonna Kill That Girl’ that Marco, V and I collaborated/guested on with Oscar Dunbar. It’s about as faithful a rendition of any of the tracks from this album and a banger of a mix to boot. While I know that special edition copies are now getting permafrost thin on the ground, they are out there and if you’re a Ramones fan or partial to a bit of the ultraviolence, you could do worse and that’s all I’m sayin’.

JD out.

At present, I’m trying to keep us to a fairly strict “two columns a week” type schedule, with new posts on Tuesdays and Saturdays. These are predominantly pay-walled and help sustain this endeavour accordingly. Older posts, shall go free-for-all after having been up for a few weeks. They’ll then remain free for a further spell before going to the archive where they may be read at any time by paying subscribers.

If you enjoy any of this stuff - the writing, the records, the photography (or even simply catching a father totally making it all up as he goes along) it would mean a very real great deal to me personally if you might invite a friend or two to subscribe and read with us! It costs nothing whatsoever and needless to say, if you refer friends there are indeed benefits...

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Thank you for helping spread the word & stay noisy.

JD out.

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We had to forego our morning cuddles and a story in the big bed yesterday and I was at pains to do so. It’s not very often that I skip a Sunday with her and for good reason. Those slow starts, those quiet times together while the world just breathes are part of the fabric of life and to squander them would be a sin, if such a thing exists. That said, I had good enough reason to need to be elsewhere. Understand that I would have taken her with me but due to other birthday celebrations elsewhere, she would have had scant suitable company with whom to spend the body of an afternoon, despite how much I think we might have enjoyed the journey together.

Hence I placed her in the care of The Mothership for the day, albeit with a dispatch of sourdough bread, ripe avocado and some strawberries for a semi-bougie breakfast. She did insist that I kept some of the punnet of strawberries and became upset when I tried to give her all of them to take with her. Apparently Daddy should also have strawberries to enjoy when we cannot be together for whatever stupid reason. This child.

It was the ragù that was promised and more. Having made the trip out to foggy West London for Mr. Simoncelli’s birthday celebrations, we were spoiled with an afternoon of fine dining, excellent company, and some album III ruminations. I have been privileged to partake of his cooking a few times over the years and it’s always the most authentic experience. The man chops half a baby carrot for fifteen minutes and it goes into the pot and despite my scepticism, something must happen between then and when it’s served because the result is the most considered manifestation of nom that ever did nom.

It’s always nice whenever we have an excuse to come together for a reason that does not involve noise

Mr. Rigot made it down for the latter half of the afternoon, having shipped his spawn off to the phantom zone, aka soft play for a couple of hours. I imagine. It’s always nice whenever we have an excuse to come together for a reason that does not involve noise and/or working and it doesn’t happen often enough. That said, while we were down one V, we did run through a couple of the so-new-they’re-not-even-cooked-yet tracks from the third record and yeah…it’s nearly prepped, at least? There is music and there are words and there is some kind of plan. Speaking of plans, I did kinda tease album II news for this week. I’m gonna have to revert but stuff is real close now. The air smells like nails, the plaster is under my hand and the wall feels thin.

As per, I am late to the party and ’Severance’ is every bit as mind bending as I have somehow missed everyone proclaiming it to be. It is in no way, shape or form what I anticipated but then again, I don’t know exactly what I was anticipating, if I even was expecting anything at all? Perhaps I expected it to be more about whatever The Work is and less about the questions it poses regarding a whole other sentient version of you that never gets to touch grass. I don’t mean any of this in a bad way but I’m aware that clarity is lacking.

I mean, making yourself an indentured servant to yourself could absolutely seem bad but the writing itself thus far, i.e around half way into season one is a rare type A of phenomenal. I am hooked and there is every chance that The Work is as horrifically compelling as any other heretofore workshopped concept of a moral quandary. It’s also true that this is one of those shows where one can drop incredibly specific details out loud in question form without ever fearing spoiling a forbidden thing: What are those numbers? Who is everyone, really? Why are there goats? Also, why are there goats!

if any fucker decides to whisper “Harker” into a hot mic, I’m out and I’ll run through a brick ass wall to get there

It’s also frequently masterful. Jessica Lee Gagné’s frames evoke a mood alike that of ‘Twin Peaks’ long shots, ‘Long Legs’ composition…actually the audio design has a lot in common with that movie too and if any fucker decides to whisper “Harker” into a hot mic, I’m out and I’ll run through a brick ass wall to get there. When I say that it reminds me of that film, know this: I mean it as a compliment and I mean that it sticks with you like trauma but maybe in a good way. In a way you want and hate at the same sweaty time. Like that scab on the back of your hand that you just can’t help but pick.

The acting is top chops but then again, he’s here and I am usually compelled. All of it comes together (drawn in no small part by Theodore Shapiro’s eerie AF score that I’m gonna pedestal to the same degree that I did Marie-Hélène L. Delorme’s terrifyingly breathy and inventive work on Netflix’s ‘Wayward’) to create a show that is ineffably mysterious, frequently funny in an often pitch black kinda way, and queasy as the unlit hallway to your back in a house you know well but wonder if it’s as empty as it should be…

I feel like I’ve been with Viv & Co. for a while now. It started with ‘Legends & Lattes’, which I picked up in an awfully great book shop before putting it immediately back down and running away from its YA vibes. Of course, I eventually returned, looking for something suitably cosy and devoured the entire confection in a few short, snug sittings. If you’re reading this, there is a high percentage change you are aware that I am partial to both fantasy and coffee in almost equal measure, hence if there was ever a series that has felt more directly targeted, nay targeted with missile precision toward my frontal cortex, I have yet to encounter it in the wild.

The premise of the first book is similar to that of Richard Morgan’s dark fantasy/sci-fi burner, ‘The Steel Remains’, in that we join our hero AFTER the battle has been won, dragon vanquished, and any associated princesses released from their respective towers. That said, this is nowhere near as dark or cyber-punky as Morgan’s schtick. It’s an appropriately cinnamon toasted affair for a story largely concerned with the trials and tribulations of a pioneering coffee shop in a city that’s not Athkatla.

I shall admit that it spooked me more than a little in the approach but Travis tricked me and I’m okay with it

Instead of providing a continuum, book two takes a fresh approach and goes back before the beginning of the beginning (a prequel, if you will) and introduces us to your new favourite orc barbarian at the start of a glittering and bloody career, along with a rat who may also be a friend. Book three then brings us back to the present and goes off on an actual sequel with said rat. I like this structure. I shall admit that it spooked me more than a little on approach but Travis tricked me and I’m okay with it.

I think I must be about a hundred pages or so off finishing this last one now and I’m still unsure how exactly it’s gonna go. Difficult to say, partially because I’m reading it on Apple’s book thing on my iPhone. I’m an awful person who enjoys the convenience of always having their book in their pocket, yet this does make page numbers difficult to judge in how they might relate to any book in reality. Besides that, I’m not sure how I would want it to go if it were me writing this thing. Which I’m very glad it’s not but I do think I would eat more? It’s worth noting, primarily because (and I feel keenly that this must be to the series credit) I absolutely give a damn about this rat.

JD out.

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As one might imagine, post motorcade escapades, The Garage was high on my list of priorities. I was going to take the car to some place out on the nether regions of town but Mr. P had a guy who was somewhat closer to the office, hence I spent a cold twenty minutes on their forecourt first thing. In these situations, I generally try to say as little as possible so as not to make it ever more patently obvious the degree to which my knowledge and/or skillset as it pertains to car stuff is close to a zero sum game. My father would remind me about the screen fluid and explain what that is and where to put it and how much. In turn, I would like to say I remember these valuable life lessons but am unsure of where precisely to file these discrete, presumably quite essential packets of knowledge.

Memories as if from some kind of terrible fever dream have been coming back to me this past week, particularly those that relate to that time nearly five years ago and what I was doing/writing about in the lead-up to shuttering the first incarnation of TNA. It’s strange thinking back to that time, mostly because it was a strange time but also because the space between then and now feels like it’s somehow occurred in far less time than physically possible. There have been…at least two seismic upheavals in the intervening years, a whole lot of stuff that went double down and an equally large quota of shit that got picked up and summarily let go, for one reason or another.

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It wasn’t an especially late night, nor am I up especially early but this abuse of the snooze button screams The Struggle Bus. I chalk it up to back half of the week energy and we’re suited and booted, ready to roll in around forty minutes at a push with coffee to go. Kit Kat has the plague and is welcome to take it back home, far, far away from this realm so we’re a woman down in the lab, which is fine because it’s a rainy day in Soho out there and I’ve a pretty clear slate for the day.

The morning passes without event. I send that F2 to the showroom cabinet upstairs from whence I cannot be tempted and tell myself that’s the end of it. Two fairly regular togs come in looking for prints and I lead them both to the All You Can Eat Highlights Banquet that is Baryta Rag. That paper eats anything with high contrast / high colour contrast for breakfast and I like to think they feel as good as I do about this new plane of existence for them. Printing one’s work is nice. Printing one’s work well is transcendental.

Dean Friedman (yes that one) was in town and Mr. P might be a fangirl. We scored comp seats to a casual show at a pleasant little pub out in the sticks by way of windswept and interesting, north of the M25. He is an interesting song writer for writers of songs and has this keys run down of Handel’s wedding march that doesn’t go back on itself, which I’ve only ever seen pulled off beautifully the once before. Although now I watch it, Laura does go back. Regardless, it’s a magnificent mine or well from which to draw if you’re going to root around in the classics.

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Album four is on my mind and I haven’t even really finished writing album three and we haven’t released album two yet although we’re planning on doing so despite not having released album one fully yet. That sentence would be beyond ridiculous were it not for the fact that A. It’s true and B. I think we have the material? What catches me off guard thismorning is the knowledge that I would almost certainly perform some of those album four tracks differently now…which is wild to say for something that doesn’t exactly have all the lyric yet but yeah. I feel different. Time something something…

I mentioned the other day that the artwork for Album II is nearing completion on the legal side…I mean, artistically it’s where it needs to be, we’re just dotting the exclamation marks and crossing the sevens now and shit’s getting real because it turns out someone might be interested after all. Maybe. Maybe they even want to see what this thing looks like on wax. We should know for sure by the end of the week and have something in writing that I can point to and be like, “Look, see?! Someone’s interested!” That would be nice.

This F2 has been staring at me for the past couple of days now and it’s a damn good job that I already have my quota of F bodies (including both a stupidly beautiful FM2 and a black F3) otherwise it would already be incorporated. It’s a beautiful example of a legendary camera and this copy’s been recently serviced too, with a worryingly clean bill of health up to and including the meter, shutter speeds, and a mint set of light seals…

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The lower lumbar is grumbling once again but I somehow slept through the better part of eleven hours last night. My muscles atrophied.

I spend most of the morning going over yesterday’s column and worrying over cursed admin pertaining to the unique psyche of my spawn. It’s bracing stuff. This charger situation, particularly where it involves the charger for my Sony A Series is of concern. Admittedly it is a third party charger and they are third party batteries but this does not preclude concern. I left them on overnight, with one on said third party charger and another on a rather useful multi charger I found through work. The multi charger did the job, the third party did not and may well be consigned to that great big camera shop in the sky. This is far from being an ideal situation but I am ever more firmly of the opinion that it is better to know where one stands, even if that ground is not ideal, rather than be in the murk. Of course, this is a universal truth…

Artwork and minor legal hoops regarding Album II with The Heat Inc. are currently on a death march through what might be (but almost certainly is not) the final quagmire before I can say I am “done” with my part and can finally, in good faith, sign off. In retrospect, I have said this and I have been “done” with it many times over the past year and a half and each time I have been proven wrong in almost every way possible. At this point it’s mostly about having the necessary blessings of everyone involved, up to and including those circling the perimeter. If I have any really late-to-the-party advice I might proffer to y’all on this, it’s this:

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It’s the school run but not as you know it. I’m up and relatively at ‘em for quarter past seven and brush my teeth before curling up next to AD for five minutes. She decides that the anthropomorphic avocado I brought her back from the airport in Rome shall be joining us for breakfast and so he supervises Cheerios and school uniform the-donning-of while I take a fairly rapid albeit scalding shower.

I get into the office a little gone nine, after a longer “weekend” off and my desk has been turned into a familiar pho of crusty 35mm cameras, digital gear, and miscellaneous cables that make up for about 90% of my in-tray. Nestled amongst the semi-bridled chaos is a rather tasty and recently serviced Nikon F2, a Pentax K1000 (also eminently shootable for those who would grok film), and my archetypal lazy boi go-to, the Canon AE-1p…this one has seen better days. There’s also a bag of Pentax glass; specifically a very nice K mount 28mm, 135mm, and an oddball breed of 28-85mm macro zoom made by Vivitar that I found in the office at home and bought in to sell to Kit Kat. We make the exchange and old treasure is new treasure once again. Glass like that needs a good home and it deserves to be shot. They’re not making any more of it.

Lunch gets skipped and I barrel straight into what’s not quite the inaugural studio session of 2026. It’s a maternity shoot which is a little different but a nice surprise. I unpack the whole lighting/backdrop shebang from its Xmas hibernation, opting for lovely off-white (oyster, allegedly) backdrop that we picked up toward the end of last year, before discovering that none of my chargers have been functioning as intended, i.e. charging anything at all for the past twenty-four hours…

Someone who shall remain nameless suggests that the organisational layout of my charging infrastructure and its proximity to the beverage infrastructure might be to blame for this. I banish them to the phantom zone, smother a panic response and throw every battery I can find into whatever spare wall sockets are available and carry on regardless with the set-up.

One almost expects to begin seeing her repeated to infinity inside the eye inside the eye inside the eye etc

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Anyone who experiences mornings with a small person shall know this to be true. Those mornings? Precious AF and not to be Captain Bloody Obvious but it bears repeating: They are precious. AF. The little hands? The little feet? The messy hair that smells like biscuits? All factually accurate and being present for it, a gift. I was reminded of it recently and I am grateful.

Breakfast is a bougie peanut butter on rye and mixed seed sourdough, blueberries mostly for the tiny one, hot orange juice (with bits and yes, seriously, just microwave it for a minute and try me), and very good coffee. I put some cartoons on for her and try to snatch twenty minutes at my desk. Today’s post for socials is supposed to be landscape or ephemera and it’s supposed to be monochrome and I still don’t have anything.

I open up a file that has a whole bunch of scans of vintage Kodachrome slides I purchased at auction a while back. We haven’t had one of these in a while and so I jump in, eventually unearthing a stunning shot of a railway station platform / car park, circa sometime in the ‘60s? This ticks at least 1.5 boxes as far as my self-imposed brief is concerned and after a quick and totally unnecessary pass in Lightroom, I have a not-too-big jpeg air dropped to my phone for later this afternoon…

I check with a few people, work, the band to see if anyone has a better handle on where exactly we think it might have been taken… The UK? Most likely. London? Probably but where? My best guess is Waterloo although in my not-so-secret heart of hearts, I want it to be Marylebone. I hedge my bets on both and stick a pin in it for now.

It’s gone midday already but I realise that if we leave now, we can pick up a new litter tray scoop on the way

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