Thursday, 13 December 2012

The New Season.

It's that time again.
Where all blog posts on the internet start with the sentence, "It's that time again."
But yes. Hello December. Hello Cold. Hello Gluttony. Hello being poor. Again.
It's strange that I was in Falmouth for three years and this is the first one in which I will be here for a full run up. 
Before, in the Blue house, it was festive for sure. 
Tiny tree, fairy lights, hanging delights. 
But then Christmas came early. Very early.
We were always peaking too soon.
Going home for holidays by the 10th December every year. The time leading up to christmas was far too long. And now it is not long enough.
I have gotten back into my habit of having roast potatoes for snacks. Feeling desperately peckish but somehow being able to wait for a good hour to get my lips on some crunchy fluffy goodness dipped in rich gravy.
Like I have said before. This house is too much like the Blue house.
In the best way.


Good news.
I am employed.
Baker Tom's felt I would be a good little retail assistant for their bread and pastries shop in Truro.
With this new development, my freezer, and my belly is rapidly becoming full with bread.
Cinnamon and Raison bread toast for breakfast everyday. New Fav.
Alone in the shop. My own pace. Friendly customers. Nice little chats. Leftover crumbs.
It's a good place.
And always smells great.
And I finally have a Christmas party to attend.



One downside, as there usually is.
And for once, I don't mean the commute.
Whilst it may be the season for joy and shopping and present giving.
It is also the season for retail workers to be on their feet all day, right until christmas eve.
That will most likely be me.
Monday the 24th. I will be stood in a shop, full of bread.
My plan is still to make it home to Frome for the evening.
So if anyone who reads this, could please do me a favour, and on Christmas Eve, come to Baker Tom's Truro, and help empty the shop of bread and pastries.
Take home the Parmesan and red onion loaf, and the Green Olive special. Buy some Cinnamon and Raisin loaf for eggy bread on Christmas morning. (It's amazing)
Help make the shop bare, and then I may leave and make my way home for Christmas with my family.



Back to the build up to Christmas.
It's again a new thing. New house and new things. And I guess new traditions. My own ones.
So far there has been far too much mulled wine and watching Modern Family.
But now we have the shortest, fattest tree in the world and I cannot wait to decorate it.
With Cliche Christmas songs playing in the background. And probably bickering with man over the placement of certain baubles.
Even so. It's our Christmas.
The continuation of the new experiences.

For the day of. I intend to get up at 7:30am. Open my tiny gift at the end of my bed. Go downstairs to fire up a pot of coffee. Wait for the parents to surface, from their late night partying with the visiting Father Christmas. Open presents. Start drinking. Snowballs at 10am. Dress up. Cooking with Mummy. Muppets Christmas Carol. Lunch and all the trimmings. Being stuffed and eating more. Afternoon sleeps. Fiddling with gifts. Lego Starwars? Songs. Tipsy parents. More sleeps.
This is my Christmas.
Every year.

Though the run up is different this year. Three evenings and two days will be exactly the same.
And I wouldn't have it any other way.
The only difference. Is that I'll be driving home for Christmas. (Yes with that song playing too)

To then return to my new home with Man.
And welcome even more new tidings come the new year.
It will be colourful and lovely. 

A premature Merry Christmas to you. 

Saturday, 24 November 2012

Alone.


Man is away for the weekend.
He has returned to his motherland.
It leaves me in the house alone. Which I do actually quite like.
He has gone to fetch more of his possessions. To drown what little amount I have here, even more.
I'll forgive him. He found me some little cups and saucers. They were all mucky from the mud in which they sat, down amongst the boats.
He said it could girlify things.
I like them. 


Even though I like my alone time here. Making it feel more like home in a different way. I have not yet spent the night alone in the abode.
I know I will stay awake listening. Sounds in the walls and floors. Pipes creaking and stairs relaxing. Was that a footstep?
My imagination is silly while I try to sleep.
During the days I occupy myself with job hunting and the occasional nap. 
Taking photos of the weather behind the window and curling up in a ball, hiding from the furious wind.
The wind and rain scared me.
I have never seen anything like it.
The sea fell from the sky, and the wind whipped it to the side.
Thick and unquick. 
The garden fence split.

A good calm after the storm. Yesterday was a very pleasant day.
I woke up refreshed. The sky was some blue. Some white. Some grey.
The air was fresh and still.
I walked and walked.
Around the town and down and through. Stepping through the brittle air. Cold and sharp like it should me this time of year. It reminded me of times in Bath.
My first home. 
When walking I made up my mind that I would be ok again. I would feel content once more.
Remembering previous winters where I would sit in a coffee shop, or the back of a pub. Smoke around. Coffee/pint in hand. Wrapped up in warm layers. Sat under heaters. 
Whilst I miss these previous winters when I have had company, I found myself alone yesterday evening.
And I did not wish for anything else.
Soft thoughts of what I need to do.
Jobs. Buys. Socials. Saves.
It was a comfort. 


It is not so bad to be alone. 

Sunday, 18 November 2012

Living with Man


We have done it.
We moved into our pretty little town house on Monday.
A day of stresses and rushed cups of tea.
Perching cars on pavements and cleaning with chapped hands.
Kittens sneaking in the house and jumping around open cars.
Busy. But good.

I am currently sat in the Maritime museum. Taking full advantage of the free entry and free Wifi, thanks to Man and his volunteering.
Able to blog and start the Living project. 

I am still lacking money severely. So apologies for the lack of photographs.
I have already managed to take a good few snaps to go towards my new project. 
(Mainly of made food)
I'm trying to make it as reflective as possible to how I am finding the new house and effectively the new experience of living with one other person under one roof. Someone who isn't part of my family.
Someone I have only really known for a few months.
We have been having fun in our home. Which it is already.
Sorting out our bedrooms, getting them perfect. Kitchens and communal rooms.
My bedroom; light, airy and matching. With a beautiful view. Standard Tash bedroom.
Man's is a mismatch of furniture and a beautifully bodged desk/workstation.
He gets a little bit proud when he talks about it.

At the moment it is mostly Man's possessions in the house. Seeing as I have been living from a few bags and boxes for the last few months, I don't really have anything to contribute to the feel of the house. Come December however, when we make a trip back up to Somerset, I am going to load up my car full of all my pretties. From my old room, my nice kitchen equipments, little nicknacks that have ended up spread around my house in Frome.
Girlify the house a little. Make it mine too.

After that, it will be getting onto Christmas time. Where hopefully me and Man can invite some friends and have a little early Christmas in our new house. Cosify the place with a tree and little lights. Maybe some small gifts under the branches before we head off to our separate families to celebrate.
Hopefully returning to Falmouth laden with leftovers. Bubble and squeak.

All this is at the front of my thoughts and my excitement.
But for now, I am enjoying the ease and simplicity of living with Man.
Flumes on our little decked garden. 
Cold breezes through the kitchen door. 
A view of the town. 
Planned meals and spontaneous drinks.
Movie watching and music listenings.
Coffees. Teas.

All of this is making me incredibly happy.
And to wake up in my own beautifully bright room.
With my own mark surrounding me.
The smell of my newly washed sheets.

I really am home.
Content.

Sunday, 11 November 2012

Missing Months

First of all I should probably apologise, again, for the lack of posting.
Even after previous promises.
I lied to you and I am sorry.

There is too much and too little time.

There are big things for me in works. I am moving house tomorrow.
The start of a new. Clean Slate. All that.
It's those eras again.

This calls for a new photography project.
One concentrating on myself. My reactions and details of a new life.
Whilst "Living with Man".

I am moving in with my good friend, 'Man'.
Seeing as I have never lived alone with another person before, I thought it would be eye opening and quite interesting to record the details of a new experience.
Most of the photographs will be of food.
I can tell.
We will get fat together.

There is a downside to this project plan.
Even though I have no money, very kind individuals have sent me a lovely amount of camera film for me to use. As generous and amazing this is of everyone, I still do not have the money for film developing.
So the first images of this project will be a little way away.
I also will not have access to internet at home for the next few weeks. so updates of living and photographing will be sporadic.
Maybe even more so than now...
Though I shall do my best.
It will be a nice excuse to sit and sip in a cafe.

Today is the last packing day.
So perhaps I should get on.

I hope to write again soon.

Keep an eye.

Monday, 15 October 2012

August was Pretty. September was Busy.

These last few months have been incredibly exciting. Full of new and familiar experiences. 
People. Places. Names. Faces. Work. Leisure. Houses. Rooms. Surroundings. Music. Adventures. 

Glancing back quickly.
August. Such a pretty month.
One full of expectations and relief. Things coming to definite ends with promises of new starts and opportunities galore.
Spontaneous trips to strange beaches and towns. 
The words 'Fuck it' slipping their way before almost any answer I gave for tasks and favours. What do I have to lose?
Nothing. I am moving away from this place.
These where my thoughts. 









Now. I would not say I was running away.
I have not run away. If anything, I feel more myself. Away from the place where I grew up.
Falmouth. Again. Not Frome. Here is were I dwell.
The idea had been brewing in my thick skull since I left last year.
A visit to Cornwall here and there since. And again I would leave.
Even when I did the photo job around Truro, when I left, I would well up. I was always leaving my home. Promising to it, under my breath or screaming out loud in the car, that I would return.
I have managed it.
Finally.

August had something special about it this year.
My photos had become a key part of who I am/want to be. For one. Confidence building. Faith in myself, and my own abilities.
My temporary office job, uncreative and unsatisfying was drawing to a close.
This colliding with the turn of ages. 23 this year. An old girl.
Along with the promise of relief. Falmouth, a mini promised land.
I had worked toward getting away. It was happening. And I cannot now describe the self satisfaction and pure joy that I felt.






Of course. I had a party. I made too much food. Leaving and growing and olding. It deserves a celebration.
I know I have said it many times. MANY times.
It was the end of an Era.
It is always the end of an Era.
And always a new one coming around.


Not even too soon. It was time to leave for Falmouth. The above picture was taken on the night before I left.
I stood out for air.
Packing is a pain.
I received a phone call. A newly important friend. Near by. Looking at the same sky.
How most people will receive this I do not know. But I felt a sudden love for the place I was leaving behind. For the people, and the times. Recent times to be precise. A sudden rush of memories. Stood next to my shed. My hide out. Appreciation is what I felt.
And then excitement.
Almost as intensely. Things changing again. Time to move. Towards something.
Never not moving.

I did arrive.
1st September.

I started a life again.
But this is not the beginning.
Because there is yet another era ending and another shortly to begin.

The excitement for another new chapter outweighs anything else mentioned before.
And this I will explain another day.



I'm nearly home.

Monday, 6 August 2012

Farm Fest Friday.

A pretty field it was.
Warm. Warm sun. 








I enjoyed Tall Ships a tad much.







Port Eliot.

Favorites.

Stomps by the river. High tide is High. Low tide is mud.
It was very amusing to see children sliding down the mud banks. Watching the parents cringe on the side of the river. How on earth will I get that out of their clothes.


 Cocktails and food.


Much, much food.


Smokey flavors, with too many herbs. No such thing.
Explosions of chili bombs. Ruined taste buds.






The sun. It was out. Boy it shone. Bright and warm.
Secret places discovered with fat cats. A joy. 


I would very much like to go back.
I'd say next year.
But there is no next year for Port Eliot.
It's having a rest. A shame. But good.
2014. We shall meet there again.

Far and Between.

I realise my posts on here are becoming an occasional event.
Rather than my intense blogging, like I used to do.
It's because, yet again. A bee of busies, I have been, yes.
I could say to you that I will change this. And maybe post more. But it seems to happen very sporadically and mainly when I am bored.
Like now.

If you see my Tweeting, you will see that I have been cheeking.
Angling my way to do photographs for little festivals.
Cider impaired lenses.

Managed, yes I did, to get a Press Pass for Farm Festival. A little field fest in Bruton.
Show you I shall.
I snapped and met a great and lovely band called Tall Ships while I was pottering around backstage. I can now admit that they where the only band there that I knew.

For all your informations. Anyone who wants to remember a night in a Somerset field... Do not drink more than three pints of Black Rat Cider.

The weekend before Farm Fest I went down to St. Germans in Cornwall, for a beautiful weekend next to the river at Port Eliot festival.
Lots of familiar faces popped up. Colours. Lights. Musics all over. Outside cooking.
SO much outside cooking. Delicious grub it was.
I may have paid. I tried to blag. But my skills may need some developing. And portfolio needs building.

Saying that. My website still needs sorting.
After the initial motivation rush, things did slightly subside.
And now once again I have other missions on my mind, which means the website may be taking the back seat for a while longer.

Mission number one: MOVE
Back to Cornwall.
Truro.
Falmouth.
I will be in one of you soon. A few months maybe. I am determined.
After leaving Cornwall last time. I left with tears in my eyes.
I'm not going to do it again.
Next time I drive past the wind turbines on the A39 outside of Truro, I will sure as hell know that I will be returning soon.
Returning home.

Sunday, 1 July 2012

Peek.

Here you are.
A little sneaky peak.
As you can probably guess, I am working on a website. A photography website to be precise!
Finally.

It's all come about and together because of the motivation I seem to have at the moment. It's not going to waste. Promise.
Most of making.

What really spurred me on, was someone other than my friends giving me praise for my photos. My little snaps. Thom Hunt, (From Channel 4's Three Hungry Boys), saw my photos, and after a cheeky Tweet from me asking if he ever needed someone for photos, he messaged me, informing me that he would be needing some nice photos for his new website for a project of his.

So off I trundled last weekend. Back to the homeland. Cornwall. Place of love and beauty.
A beautiful cottage in the middle of the forest. Right on the river Fal. You can even see the King Harry Ferry crossing from the little muddy beach. Where I found some nice snaps, dead crabs and limpets.
The cottage itself is one of a kind. Or one that I have never seen before. Two rooms up, two rooms down. Basement with windows. Shutters. Pane glass windows. Old, ivy covered walls. The old familiar smell of a neglected space, ready to be used again. A strange comforting smell.
Inside; pots and pans, and a huge mixture of quaint and practical objects. Wooden floors. Rugs, books. Clocks with no time left.
It's a truly lovely little space. One that I very much enjoyed capturing with my lens.

The weekend itself was so relaxed.
No phone or internet signal for two whole days. It was a mad bliss.
Fresh homemade burgers. Trudging in mud and rain. Paint fumes. Rain and tunes. Foreign county cider and 20 questions from both sides. Sunning. Pretties being hung. Exploring the undergrowth. Nearly falling unseen into the stream. Phew.
Filling films. So many. Chop, chop, chopping wood. Swinging hammocks.
Just so chilled.

The photos that I took where deemed a success and Thom has informed me that some of them are definitely website worthy. Once it is up and my photos can be seen, I shall probably go a slight bit mad and post the link to it on every social media account that I possess.
I sincerely hope that I can visit the cottage again. Whether it be to take more photos for Thom and his plans for the little beaut, or whether I take him up on his offer, to yet another one of my cheeky requests, and go visit for my Birthday.Which would perhaps make my year.

Overall, I am so so glad that Thom gave me this chance. For a change of scenery. For a bit of motivation. I know that everything we do is up to us, but sitting in an office everyday of the week was really getting me down, with my inspiration and motivation ebbing away. Sometimes it is just good to find someone with a bit of faith in you, and to give you a little push out of the rut you create for yourself.

I know i've said it alot, but really, thankyou Thom. x


Monday, 4 June 2012

Some more for eyes.

Some snaps of times in-between times.