I picked up a new toy today. I’d been meaning to get one for a while but just hadn’t been into town.  It’s a digital thermometer! Not only that, but it shows the temperature both indoors and outdoors (via a long cable and a wee probe at the end, which dangles out of my window), and retains min/max temperatures. I had seen some wireless models which would’ve been even slicker, but this one was only £3.99 – not to be sniffed at.

Sounds ridiculously cheap for what is meant to be a relatively sensitive piece of equipment though, right? Well – sort of. I bought it from the nifty Clas Ohlson store in the Arndale Centre. For the uninitiated, this large store is basically Primark crossed with Maplin – with a touch of Ikea’s Scandinavian charm thrown in. I couldn’t really tell you very specifically what they sell, but it’s basically electronics and homeware. Batteries, clocks, headphones, lights, computer peripherals, that kind of thing. And while they do sell a lot of branded stuff, they also have a huge amount of seemingly own-brand merchandise, including this thermometer. John and I have bought a few varying items from Clas Ohlson, including batteries, headphones, USB memory sticks and even an official Rock Band guitar controller. It barely needs stating that we are huge fans of the store.

Anyway, I can’t really explain why I feel so certain that a digital thermometer will be such a life-changing item to own. But I am a bit obsessed with the weather, and I’ve had a much simpler digital thermometer sat on my desk for a year or so, which I’ve grown used to looking at with worrying frequency. Being able to know what the temperature outside is like will just a whole new dimension to this shut-in hermit’s enjoyment.

It also fills the need I appear to have for information. As a bit of an Information Management geek (hey, that’s what my degree is called, at least I’m humouring my weird interests), I like access to information from varying sources, and in various forms. At Christmas I got a step-counter which also tells me about calories burned and distance covered each day – all perfect fodder for entering into an Excel spreadsheet (and at the same time giving me practice with Excel, something I sorely need!). I doubt I’ll be going so far as to record temperature information, but it does bring to mind those splendid folks who so diligently recorded the weather for scientific purposes back before there was a bureau to do it instead.

At this stage it’s all just a bit amateur – I know some people who would have all this stuff hardwired into an Arduino computer, Tweeting the data out live! And believe me, I’m not far off that point. I really must have a closer look at some simple Arduino projects…

Oh and whilst we’re talking about relatively pointless electronic gadgets and gizmos, John and I visited one of Manchester’s many pound shops on our way home, and found to our surprise that they were selling Dinkie Dino virtual pets. I had at least one of those back when I was 10-11 years old, along with Nano Babies, Tamagotchis and DigiMons. I was completely besotted with the little things for a while, building up quite a collection. I resisted the urge to buy one today, but John didn’t – and I suspect this will lead to jealous, violent infighting as I realise my terrible mistake in passing up a £1 virtual pet. But it just further cements the idea that pound shops are THE place to go for cheap, shitty electronic items that will scratch that specific itch. If you’re in a pound shop in Manchester over the next few days and you see a bearded fellow lacking in dignity as he scrambles around for his digital fix, I can only apologise.

I don’t often just lazily post an entire passage from someone else on my blog – what? I don’t! – but this essay from Paul Graham, originally for the Yale MFA Graduation book, 2009, is just such an eloquent, poignant passage on what it is to have that desire to make photographs. It’s not snooty or patronising, it’s just one of the better attempts I’ve ever read that tries to deconstruct the psychological processes at work when one feels that familiar urge to take out one’s camera and point the lens at something.

Photography is Easy,
Photography is Difficult

by Paul Graham

It’s so easy it’s ridiculous. It’s so easy that I can’t even begin – I just don’t know where to start. After all, it’s just looking at things. We all do that. It’s simply a way of recording what you see – point the camera at it, and press a button. How hard is that? And what’s more, in this digital age, it’s free – doesn’t even cost you the price of film. It’s so simple and basic, it’s laughable.

It’s so difficult because it’s everywhere, every place, all the time, even right now. It’s the view of this pen in my hand as I write this, it’s an image of your hands holding this book, drift your consciousness up and out of this text and see: it’s right there, across the room – there… and there. Then it’s gone. You didn’t photograph it, because you didn’t think it was worth it. And now it’s too late, that moment has evaporated. But another one has arrived, instantly. Now. Because life is flowing through and around us, rushing onwards and outwards, in every direction.

But if it’s everywhere and all the time, and so easy to make, then what’s of value? which pictures matter? Is it the hard won photograph, knowing, controlled, previsualised? Yes. Or are those contrived, dry and belabored? Sometimes. Is it the offhand snapshot made on a whim. For sure. Or is that just a lucky observation, some random moment caught by chance? Maybe. Is it an intuitive expression of liquid intelligence? Exactly. Or the distillation of years of looking seeing thinking photography. Definitely.

“life’s single lesson: that there is more accident to it than a man can admit to in a lifetime, and stay sane”
- Thomas Pynchon, V

Ok, so how do I make sense of that never ending flow, the fog that covers life here and now. How do I see through that, how do I cross that boundary? Do I walk down the street and make pictures of strangers, do I make a drama-tableaux with my friends, do I only photograph my beloved, my family, myself? Or maybe I should just photograph the land, the rocks and trees – they don’t move or complain or push back. The old houses? The new houses? Do I go to a war zone on the other side of the world, or just to the corner store, or not leave my room at all?

Yes and yes and yes. That’s the choice you are spoiled for, but just don’t let it stop you. Be aware of it, but don’t get stuck – relax, it’s everything and everywhere. You will find it, and it will find you, just start, somehow, anyhow, but: start.

Yes, but shouldn’t I have a clear coherent theme, surely I have to know what I’m doing first? That would be nice, but I doubt Robert Frank knew what it all meant when he started, or for that matter Cindy Sherman or Robert Mapplethorpe or Atget or… so you shouldn’t expect it. The more preplanned it is the less room for surprise, for the world to talk back, for the idea to find itself, allowing ambivalence and ambiguity to seep in, and sometimes those are more important than certainty and clarity. The work often says more than the artist knows.

Ok, but my photography doesn’t always fit into neat, coherent series, so maybe I need to roll freeform around this world, unfettered, able to photograph whatever and whenever: the sky, my feet, the coffee in my cup, the flowers I just noticed, my friends and lovers, and, because it’s all my life, surely it will make sense? Perhaps. Sometimes that works, sometimes it’s indulgent, but really it’s your choice, because you are also free to not make ’sense’.

“so finally even this story is absurd, which is an important part of the point, if any, since that it should have none whatsoever seems part of the point too”
- Malcolm Lowry, Ghostkeeper.

Ok, so I do need time to think about this. To allow myself that freedom for a short time. A couple of years. Maybe I won’t find my answer, but I will be around others who understand this question, who have reached a similar point. Maybe I’ll start on the wrong road, or for the wrong reasons – because I liked cameras, because I thought photography was an easy option, but if I’m forced to try, then perhaps I’ll stumble on some little thing, that makes a piece of sense to me, or simply just feels right. If I concentrate on that, then maybe it grows, and in its modest, ineffable way, begins to matter. Like photographing Arab-Americans in the USA as human beings with lives and hopes and families and feelings, straight, gay, young, old, with all the humanity that Hollywood never grants them. Or the black community of New Haven, doing inexplicable joyous, ridiculous theatrical-charades that explode my preconceptions into a thousand pieces. Or funny-disturbing-sad echoes of a snapshot of my old boyfriend. Or the anonymous suburban landscape of upstate in a way that defies the spectacular images we’re addicted to. Or… how women use our bodies to display who we believe we should be, Or…

“A Novel? No, I don’t have the endurance any more. To write a novel, you have to be like Atlas, holding up the whole world on your shoulders, and supporting it there for months and years, while its affairs work themselves out…”
- J. M. Coetzee, Diary of a Bad Year.

And hopefully I will carry on, and develop it, because it is worthwhile. Carry on because it matters when other things don’t seem to matter so much: the money job, the editorial assignment, the fashion shoot. Then one day it will be complete enough to believe it is finished. Made. Existing. Done. And in its own way: a contribution, and all that effort and frustration and time and money will fall away. It was worth it, because it is something real, that didn’t exist before you made it exist: a sentient work of art and power and sensitivity, that speaks of this world and your fellow human beings place within it. Isn’t that beautiful?

The last two days have been extremely good. On Friday it was my third session at All FM in Levenshulme. With John away (he’d gone to Cardiff to see Future of the Left play at Clwb on Thursday and Friday night), I was going it alone – albeit with three others. I left in good time, arriving at the station at 10am on the dot. A few new faces were being inducted, Jason (Cooke, the volunteer coordinator and presenter of the Finally Friday Show) was busy showing someone how to use Myriad (the software which stores all the audio – songs, jingles etc – and plays them out live), and I went upstairs to the production office to prepare some notes for the show.

The Finally Friday Show, 11-12, is a fun, easygoing show, with music, banter, jokes, interviews and community information. It’s also a good opportunity to train up new volunteers to the station, which is why John and I have been helping out the last three weeks. Or rather, we’ve been coming along to be helped out by Jason, the show’s presenter. Jason’s a cracking bloke, always ready with a smile and a joke, and with a vast wealth of musical and technical knowledge that he’s more than happy to pass on to those who ask nicely. He’s the ideal introduction to radio, and I’m thrilled to be working with him.

In the production office, I was just scanning around for something community-based to read out on air. I decided to bring attention to a meeting at Platt Fields, by the Friends group, which was happening the next day. As I was doing this, a new face popped in, a chap called Craig who introduced himself, and said how he’d been helping out at All FM for a few months. I think he said he was studying sound production too. He was to be our producer for the show. Nearer to air time, Charity arrived, having had her first experience of the show the week before, with the full onslaught of Jason, John and myself leaving her in tears of laughter on the floor of studio one. Amazingly, she was back for a second helping!

After hearing that there could’ve been up to 8 people in the studio for this week’s show, it was a bit of a relief when it just boiled down to just Jason, Charity and myself on microphones, with Craig taking a back seat to observe proceedings. The show planned (roughly speaking!), we went through songs and items at a typically choppy pace. I found myself making notes during the show, partially to jot down some of the off-air banter, and to remind myself of things mentioned and half-mentioned. It reminds me of the PULP editorial meetings last year where I would try to make as many notes as possible (calling them minutes would be slightly misleading), as we talked about so much stuff. Of the things we discussed, about 50% of it would be dynamite, of which only some 10% would ever see the light of day. So I’m glad I have records of some of the half-conceived ideas. And some of the scatterbrained idiocy too, of course.

The show was over just as soon as it had started, and we’d managed to fit in what seemed like a great deal. An hour is a short show, but it does the job very well, and keeps the pace up. No room for stalling. We’d all had a good laugh too, and that’s the main idea of the show. And, with radio, if the presenters are having a good time, I think that mood rubs off on the listener. At least I hope so.

We also played typically varied music, including The Ramones, Shampoo, Peter Gabriel, Nirvana, Future of the Left, Feldmaus and so on. I’m trying to think what I’d like to play next week.

After a nice end to a great show, I headed back into Fallowfield to get some groceries before heading home with them. The afternoon was spent doing some reading, and following up the Feldmaus play from earlier. The track we played was in the Free Download of the Week feature, and the whole album was free to download. Having really enjoyed it, I went to find out more. The album’s been put out by a netlabel, which reminded me of a couple of others, all dealing in ambient electronica. A few clicks later and I had managed to downloaded something like 16 hours of new music. All free, all legal. Amazing really. All artists I have never heard of too, but all from labels I have heard something from – and that’s the good thing about a good record label: you can usually trust them to put out stuff you’ll enjoy. That’s the hope at least; I’ve barely made a dent in the playlist, although the Feldmaus, Clouds in My Home and Doyeq stuff is all fantastic. They’re the first three releases on the Passage Music label. Go get ‘em if ambient, glitchy electronica is your cuppa tea!

In the evening, I had heard that the Moon and Mars were meant to be looking pretty cool and as luck would have it, the skies over Manchester were clear as could be. I had a fun time trying to take a pictures of the Moon while my dinner of chilli cooked. Good thing that slow-cooked chilli tastes amazing, huh? After I’d finished faffing with my camera, I enjoyed the chilli and a few ciders in the company of Withnail & I.

***

Saturday morning I was woken, at 10am on the dot, by the postie. He gave me a parcel from Hong Kong, which contained the spare power adapter for my netbook. Thankfully I haven’t had any more trouble from the netbook since the day I thought its adapter had died. Still, at only 6 quid and change, the spare (official!) adapter was a bargain, and it’s reassuring to know I have a spare in case the original carks it again.

I was quite glad the postie had got me up – not just awake, but up and about – as the weather outside was utterly glorious. Bright sunshine and not a cloud in the azure sky. I quickly made plans to take a trip out with my walking shoes and camera, and decided to head down Chorlton way as I still had yet to do so. With sammidges packed, I headed out just after 12 and looked for the Fallowfield Loop cycleway, a disused railway which has been transformed into a nifty, tarmac’d cycle/horse/footpath from Chorlton through Fallowfield, Levenshulme and Gorton to the reservoirs at Fairfield. It was great to get out into the sunshine, and to have a separate footpath to walk along instead of schlepping it down the busy roads of southern Manchester.

I found my way to Chorlton, having followed the path for a mile or two through underpasses and between residential areas. I passed a handful of cyclists and felt envious of their smooth progress. I’d love to hire a bike and cycle the length from Chorlton to the reservoirs one day. I also passed the developments taking place at the Chorlton end of the line, where Metrolink is constructing a new tram link.

I passed through Chorlton Park briefly, before emerging back out into a large, open space which led towards the River Mersey and the Sale and Chorlton water parks. I was glad I had my walking shoes on as some of the route was a bit wet underfoot, but also because they are incredibly comfy for walks like this. Very nice to walk around Manchester too, as it is all so flat!

I stumbled upon Jacksons Bridge, a historic crossing of the River Mersey, and location of the Jacksons Boat pub. Here there was the sound of a skillfully-controlled model aircraft whizzing and swooping around, several families, walkers and dog-walkers, and the sound of the Mersey, bubbling and sloshing along on its merry way from Stockport to Liverpool and beyond. This was also the fork in the path for Sale and Chorlton water parks. I opted for the latter, and began to follow the Mersey along its south bank. On the right was a golf course, and I followed the river for a few miles until a huge electricity substation, quietly humming away. I noted the irony that, to keep intruders out of the 132,000 volt danger zone, the fence was electrified. Hmm.

Shortly after, I found Chorlton Water Park, busy with birds and visitors. I stayed awhile to have my lunch – I was pretty worn out by this stage – before continuing on along the bank of the Mersey. I could’ve/should’ve headed back towards Chorlton and home from here, but something took me back to the Mersey, so I carried on. Luckily I was checking my route on Google Maps on my phone and I could see that carrying on to Didsbury was a bit too far for this trip, but that I could cut off at one point and cross through West Didsbury and home. So that’s what I did.

It was so good to see all these new places I hadn’t yet visited, and it really inspired me to do more of the same. Also, with the path along the Mersey being part of the Trans Penine Trail, it got me thinking that this summer I could do a much longer walk than I’ve ever tried before. There are a few candidates, all that would take a week or more, with camping or hostel stays necessary. It’s what I hoped to attempt in Scotland two and half years ago, but that didn’t quite go to plan. I feel like it’s time to do it properly. I’ll give it some thought over the coming months.

I made my way home from West Didsbury, following the cursed Princess Road. I had to cross this road four times today – fortunately three times were under it via footpaths. Never before has such a blight on existence been given such a misleading name. I think something like Botulism Road or Big Bastard Horrible Street would be better suited. But alas. It led me home, via the sobering vision of the Southern Cemetery.

Once home, I discovered (thanks to my nifty step counter!) that I had walked some 12 miles. Not bad for an aimless wander! And a great use of a glorious Saturday I reckon. Now I have a licence to stay indoors tomorrow doing some reading and catching up on some uni work.

More photos from Saturday’s walk can be found here.

It was with some sadness, albeit not unanticipated, that I read the announcement that Youth Movie Soundtrack Strategies, Youthmovies, YMSS, however you knew them, had decided to call it a day. Resulting from an accidental bean-spillage on the Drowned in Sound message boards, and now today via an official MySpace announcement, Andrew has confirmed the decision.

It’s kind of sad mainly because I have had a lot of happy memories stem from this band, from friends I have met, to places I’ve travelled to see them, releases I’ve tracked down, the live shows, and just every time I put their music on. They weren’t the most prolific of bands, although they leave behind quite a body of work, and definitely a back catalogue to be proud of. My particular favourites are the ludicrously-titled Hurrah… EP and their 2008 “debut album” Good Nature. Every time I stick Hurrah… on, I never fail to be just as moved as I was the very first time it clicked with me, all those years ago.

I must have seen YMSS around ten times – I need to sit down and work it out. But I’ve seen them several times in London, once in Leeds, Brighton – and the most memorable of shows at Del’s shed near Kingston. It’s the shows I will always remember – for the aforementioned company the band kept, the frantically beautiful performances, the occasional drunken blushes, and for the unfeasibly pleasant gratitude they showed to their friends and fans (for they were one and the same) whenever they were approached. Andrew has praised the kindness of these strangers for the band’s successes.

And it sounds as though it is an acrimonious ’split’, with lots to look back on fondly, but just as much to look forward to in terms of new projects from the band’s members. As Andrew fittingly quoted at the end of this year, this decade, this era:

Hurrah! Another year, surely this one will be better than the last, the inexorable march of progress will lead us all to happiness.

To close, just a handful of some of the photos I’ve had the joy to have taken of the band over the past five years or so.

As you may know, I’m not the biggest fan of Christmas. This has changed a bit in recent years, with the arrival of my beautiful nephews – truly, Christmas is all about all the little kiddies, God bless ‘em. But also, with going away to university, it means that I Come Home For Christmas which makes such a big difference. Coming home this year has worked like this: coming from a big city where the impending festive season is unavoidable, through snow and cold temperatures, to a small town bustling with Christmas anticipation, to a mum who makes me feel incredibly warm, welcome and well-fed in what is now predominantly her home, and to a loving family laying on a wonderful Christmas dinner with lots of hugs, cheer and drinks.

It’s hard to grumble when this is what Christmas means. And it’s all why, over the last few years, Christmas has become more and more appealing to me. This year I’m pretty excited about it, to be honest!

And I had a sort of epiphany the other night, as I tucked into Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. I’ve not read it before and I decided that a deliciously wintry Victorian story was just what I wanted to read. The edition I bought has a few extra Dickens short stories and articles, and the one chosen to go at the start of my edition really opened my eyes. It’s called Christmas Festivities or A Christmas Dinner, depending on the edition, and was featured in Bell’s Life in London from 27 December 1835 under the pen-name ‘Tibbs’. I include a few passages that touched me here:

There are people who will tell you that Christmas is not to them what it used to be – that each succeeding Christmas has found some cherished hope or happy prospect of the year before, dimmed or passed away – and that the present only serves to remind them of reduced circumstances and straitened incomes – of the feasts they once bestowed on hollow friends, and of the cold looks that meet them now, in adversity and misfortune. Never heed such dismal reminiscences.

… [D]o not select the merriest of the three hundred and sixty-five for your doleful recollection, but draw your chair nearer the blazing fire – fill the glass, and send round the song – and, if your room be smaller than it was a dozen years ago, or if your glass is filled with reeking punch instead of sparkling wine, put a good face on the matter, and empty it off-hand, and fill another, and troll off the old ditty you used to sing, and thank God it’s no worse. Look on the merry faces of your children as they sit round the fire.

… Reflect upon your present blessings – of which every man has many – not on your past misfortunes, of which all men have some. Fill your glass again, with a merry face and a contented heart. Our life on it but your Christmas shall be merry, and your new year a happy one.

It’s a lovely article though, with descriptions of a family Christmas dinner, and I highly recommend you read it all if you need a little reminder of why Christmas is so special. The full text of it is available on this page.