Forgot about these photos taken at the beginning of November in Barry, Wales. And yes, this is my lazy way of avoiding actual thinking/writing on here. For all the photos from this series, go here.
To Porthcawl for Indian food tonight. Happy days!
To Porthcawl for Indian food tonight. Happy days!
Coming soon.... photos from Berlin and other random crap.
I love train stations. I love the coming and going, the bustle, the excitement people feel when leaving or arriving somewhere. In Europe many of the train stations have amazing architectural features -- high arched ceilings, ornate glass and iron work -- they are lovely. I also love train travel and have promised myself that on the next journey to London it will be via train instead of the more economic MegaBus, which is just as bad as it sounds.
There used to be a passenger train that went through Regina but was sadly discontinued -- the beautiful old terminal turned into the shell for a casino. There is still train service in Canada and I would absolutely love to travel across the country that way. It would be an amazing way to see the landscape I think -- though strangely expensive.
A few weeks back I bought a Nikon D60 camera with the intention of learning how to use the manual features. This was really the first time I've taken pictures using the manual setting (as opposed to only controlling the shutter speed and aperture). I deleted as many images as I kept and it was really a trail and error process of me adjusting things over and over until they looked OK. I don't think I am a natural photographer but I do enjoy trying.
For the complete Paddington Set click here.
PS: It is sunny in Wales today! Sunshine!!
Yesterday, after visiting the midwife, Friday and I make the journey to Lola's. I was skeptical about how easy it would be to find given that street directions in London always confuse me. I am used to the faithful grid system and all the loops and bends over here require a completely new set of navigational skills from those I've grown up with. Despite this, we found it quite easily and enjoyed a nice walk through a part of Camden Town that was filled with beautiful old Victorian apartments and peppered with strange high rises that looked like they were built during the cold war.
Lola's Kitchen the physical space was not what I expected. It is located in the Primrose Hill Workshops, which is an industrial looking barn-like structure on a residential street. There is no fancy bakery with cozy seating and delicacies displayed under long shiny glass counter tops. Instead it is a bit like walking into a sweet smelling car repair shop.
"I can't imagine how they are inspired to make beautiful cakes in a place like this," said my traveling companion.
But oh, they did not disappoint.
First off, the cake was in a bright white box tied with a baby blue ribbon and a little card. The box alone was perfect and square and lovely. All cakes should come in boxes like this. The cake was perfect -- just the right amount of sweet, light airy cake, ample icing... It was heaven.
Happy baby J and B! X
Remember, remember the Fifth of November,
The Gunpowder Treason and Plot,
I can think of no reason
Why the Gunpowder Treason
Should ever be forgot.
Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, t'was his intent
To blow up the King and Parli'ment.
Three-score barrels of powder below
To prove old England's overthrow;
By God's providence he was catch'd
With a dark lantern and burning match.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, let the bells ring.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King
A penny loaf to feed the Pope
A farthing o' cheese to choke him.
A pint of beer to rinse it down.
A fagot of sticks to burn him.
Burn him in a tub of tar.
Burn him like a blazing star.
Burn his body from his head.
Then we'll say ol' Pope is dead.
Hip hip hoorah!
Hip hip hoorah hoorah
Today I enjoyed reading this article about artist Sophie Calle. She is famous for using intimate details of her personal life in her work and recently used an email sent to her by a boyfriend as his way of breaking up with her as fodder:
I received an e-mail telling me it was over. / I didn’t know how to respond. / It was almost as if it hadn’t been meant for me. / It ended with the words, ‘Take care of yourself.’ / And so I did. / I asked 107 women (as well as 2 hand puppets / and a parrot), chosen for their profession or skills, / to interpret this letter: / To analyze it, comment on it, dance it, sing it. / Dissect it. Exhaust it. Understand it for me. / Answer for me. / It was a way of taking the time to break up. / A way of taking care of myself.It's a pretty fine revenge plot to use the bad behaviour of an ex as very public material for your art practice. Remind me not to mess with Sophie Calle.
In addition to catching up on my Google Reader today I've been watching Stephen Fry (a UK television personality) on his cross-country journey of America. I feel such mixed emotions watching it. On one hand it is beautifully shot and makes me feel a little homesick for North America. Like the landscape, the people and the politics are so polarized and there is so much tension between what is the most beautiful and what is the most dangerous about the climate. Occasionally Fry irritates me as he waxes poetic about North America in way that only someone who had never lived there can do. At one point he is interviewing some homeless people who were no doubt equal parts starving, freezing and mentally ill. Instead of really looking at the crises of the homeless in America or questioning the fact that somehow one of the wealthiest countries in the world has such a gap between the rich and poor, Fry goes on about the promise and romance of being a drifter on the open American road. Yes, the homeless man told him it was a choice but for how many is that really true? It made me roll my eyes a little.
Still, when he drove through the golden wheat fields of Kansas I couldn't help but say excitedly, "that's what Saskatchewan looks like, only flatter." There's really no place like home.
Settled isn't exactly how I would describe the current state of things. I arrived on Saturday. Since Monday morning the bathroom has been completely gutted and has been in various stages of reconstruction. We are planning to pull down an old, tired ceiling and put up a new, higher one. In order to do this we need to pull out the closet. This means there is nowhere to put the clothes (and I have many, many of those...).
It is all exciting and things are going to look amazing once we're done the work. Also, it's nice to be able to change things around a little bit so that it doesn't just feel like I'm inhabiting someone's space but that we are making it our own. Things always feel messiest right before they are set right.
I've been surprised every day at the subtle cultural differences between Wales and Canada. I don't think it is ever quite as obvious to me as when I am ordering food in a restaurant and am always hesitant and unsure of whether the server will understand what I'm talking about. A few mornings ago we went for breakfast and I ordered my eggs over easy. It seems they don't do over-easy here and had never heard of it. The server was agreeable and the cooks made a best effort (though the results were more over-hard really) but it just points out how many things I take for granted as obvious and everyday. The UK is likely as similar to North America as anywhere in the world, but there are still these subtle differences that come up in surprising places.
I am learning every day.
Last night Miranda organized a going away party for me. There were three rules:
1. No Tequila
2. No Jaggermeister
3. No Can o' Wine from O'Hanlons
We successfully followed two out of three of these.
For all the pictures click here.
Making Strange Copyright © 2011 Amy Thibodeau