Last month we moved in. The wallpaper came down, paint went on and the place began to feel like ours. Today I investigated the loft. This is about 1/3 of what’s up there, mostly old toys and nonsense but a whole bag of children’s photos that left me feeling unsettled. Who leaves their children in the loft? What stories happened in this house before ours began?
Recent travels
Took a night bus to London to work on a movie, 
A trek to be sure, but they paid us (plus lunch),
Spent the rest of the day being paid to hang out in the green room
With this odd but welcoming bunch,
As the day turned to night I got lost walking back through the darkness of Peckham,
(Not fun when alone),
But I spotted the towers and followed their lights
To the river (the Thames is a rainbow tonight).
Making one final stop in a small coffee shop,
I stocked up on hot chocolate and sugary snacks,
As I prepared my mind for the 7 hour ride,
To my home and my bed and a chance to relax.
The Gentleman Caller. (A makeover)
When I first met Gerald, he was naked and headless. A serious handicap to be sure, but he had never let it stop him from dreaming big.
Sick of his beige, twill existence he allowed me to become his stylist.
A little catharsis never hurt anyone.
And everyone knows accessorising is what really makes an outfit.
Well, that and a good dress shirt.
A sharp jacket and a coat of paint had Gerald feeling quite dapper,
Which we amplified with a judicial application of frills and this snazzy bowler.
Gerald now looks and feels like a new man.
Je ne crains pas de l’Islam…
I am not afraid of Islam.
Not my doctor in her hijab,
nor the man next door walking his children to mosque.
I do not cower from those with beards,
having discussions in strange tongues on the bus.
What keeps me up at night is ignorance.
Our parents lived through the Troubles,
Yet never started a national campaign against Catholicism,
They bombed their houses, cars and tube stations,
Yet we never tried to ban the crucifix.
Because we realised they were a minority,
Not the spokespeople for an entire religion.
And now, when “they” are demolishing ancient art,
And trying to bring Paris to her knees,
We must remember that they are few.
They have the weapons and the will but not the numbers,
And those who practice Islam,
Have no more in common with them than the rest of us do.
They are militants and bullies,
And the only way we stop them,
Is to fight together.
We are people first and foremost,
This is our strength if we are willing to relinquish our fears.
How I Turned Free Floorboards & Pallets into Bookcases Using This One Weird Old Trick!
Found a man on a site giving floorboards for free, who then kindly agreed to deliver to me.
Then they sat on the floor in a dirty great stack, til I bleached them to bring their true colours back. 
Next I took a small trolley and walked around town, finding pallets with no other homes of their own. 
Then I hammered and sawed and cut down the stack,
Then attached them with screws at the sides and the back.
Next the foreman insisted on checking them all to be sure they would work and not crumble and fall. 
Pleased with my craft he allowed me to varnish then stack on the books and repeat until finished. 
Now they stand in our lounge, a spectacular pair, with our books in one place for the whole house to share. 
Home
First the old place was cleaned,
Neatly stacked, Tightly packed,
Then removed to this house with inquisitive cats.
Where we set about building up rooms from the mess,
Turning mattress-on-floor into warm, comfy beds.
Into kitchen (this guy makes great chili and rice),
And a lounge space with camels and soft fairy lights.
Now our mornings are spent curled in bed with the cats,
And the nights filled with beardy men, wine and chats,
And the dusty old place we moved into has grown,
From an empty old house to our cozy new home.
This is an adventure (Part 2)
Part one was a pub.
Then a house party, followed by a couple of gatherings and a wine-fuelled night of conversation in a kitchen with an H.S Thompson documentary as our backing band.
It was three epic holidays in countries that we’d both had on our lists for years.
Part 2 starts with an ending. A leaving of cramped rooms in separate houses and a combining of ambitions into this:
A house that felt right from the moment we stepped in.
And, right now, it’s a pile of dusty boxes surrounded by freaked-out curious cats. But soon it will be our home. Our place and our space and our new adventure.
Today I was feeling photographic…
I went out looking for interesting people doing interesting things, in order that I might encounter the right mix of humanity and poignancy (or something) that makes good street photography.
Instead I found dogs:
Some images from Reykjavik and ATP Festival
Blue Lagoon 
ATPeople
Laundromat Cafe
Mudhoney mosh pit
Hurra Bar
Midnight Sun
Reykjavik
Rusted, weather-beaten houses emerge from the landscape in tiny pockets of colour. Muted, primary-coloured flowers in its otherwise bleak wasteland. Remote farmhouses stand with their backs stoically towards the endless grey ocean and tin-roofed, two story, chocolate box homes rest alongside industrial estates and dual carriageways. Then behind it all, the mountains. Rolling,snow-capped and postcard perfect. If Wes Anderson had specially commissioned an alien planet to be colonised and terra-formed he would have ended up with Reykjavik.
Stand in the middle of a field and turn 360o and you’ll see every kind of weather and, by the time you complete the circle will be putting up a brolly..or taking off a layer..or both.
The wind slips down to us fresh from a glacier, colder than the season and a reminder of how close we are to icy nothingness.
Yet the city buzzes with life. Three hours of sunset and no real darkness give the people
“All the energy to do everything”
a taxi driver confides. Walk around at midnight and you’ll find small pockets of people, bundled in sweaters, sitting by the ocean as the otherworldly orange light bathes them. Laughing, loving, reading and enjoying the summer for all it’s worth. Storing up the sunlight in their souls to keep them warmed through the endless darkness that winter will bring.
Here we are remote. Removed. Yet revitalised and alive.
down among the saints 