As is my custom – come rain, shine or, as this year, murky mist – I head out on New Year's Day to photograph whatever presents itself to be photographed. Who knows or remembers why I do this, now, but personal customs like this do establish themselves, and it feels right to honour them in the observance rather than the breach. As we now usually find ourselves in Bristol at New Year, it also seems right to honour another relatively new ritual observance, and drive over to Clevedon on the Bristol Channel coast to walk along the pier and gaze across the sea to Wales.
I don't know whether some "influencer" has been talking up this "going outdoors" thing, but we were surprised quite how many more people were milling about aimlessly this year, many accompanied by their children and, inevitably, their dogs. Owning a dog, it seems, is now a compulsory family accessory; thank goodness this wasn't the case when our daughter was agitating for one (I dislike dogs, much as they seem to like me). Dogs, of course, need no third-party persuasion to go walkies, and are pretty effective influencers in their own right. Walkies, right now, or it's crap on the carpet: up to you... Woof! Good choice!
As I'd hoped, my favourite spot in Clevedon was open, an antique shop behind the seafront with a walled garden full of an amazing jumble of garden ornaments, and I spent a happy quarter of an hour pottering about in the fading afternoon light looking for things I may have missed last time we were here, as well as new additions and juxtapositions. I was particularly pleased with that angel below, snoozing over a pool of water, just like the Professor (or is it the Writer?) in Tarkovsky's mesmerising film Stalker. I think you'll be seeing more of him/her/it in future collages.
Do you know what I miss, though, as a new year begins? I miss writing cheques, and getting the date wrong. In fact, I can't remember the last time I wrote out a cheque ("FIVE THOUSAND POUNDS ONLY") and have almost forgotten the whole cheque-lore of crossing, signing, post-dating, bouncing, and the rest of it; I'm not even sure whether I still have a cheque-book lurking in a drawer somewhere, with its stubs narrating the dull tale of bills paid, cash withdrawn, and extravagances indulged. Certainly, the bank long ago stopped sending me new ones. Now I'm going to have to go and have a look (a check?) just to satisfy my curiosity. I suppose somewhere there must be a terrible, laboured pun to be made about the cheque being in the (blog) post, but let's not get 2022 off to a bad start.
No comments:
Post a Comment