Procrastination and the Strange Case of the White Powder

After weeks of finding 'important' things to do I have finally got around to giving my office a spring clean.

After about an hour of sifting which would have made the Time Team proud I began to see the surface of my desk. This desk has been with me for years and is large enough for three old fashioned 21" CRT monitors and has a large solid piece of plate glass placed on a 1.5" solid wooden surface to facilitate easy cleaning - when I can actually see the surface.

Having eventually uncovered the glass surface I noticed curious white powder sprinkled liberally around my working area. Ten years ago it would have been obvious to me what this was. I did use to work in the City (of London). These days things are very different.

Like a rookie police officer I licked the end of a finger, dabbed a small quantity of the power and touched the tip of my tongue. The powder had a sweet taste with 'tangy' unidentifiable overtones. This was the challenge I had been looking for.

Motivated now I continued my excavation and came across a half eaten packet of Rowntree's Jelly Tots - Mystery solved.

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In loco parentis

Scary Old Doghouse

Yesterday I received this email:

"Hiya My Names Sxxxxxxx I'm 18 & a student studying photography in Cardiff & I've decided to try & look around to see if any photography based company's are interested in taking on myself for some kind of work experience, obviously not paid I'm just looking for some kind of insight into what people like yourselves do & how you got there.
If you could kindly get back to me either way.
Thank you,
Sxxxxxxx."

I thought about it for a while and responded:

"If you really want to see what it is like at the sharp end, you are welcome to follow me on a shoot. I take it you are busy today - but, if you are interested I'm covering the Great Welsh Beer and Cider Festival at the CIA this afternoon/evening then shooting a band called Sicknote later this evening.

You are welcome to join me if you like."

She then replied that she would be available and would be able to join me. It was then I began to worry. Re-reading her email I realised she was only 18. I wasn't sure about 18 year old girls at beer festivals and punk gigs. I ascertained that her mother would be driving her into the city centre, suggested that we meet in the Vulcan and that her mother would come and meet me and have a chat with Liz (the Landlady of the Vulcan) who would give me some sort of character reference.

Now, you might think I'm being a little paranoid here but from experience I can tell you that there are a lot of seedy people out there who use the excuse of photography to 'impress' the young - I'm not one of them, as some of you will know I'm just a cynical old fashioned 'tog.

I then popped into the Cardiff International Arena (CIA) to get her a guest pass and we met at the designated time. Her mother, though wary seemed to approve of the evening's plan of action and it was arranged that she would be collected at 10:30pm.

She certainly knew her way round her camera and was not at all fazed by the bizarre lighting conditions inside the CIA. The Jug Band were on form as always providing many opportunities for photographs.

We then moved on to the Sicknote gig. Sicknote have quite a reputation and have been banned from playing in most of the venues in South Wales. The gig in fact was for the silver wedding anniversary of two of Sicknote's biggest fans.

I introduced Sxxxxxxx to Doghouse and Flapsandwich (of Sicknote) and was mildly surprised by their paternal attitude to Sxxxxxxx. We then telephoned her father and arranged for her to be collected at 11:00 from outside the venue.

The evening went well until 10:50 when I lost sight of Sxxxxxxx. This was when the real panic set in. Where was she? What would I say to her parents? Why did I ever agree to this?

After a few minutes of frantic searching I spotted her on stage with the band. Her response "Well you told me to get closer to fill the frame".

Relief. We departed at the designated time and her father even gave me a lift home. The photographs are good and the whole evening got me thinking.

At 18 Sxxxxxxx is an adult. What was I doing at 18? Thinking back I was playing in a band, drinking beer and running round with a camera. Plus ca change.

The thing that worries me most is that there are currently more students studying photography in Britain than there are working photographers in all of Europe. Somehow I feel that Sxxxxxxx will make it.

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Three wise Otley Monkeys

Think of real ale and beer festivals, what comes to mind? Beards, socks and sandals, beer guts, lack of personal hygiene?

Well, the boys from the Otley brewery have certainly done much to dispel these myths. Their infectious enthusiasm has made the Great Welsh Beer and Cider Festival memorable for me this year.

Their love of their products (congratulations on winning Second place for the OG and third place for their Porter in the Champion Beer of Wales Competition) is clear to all.

Yesterday it was hats, today face painting and tomorrow they are turning up in their pyjamas.

It hurts me to say this at a mere 44 years old, but it is great to see young people so passionate about real ales. Cheers boys!

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Welsh Bloggers

Welsh Bloggers, originally uploaded by Welsh Icons (Dom).

No point in blogging this because the only people who read my blog are getting p*ssed together

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Duck eggs and a pint

Duck eggs and a pint, originally uploaded by Welsh Icons (Dom).

I've been attending a poorly computre network in the Torfaen area recently. After a good few hours of staring at Wireshark captures and tring to decode MAC addresses I was in need of a break.

Driving around the endless roundabouts of Cwmbran we chanced upon the Queen Inn in Upper Cwmbran.

What a great pub. Real ales, good food, running stream, ducks etc and run by Gareth and Jane Edwards - great people. They even sell their duck eggs for £1:20 per 1/2 doz.

Looking forward to going back and trying their Sunday lunch.

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X3

I received a message today from an old friend, let's call him Mike, for that's his name, asking me if I could have a look at a computer network he had setup some years ago. Mike now lives in Spain and the network is in Cwmbran, South Wales.

Mike phoned me after I responded to his message and gave me the low-down on the equipment he had installed and the software the company was running.

I readily agreed to have a look, and a very nice lady at the company contacted me this afternoon to provide more details. After the initial pleasantries, she asked if Mike had explained about the X3.

I though for a minute, recalling X25, X500 etc and trying to think if there was something new that may be this mysterious X3. Remember, there have been a lot of new buzz-words flying about recently - Bing, Natal, Palm Pre etc.

Nothing came to mind and I had to reply that the X3 was something I was not familiar with. She burst out laughing and told me that the X3 is the number of the bus that travels between Cardiff and Cwmbran.

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Repatriation

You would think I was against repatriation, but let me say that in certain circumstances I'm all for it. For instance would it not be kinder for all concerned if English Nature were to return Nick Griffin back to the rock he crawled out from under in Barnet?

How's this for a track record:

• In 1980 he became a member of the National Front governing body, the National Directorate.
• Writing in Nationalism Today in 1985, Griffin praised the black separatist Louis Farrakhan, saying, "white nationalists everywhere wish [Farrakhan] well, for we share a common struggle for the same ends: racial separation and racial freedom".
• In 1997, he was editor of The Rune, an anti-semitic weekly, in which he praised the wartime Waffen SS and attacked the Royal Air Force for its bombing of Nazi Germany.
• In 1998, Griffin, he was convicted of violating section 19 of the Public Order Act 1986, relating to incitement to racial hatred for publishing material that denied the Holocaust.

I'm sure that many of the people who voted for the BNP last Thursday are not intrinsically racist, just as I'm very sure that a minority of them are. The problem is that so called minority parties such as the BNP have polarised issues such as immigration to such an extent we can no longer engage in debates about such things with out being smeared by their filth.

If I were to say "Economic Migration is not about race", would it make me a racists?

Stands back, fuse now lit.

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