Sunshine Child

I've had this concept and title in mind for well over a year. I intended to shoot it last year, when the rapeseed fields were at their yellowest, but for one reason or another, I was unable to find the right field at the right time, with the right weather.

This year, we haven't had much of a summer yet, and I wasn't convinced that the rapeseed would be ready and at its best. However, there have been so few sunny days, and I have a busy schedule coming up, so I didn't want to miss my opportunity altogether for another year, and decided to go for it on a warm-ish Sunday afternoon.

Little Ro has outgrown the outfit I'd originally had in mind (which was denim dungarees with the same yellow top). Luckily, this pair still fits him, and he can just about squeeze into the yellow (albeit very probably for the last time). I think in the end, I prefer the more vintage feel of the brown dungarees, especially from behind, as they could almost have stepped out of any era, so it's harder to date the shots, and I like that ambiguity.

We had a near disaster early on in the shoot. I'd come prepared with the yellow balloon, and inevitably, it popped on entry to the field. Little Ro looked like his heart might break. It's the first time I've seen him fully understand and get involved with a photography concept. He knew we were going to a yellow field - with a yellow balloon - to take photos, and he was devastated when it briefly looked like things weren't going to plan.

Fortunately, Little Ro's Daddy saved the day, by heading off to purchase a new yellow balloon (and several spares as back-up, just in case), while I reassured a disappointed child that it wasn't the end of the world, and we walked the dog. Once provided with a new yellow balloon, I just stood back and let the boy naturally do his thing (keeping to the tractor tracks within the field, so no damage was done to the crops).

It's lovely when a concept finally comes to fruition, and this series is almost exactly as I had pictured them, along with a few additions. 

Elmo says Boo!

Did you know that Elmo had a brother? The two are very close. (Just for fun).

Bugsy Malone (Part Two)

Hot-headed Bugsy makes his mind up

Don't mess with Bugsy or you'll wind up

Wishing you'd left well enough alone

He's a man, a mountain

He's a rolling stone

And will he leave you

Sad and lonely, crying

I couldn't say, but it's known

Everybody loves that man

Bugsy Malone.

(Lyrics from Bugsy Malone, by Paul Williams)

(The above shot isn't quite in keeping with the others in the series,

but you can't stop a boy from having fun!)

I couldn't resist splitting this set into two. The black and white images seem to tell a strong story, but the colour versions also have their own charm, and I especially wanted to feature the red phone-box, which is such an iconic part of our British heritage.
This phone-box in particular, stands on a street corner, just outside a pub, down the road from my Mum's house where I used to live. I grew up as part of a generation that took these for granted. Phone-boxes smelt of cigarette smoke (and urine), and were usually littered with chocolate wrappers and cigarette butts. Rural ones were out-of-order more frequently than they were connected, and more often than not, they would eat at least one of your coins, while you frantically pressed the 'continue call' button, listening to the ominous sound of clicking and beeping on the line, knowing you would eventually be cut off.

Despite the negatives, they still had their own unique, quaint character, and were at one time, indispensable. Having to wait to gain access to one wasn't unusual (especially near train stations or in town centres, where there was nearly always a queue). As a teenager, if I needed to make a phone call during the day, I would walk down the road to this phone box, armed with 10p and 20p pieces, because the cost of using a home landline before 6pm was too expensive. It never occurred to me as a child, that one day they would become a rare sight.

This phone-box still stands on the pub corner, where it's been my whole life. But a year ago, as I was walking the dog with Little Ro, we popped in to investigate. I discovered that although the phone was still there (and at that time, there was still a line, albeit a dead tone), it was no longer in commission, and would never again make or receive another phone call. The phone box itself has been 'adopted' by the local council (for the cost of £1, as part of a scheme that attempts to retain these cultural icons for future generations). But it will no longer be maintained, and should it become more vandalised or derelict than it already is, I don't suppose the council will care enough to repair it.

Little Ro loved playing with the phone, as all toddlers do, and I decided to do a photo shoot there, but I left it a while. Yesterday, having decided to shoot there, I had a sudden panic that the phone box would no longer be standing (as so many have been removed since they were decommissioned), or that the outfit I had planned for this shoot would no longer fit. I was relieved to find the phone-box surviving, and Little Ro was more than happy to cooperate by dressing up for the occasion.

The phone is no longer working, and there is now no dial-tone - not even a dead one. Only silence. We are fortunate that most of the glass is still in place, so this phone-box remains relatively in tact. I do wonder if even vandals now think better of destroying the last remaining phone-boxes, now that they are a comparatively rare sight (or perhaps its rural location has preserved it, and vandals are not so discerning as I give them credit for).

Anyway. Apologies for the rambling post. The demise of this iconic British symbol got me thinking, and I'm glad I photographed it when I did - while I still can. Long may it remain.

Bugsy Malone (Part One)

He's a sinner

Candy-coated

For all his friends

He always seems to be alone

But they love him

Bugsy Malone.

A city slicker

He can charm you

With a smile

And a style all his own

Everybody loves that man

Bugsy Malone.

(Lyrics from Bugsy Malone, by Paul Williams)

 "Hey you! Yeah, you. You wanna ride in my car? I got a convertible."

 "Sure, hop in. I'll give you a ride."

 "Listen, I'll be right back, I gotta make a phone call."

 "You're not listenin' to me, Sam, I need the money by tomorrow!"

 "This is how it's gonna be. You get me the dough, we'll say no more about it..."

Green Tin Snail

This is an introduction to my 'other baby,' known as the Green Bug. I'd always wanted a 2CV, ever since I was in my teens. My partner bought me one as a present, but it was off the road for five years, while it was restored, bit by bit, and finally passed its MOT just over a year ago. Since then, it has travelled from the far north of Scotland, to the depths of Norfolk, where I worked last winter. These are a few of my favourite shots of it on its travels - it has its own personality.

 Cullen Bay, Scotland

 Monk Fryston Hall, near Selby

 The Thursford Collection, Norfolk

Outside my temporary residence in Bale, Norfolk

Little April Showers

Little Ro is obsessed with water, and has been making the most of our recent heat-wave, enjoying an April shower entirely of his own making.

The Knock

Very probably my favourite shoot to date, up 'The Knock' in Banffshire, Scotland. The Knock is a mountain visible from the window of our friends' house, where we stay. Little Ro climbed to the top (despite my best efforts to discourage him from going any higher), all by himself... albeit, he had to be carried down again by his daddy.