Making the most of his chance in the spotlight, this little fellow enthusiastically performs his self-choreographed happy sunshine dance.
I feel rather attracted to walls such as this one, sporting an adornment of glass shards. There’s something strangely compelling in the contrasting displays of aggression and sculptural beauty, as the colourful spikes glint in the sunshine to warn you off a closer encounter.
This wall seemed quite unusual with its incorporation of upturned bottle necks. I crossed the road for a closer inspection as I imagined the joy experienced whilst smashing these bottles, happy in the knowledge that they will soon be helping people to KEEP OUT!
Once there I found this sweet surprise: little mosses making their homes safely sheltered inside the broken bottles.
‘What are you doing?! I live here!’ demanded a man, as I stood in the shelter of the wall reviewing my photographs.
‘Enjoying these’ I said, pointing out the mossy delights and showing him a photo I’d taken for good measure.
He laughed, surprised and uplifted.
‘I thought you were a spy!’ he said as he left.
This heavily pregnant conker was briefly destined for billboard-sized stardom. I found it sitting atop a hedge whilst I searched for suitable subjects to photograph for a commission for a new antenatal unit at Homerton University Hospital. It turned out to be a very suitable subject, and this image initially got chosen to grace a full top-to-bottom wall in the reception area of the new unit.
Disappointingly it was later decided that the wall in question is to remain empty…but all is not lost as there are four other superbly huge walls to be filled with other of my images. However, I love this beautiful shiny conker, ready to burst forth on its own personal life journey, so I’m sharing it here.
As I look at it I imagine what might occur once it has fully emerged from its protective casing. Quite possibly it will take a tumble, falling through the gaps in the hedge upon which it currently rests, bouncing downwards until it crashes onto the pavement below.
And then what might befall it?
Might it be immediately crushed by the footsteps of a passing pedestrian or kicked onto the road to be squished by the wheels of a car? Could its gleaming perfection be noticed by a child who will fix it to a piece of string and fight for it to be crowned ‘Best Conker’? Or will it be taken to a good home, placed on a window sill and admired? Perhaps it will provide sustenance to a hungry squirrel; or could it be one of the lucky ones, could it find its way onto a nourishing patch of soil, germinate and grow into a tall and proud horse-chestnut tree?
Having been considering this conker’s future, I was delighted to discover the similar, yet massively more dramatic emergence and subsequent fall of a Barnacle Goose gosling, whilst watching the new David Attenborough nature documentary – “Life Story”.
Barnacle Geese nest on the very top of exceedingly tall rocky columns in Greenland. This is where the goslings hatch from their shells…only to find themselves just two days later free-falling, their little undeveloped wings spread-eagled, having made a phenomenal leap of faith.
If you haven’t seen this two-minute long bit of tv, then watch it! It’s simply wonderful.
“What a big bushy beard you have!” exclaimed Little Red Riding Hood.
“All the better to photosynthesise you with, my dear” replied The Wolf.
Mostly I really love heavy rain, especially when it comes along after days of hot stickiness and freshens up the atmosphere.
I like climbing onto walls and hanging off railings to avoid big puddles, or splish-splashing through them depending on my current welly-wearing status.
I love watching it streak downwards especially when it falls dead straight, but also when it’s being blown at an extreme slant.
I love the way the big drips splosh into puddles of their own creation, creating criss-crossing circular ripples and rebounding droplets, whilst the surfaces of the world glisten.
I love the sounds it makes as it batters against all manner of different objects and materials – metal roofs, glass windows, concrete paving, fabric umbrellas…
And I love that earthy smell it produces. I’ve recently discovered that this smell has it’s own special name – Petrichor – meaning the scent of rain on dry earth. It’s a scent that consists of a combination of oils released by plants during dry periods and chemicals produced by soil-dwelling bacteria. The scent occurs as these oils and chemicals get liberated from the soil into the air by the rain – from where the amalgamated ‘smell’ is ready to enter our nostrils. Incidentally, Ammon Shea, a man who read all twenty volumes of the Oxford English Dictionary and wrote a book about it, emerged from his experience clutching Petrichor as one of his favourite new words.
The only thing about heavy rain I’m not so keen on is the way it causes our netball courts to get so slippery that our matches get cancelled.
Flaps out: Check.
Nose pointing skyward: Check.
Engines engaged: Check.
Let lift-off commence.
I hope this little fella makes it to the other side in one piece.
Lovely Spring, decorating the tops of our local walls with a delicate sprinkling of blossom.
Peeking out from their cozy cove, what did these little mosses behold but a crowd of budding bryologists in waterproof jackets peering through tiny magnifying glasses, their big eyes just millimetres away from the friendly fronds of some of the neighbouring mosses living on the next wall along.
I was one member of this curious crowd, using a magnifying lens to enter an intriguing tiny world. We were all on a special mossy walk entitled ‘Urban Ramble: Meet Your Local Mosses’. It involved examining mosses on walls, pavements and bollards along a short stretch of road on either side of a big house which is home to the wonderful South London Botanical Institute (SLBI).
The SLBI contains a herbarium (draws full of dried flattened plants, useful for research purposes), a panelled library full of old botanical books, and a themed and formally laid-out botanic garden. The SLBI is also currently running a whole month of free ‘Mad About Mosses’ events – which is how I came to meet this lovely pair.
Of course, I’m no stranger to the delights of moss-appreciation that can be enjoyed on any urban street, but using a magnifying lens was really exciting (so much so that I’ve already ordered one of my own) and it was fun to be a part of an inquisitive and earnest collection of moss-admirers whilst learning how to identify one moss from another – I discovered that these little fellas are called Brian and Camilla, although I’m not sure which one is which.
Actually that should be ‘these little fellas are called Bryum capillare’. My mistake.
Chip chop chip chop all day long, with a great big pair of shears. After a couple of enthusiastic hours my left hand started involuntarily shaking due to the unfamiliar and intensely repetitious movement – and it didn’t stop until two days later.
All this chopping / slicing / hacking was fun though, especially as I was simultaneously enjoying the invincibility of wearing wellies. However, at the end of the day the pond was looking barren and uninviting – empty apart from all these stunted stalks poking up through the surface.
But then I crouched down to take a closer look and everything changed. The colours came alive! The floating debris bestowed an abstract oriental feel. An extra dimension opened up as my gaze reached under the surface.
With a little close attention and a small change in position the pond transformed!