Last weekend
I’ve had my first day off for three weeks. In fact I’ve had the entire weekend off and it took me a day or two to wind myself up into work mode again. My slowing down plan is still active, this recent frenzy is just a blip.
Some of my recent work has involved the return of Ken and his crew from California to shoot his latest collection.
I realise when faced with the styling shenanigans of fashion people, that what I wear are clothes, rather than fashion, and on my head I have hair where back in the day there used to be a hair style.
I can’t spare the brain space.
Some of my current batch of work is teaching evening classes. I relish the strange homeward night time walk through the deserted Olympic park, deserted but brightly lit. I pass lightly busy bars and restaurants and Westfield closing up and chucking out. Occasionally I get caught up in football crowds, but that’s a whole other blog in itself, I have a lot to say about that.
The walk to and from my studio is rarely uneventful, Camden high street through the market, dodging tourists, aging punks, the slew of Amy Winehouse wannabe buskers, and the occasional base guitarist prepared with all the necessary electrical equipment.
It’s generally rowdy but the visuals can be surprisingly chilled. There’s a view from the lock area that I love, I photograph it constantly. I’ve even compared photos of said view with a bouncer who works that area and is also obsessed. A strange pair chatting and sharing pictures, tall handsome, tattooed young Russian man and me.
The photo I’m using to illustrate this was taken from the Russian’s patch on a journey home, it looks so tranquil. Behind me a slappy fight involving two security guys and an arsy drunk was happening. This was accidentally accompanied by heavy metal guitar although the Benny Hill theme might well have been equally apt.
Honestly, you’ve got to love Camden.
fat tart 