Hampstead

How perfect is this look. I love the proportions and the colour of her bag.This look was indicative of many I saw on a sunny afternoon as I stepped out of Hampstead tube station. I had managed to clear all my paperwork. I taught my lessons and then rushed to get a train to the far flung Northern climes of this city.

I need not have rushed. I got their far too quickly and so had an couple of hours to kill before the place I wanted to see opened.

So I did what any self respecting adventurera would do. I bought a smoked salmon and cream cheese bagel and a rich chocolate truffle from the Hungarian bakery and walked to the top of the hill for a picnic.
As I walked up the hill I went past this stunning house. I LOVE this style of architecture. Inside a couple in their late seventies were getting ready to go out, they looked so comfortable and the house looked so lived in. Just perfect, I started to play that game, you know the one where you imaging what it would be like to live this life?

I then saw a stunning house through the bars of this gate. It opened in half an hour and better still sold a combined ticket to the other place I was waiting to open. Outside were another couple of octogenarians (no different ones) snoozing on a bench, they too were waiting for the place to open, so I wandered some more.

I saw this house, once lived in by Constable. he described his paintings as Skying "That landscape painter who does not make his skies a very material part of his composition, neglects to avail himself of one of his greatest aids"

Round the corner, The Admirals House, a real monster.

As I finally walked round the corner to visit Fenton House I spied this gorgeous building. I peeked over the wall to see a stunning view and a very clipped and manicure topiary garden.

Once inside Fenton House one of the wardens conspiratorially told me it belonged to Ridley Scott. "He's a film director you know, they say he's made lots of films including one called Gladiator, not that I've seen it. He's never there," Talk about dammed with feint praise!

Still it is a stunning house.

So here we are, whilst I waited for 2 Willow Road to open, I went round this oasis of calm and tranquility.
Complete with sunken gardens and an orchard.

With deep flowering boarders.

Even the toilet had a touch of class.

I was very lucky that quite a few other people were looking around too. They provided an excellent distraction, so that I could take these guerrilla photographs.

I overheard a couple ask if they could take photographs, they were told no. Apparently "the Japanese always ask, and even when told no they then try to take photographs from the window" Scandalous I say. Ha, I set my camera on sneaky silent and papped away.

Seriously though what harm does it do?

I had to work quickly and with stealth, hence the lack of composition.

You must admit it is a lovely house and to think I found it by accident.

Two icons of beauty, that is the ubiquitous Holly Bush Pub on the left and on the right "Yellow Car" do your kids slap each other when they see a yellow car? mine do. This one was cute though.
And so to 2 Willow Road.

• Designed by Modernist architect Ernö Goldfinger for himself and his family
• Complete with original contents including furniture designed by Goldfinger

I have had somewhere a small pamphlet about this place for what seems like years. I knew little about the background, but my memory was jogged after seeing those photographs by Veronica Bailey at the V&A.

Walking inside the house it felt as if the owners had just walked out to buy a pint of milk.

It has the patina of age and yet still feels contemporary. All the rooms seamlessly meld together to create a unified space, a large balcony overlooks a stunning garden. It is much smaller and shabbier than I expected and yet the intimacy makes it feel like it was a much loved home rather than like so many contemporary houses today, which to me, lack the human touch.

I could happily have moved in, sadly it is north of the river which is beyond my remit.

Oh and of course it is owned by the National Trust and therefore not for sale.

My ire was irked by the DO NOT Take Photo stance. Again I ask why? What is so bad. This time the eagle eyed guides were younger and wholly sussed to my ways, and so not one photograph did I get to take. Criminal.

If you are ever in the area I urge you to go it maybe small be it evokes such an amazing life fully and richly lived.

Mad Men

Like an expensive box of chocolates I tried to savour series 1 of Mad Men. Having become completely addicted after a few episodes of series 2 I was looking forward to filling in some of the missing pieces.

At first I rationed myself to a couple of episodes at a time. Then just like a box of chocolates thought "sod it" and gorged myself senseless, only the law of diminishing returns kicked in.

So once more I paced myself, until faced with the penultimate episode, I am now going to wait and savour the last two during the holiday, that is of course if the rest of the gang allow it. Meanwhile I hear you lucky American cousins will begin your fix with series 3 mid August.

I WANT THIS COAT

I love the clothes, and spent a happy hour reading about how they are sourced and remade. I had not realise they were all vintage or just how much thought went into the style and colour of the men's suits.

My absolute favourite part of the whole series is the sound. Especially if you listen to it on a computer with headphones. The sound is so utterly perfect, the chink of ice in a glass, the noise of traffic outside. It is all perfect.

I struggled with the smoking and drinking, until I opened up a deep memory and realised that it was not so long ago people smoked on trains and buses and lunchtime drinking was de rigeur

The sexism is more painful to watch, and I guess in a way we should marvel that it is not more

prevalent today, or is it just less obvious?

Image from here

This and the top image from here

If there is one thing all teachers over 40 are good at, and I mean gold medal championship winning bloody brilliant at. It is harking back to the good old days.

We stand arms folded like Rigsby in his kitchen, "yes do you remember when..."

The R.E teacher in the room next door started the day with a mug of tea laced with whisky from a bottle he kept in his filing cabinet? (Ha now you know what those filing cabinets are used for!)

When you pushed in front of the kids in the queue.. at the bar of the local pub?

Do you remember when you forgot to go back to work and teach the last lesson?

When you left students behind on a school trip because they were late?

When all the male invigilators of the GCSE exam went to the back of the hall and mooned the kids?

You could thwack the arse of a child with a ruler, simply because he was leaning out of the window instead of working? When you could flick their ears for being rude?

Obviously this is just idle chit chat that I have over heard. Absolutely none of this was me.

Even so my life is just so full of bloody data analysis, self evaluation , risk assessment forward planning, etc, etc, etc Boring boring navel introspective crapola.

What happened to this profession?

Do we really have to be, well professional all the time?

I am currently liking the fact that;

The Apple Mac does not recognise arse or crapola as real words.

That Daisy left her Apple mac behind whilst she wades through gallons of water in some ditch in Wales.

That I am double booked on Sunday, so sadly will miss seeing Leyla getting her butt kicked in, again.

From the sublime to the ridiculous

On Friday I went to a beautifully staged production of All's Well That Ends Well at The National. The design lent heavily on the illustration we see for the brothers Grimm fairy tales, very magical. Sadly my theatre partner had high tailed it to Wales on an activity week so my sister came instead, she normally won’t stick her generous arse on a seat costing less than £40 but she was pleasantly surprised at how good the view was for £10, and she bought me supper. Mmm maybe this trade could be permanent!

The following day I was coerced into going to Thorpe Park. Dear God I am way too old for this kind of day out now. I used to take coach loads of students to any number of theme parks and whoop it up on the rides, but now my idea of fun is a gentle stroll round an art gallery.

Emin decided we MUST go as a day out for the au pair before she goes back to Turkey. She absolutely was not keen on the idea, but just as a man will buy his child a remote control car then play with it himself, so this day was really about Emin. The side benefit was Leyla had a wonderful day.

I however got bloody whiplash on the first ride. I will never understand what the pleasure is in queuing for 2 bloody hours, to then be thrown around like a rag doll for 20seconds with my eyes shut. I am all for big swings and sudden drops but this ride was horrible.

I luckily managed to look after Leyla for the next 3 hours whilst he tortured the au pair. I then got to go on lots of more sedate affairs before hooking up for lunch. Sadly I over did it, and fell quite queasy by 5pm!

I did remind him when we got home, as I crawled into bed, that I am pushing 50, and really that will be the last time I do it.

I am now sat nursing a sore neck

Masao Yamamoto

Masao Yamamoto
Originally uploaded by (ACP 10) Atlanta Celebrates Photography

Currently really loving the random nature of these images. I will add more tonight.

Finally found some on the Hackel Bury Fine Art

I just love the random nature of these images as well as the way they are displayed. Yet another photographer that makes me want to hit the dark room again.

Northern Cyprus 2002

This post has been bubbling under for a while. These images were taken in Northern Cyprus, I think during the summer of 2002. It was the last time I was there both Emin and I vowed that I would never return, for a range of reasons.

Not least from my part that I was so tired of holidaying in the same place over and over again. I wanted to try new places, and I have.

My first time in Northern Cyprus was just after I had met Emin, He spun such an amazing tale about his childhood holidays, his evacuation during the war of 1973 by the British Army. I was enthralled and enraptured.

The reality of this place was soooo different. The house is a hideous concrete box this image below is of the kitchen. that first day was such a shock, I had never seen so much formica and as you can see, that is who buys those utterly vile tiles. I promise you the bathroom is grim too.

You also need to remember the country is not recognised, by the international community so the only trade comes via Turkey, everything has to be reused and recycled. If we use the washing machine we collect the water to flush the toilet, all plastic has to be washed and reused. There is refuse collection apart from central location in the city. During my first year we had to pasturised the milk, the water arrived every other evening which is piped into a tank on each property. Water is heated via pipes on the roof, electricity was sporadic. No supermarkets, poor roads. Most people are aware of Cuba but Cyprus was in a much worse state physically and economically. Now it has all changed. Saudi Arabia has paid for new roads. A new hospital is being built, they have a number of supermarkets, and they now have their first ambulance!

You can, as one of his cousin's did furnish your house beautifully, however as you see ,the house is at best spartan. When they were young the girls were so good, they shared a bed when temperatures would stay in there 20's during the night. They had no luxuries only a small fan to cool them, yet they kept themselves occupied. We would go to the beach about 3ish when it cooled.

And what a beach, Bafra. We found it via some friends of his who were staying nearby. It is hidden down very pot holed road, past some semi derelict villages. Only a few locals know or knew of its location. Now the beach has been carved up by conglomerates into grotesque hotels and casinos. It is heartbreaking when it was such a beautiful sheltered place, perfect for families, with two local beach cafes. Some families even lived here during the summer, it was so idyllic. Now locals are not even allowed in the hotels.

His cousins house, very rural, my girls have even threaded tobacco leaves here. Not all houses are like this, another cousin lives in a small palace up the road. He made million servicing black cabs.

Therein lies what has changed here. Thousands fled during the war settled in London and else where and made there fortune doing all the jobs the English hate. cafes, dry cleaners, fish and chip shops. All this money has been plowed back into their homeland, sadly many are in too ill health to return, like his mother and father who both died in England. But thousands are returning. Amazingly I will too, probably this Christmas. I have a project i want to complete whilst his village remains untainted by tourism.

These photographs were taken on a second hand twin lens reflex camera I have. The negatives have aged badly and so I have had to tweak them a lot on Photoshop. I have kind of gone for a retro feel, in keeping with the place. There are not many. Leyla was still a toddler and barely walking, so I had my hands full with her as well as the other two angels. The rest of the set are on Flickr

His cousin preparing dinner.

In the background are her sons fatigues. Every man has to complete two years national service. You have to pay your way out or do it even if you carry a British passport. Emin is allowed to stay for just 90 days a year before they make him do it even when he is 50 plus!

I have hundred more stories to tell. The size of the cockroaches... The state of his cousins fridge, their obsession with plastic flowers and bad taste decor. next time perhaps, the tennis is on and I am willing Federer to win.

The view from here

I have had this Kettles Yard private view invitation on my mood board for years. I have never tired of it. It seems as fresh an image today as when it first arrived.

The image is by Frances Kearney

It s such a calm still image in stark contrast to the reality of living with children of this age.

This is a page from an old Habitat catalogue. I love the composition, but look closely and the reality is a draughty leaky barn! but I love the lifestyle envy it tries to sell.

This is another Kettles Yard Private view invitation this time for the architect Serge Chermayer. Again I love the whole look, but again on closer inspection that sofa looks like a classic square arse killer. But I would love to live in the house for the art work alone.

I cut this picture from a very old Casa Vogue I have not got a clue who this woman is, but she epitomises everything I want to be.

I just LOVE that whole look of stripy top and boyfriend jeans. Real life style envy and I just wish I had made a note of her name.

Lastly a page from American Elle. I have always liked the way this magazine is edited by Giles Bensimon and I also love many of the photo shoots he has done for Elle over the years.

This little mood board is lovely, and I can now thank Disney Roller Girl for pointing me in the direction of the most fantastic stripy top mail order website

I have been salivating over which colour combination I want all week. I still cannot decide, they are all too lovely.

Back at the chalk face I have been dividing most of my time between getting to grips with the scanner and rewriting all the bloody curriculum's the government seems to enjoy changing.

My job seems to be a never ending circle of planning. But images like these keep me going.