Where I'm At...

It is a long while since I have posted here, even longer since I have written anything substantial. A friend once suggested that people spend time on LJ when they are unhappy; it has never worked like that for me: I spend time on LJ when I have something to say, and I am not sure I have a great deal to say at the moment.

But being out of the habit of writing - well, I think I should try to get back in the habit. I don't mean every day - I have never subscribed to those memes demanding one writes a post a day (or a photo, or a drawing, or ...). But I think I'd enjoy writing a bit more.

I have been thinking back to why I started writing on LJ, nearly seven years ago. It seems much longer. Lots of short, observational posts.

Maybe I should try that.

Or maybe start some big project. (I am very good at starting projects.)

We'll see.

But also I have a lot - an awful lot - of photographs (my main creative outlet, I think) to share. SO I shall stick those up. Generally, I think photographs should stand alone - there should be no need for explanatory text - though on the back of several conversations I have had recently, I have a lot of thoughts on photography I may share, as well.

We'll see...

Wassailling.

My brother, his wife and some friends and I went wassailing in Herefordshire. It was a curious experience. A wonderfully clear evening - one forgets how many stars can be seen in the countryside - was obscured by smoke from paraffin-doused torches. It was cold.

There were a lot of Morris dancers, faces blacked (perhaps a tradition suggesting their origin as "moorish dancers"?) and tophats decked out with vegetation - the living embodiment of the green man, I assume. (I used to have a copy of "The Golden Bough", which must explain all this; perhaps I prefer making up my own explanations...)

There was a procession, the line of wassaillers reminiscent of the extras from an old Dracula film. (We were the townies: it would be me they were coming for.) We stood around in an orchard as the Morris men - all men - lit thirteen fires: in a mash up of pagan and Christian cultures. The thirteenth fire - the Judas fire - was stamped out.

The apple trees were fed cake and given a drink of cider - though the dancers drank more than the trees.

And then the dancers danced, clacking sticks and jingling bells. Morris dancing is hard to take seriously after decades of ridicule (I remember particularly sketches by the Goodies and Monty Python).

The Hoover Building

Heading west for the wassailling, we drove past the Hoover Building just after sunrise. After the light-industrial mess of the North Circular and the Western Avenue - an unattractive jumble of buildings and hoardings together with a modern sprouting of budget hotels - seeing the art deco grandeur of the Hoover Building was spirit-raising: a beautiful sight.

So I went back early on Monday morning: yet another sunrise...

Perivale

The Hoover Building is in Perivale, a western suburb of London. I have been past many times, but I cannot remember ever going to Perivale before.

It was dawn; surprisingly beautiful.