A Mere Bagatelle

The other evening I arranged to meet a friend for a drink in Hastings. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but the train journey was hellish: standing room only, with a very rum selection of passengers.

The experience was made even worse by the family below:

The group consisted of two women - possibly mother and daughter - and an assortment of noisy, feral children who kept running around and disappearing under tables and seats (if you look carefully, you'll see a face slightly to the left of the baby). The younger children were all barefoot and liked dashing in and out of the loo, which is not something I'd want to do without shoes on.

At first, I thought the women belonged to a certain stereotype - they had the cheap leisurewear, tied-up hair and harsh accents. But then they started talking about visits to Pevensey Castle and a workshop they'd just been to. Also, the whole family were busy feasting on fresh fruit and drinking pure juice, so my crude social classification radar was starting to overheat in the face of so much conflicting data.

After 50 minutes of hell, I concluded that they were New Age 'crusties', returning from some sort of alternative 'do' in Brighton. They all seemed very cheerful. It's a pity that they were so oblivious to everyone else's feelings.

Fortunately, the journey home was very different - a reward for my earlier trials:

I am now four days into my role reversal with my wife. She seems to be doing terribly well in her new job, while my main achievement this week has been to crash the car. I'm waiting to hear whether it can be repaired or not.

Despite having its front smashed and losing the engine coolant, the car managed to limp back to Lewes. As I drove, I could see bits falling off. A group of workmen watched me go past and laughed uproariously. The labouring classes can be very unkind sometimes.

I'm trying to balance the demands of my business with being a minor domestic god, preparing cooked meals for the evening, keeping the house clean and fitting in a few DIY tasks. I'm doing reasonably well, but I wonder how long it will last before I end up spending my days on the sofa, reading and eating Turkish Delight.

When my car was still in one piece, I managed to get around the local area and take some more Instagram photos. I'm posting them because, frankly, it's much easier than trying to think of something interesting or amusing to say.

Now that my life is increasingly dull, expect more photos.

All Change

Suddenly, everything is different. After years of being out of the education system, my older son is happy at his new school and is expected to do well in his exams. He has just turned 16, which seems extraordinary.

My younger son is also at a new school and comes home full of enthusiasm, eager to tell us how he has spent his day. The school seems to be preparing its pupils for a forthcoming disaster, as there is a strong emphasis on crafts, woodcraft and self-sufficiency, but I've never seen a classroom with so many happy children. Other schools could learn something.

On the downside, my business is slowly dying - partly because I have to spend a sizeable chunk of the day ferrying my sons around, but also because I'm struggling to find a supplier. Two years ago, it was relatively easy to find stock, but the recycling industry is under far more pressure and separating old books is now regarded as too time consuming.

But even that isn't the end of the world, as my wife has just managed to secure a job in a publishing company. If we continue to live frugally we should survive.

As for me, I will try to juggle the demands of the school run, maintaining my business and running a house, however I realise that this is a normal day for thousands of working mothers, so I won't be expecting a special badge. As long as I have a strict routine, it should be straightforward enough.

In my darker moments, I worry about what I'll be doing in a few years' time, but that's an utterly pointless activity. The important thing is to focus on the present and make the most of it.

On the subject of making the most of the present, here's another batch of photos that I uploaded to Instagram recently. It's just a random selection of shots of East Sussex, but they all capture different aspects of the things I like about the local area at this time of year:

The Clichés of Instagram

It's good to have a hobby and as stamp collecting probably wouldn't provide the same frisson as it did when I was 13, I've become increasingly preoccupied with Instagram. Seeing a random selection of pictures from around the world is fascinating and I also enjoy uploading snapshots and receiving 'likes' from complete strangers.

It may seem a small pleasure, but it's very gratifying to know that someone has enjoyed looking at one of my photos for 1.3 seconds.

However, my love of Instagram is not unqualified and there are a few themes (or should that be memes?) that I'm thoroughly fed up with.

Here are a few of my main irritants:

1. The Cup of Coffee

Why would anyone want to see a photo of someone else's cup of coffee?

I've no idea, but there are thousands of pictures on Instagram that people have taken of their favourite beverage (very rarely tea, for some reason). I know that coffee comes in many varieties, but you wouldn't know that from looking at the endless shots of frothy hearts in white cups.

I appreciate that people are sharing something that has made them happy and yes, it's lovely that the barista has done a little squiggly design in the froth to distract customers from the exorbitant price. But are the identikit coffees of global corporations sufficiently interesting to warrant photographing?

Probably not.


2. Feet

I'll come clean here and admit that I have whatever the opposite is of a foot fetish. If I had my way, everyone over the age of 12 would be banned from wearing sandals or flip flops and socks would be compulsory. But prejudices aside, what possesses so many people to think that it's a quirky, original idea to photograph their feet?

I never ceased to be amazed at the number of 'foot selfies' on Instagram and wish that there was a shoe button I could press to filter them out.


3. The 'Inspirational' Quote.

Uploading quotes onto Instagram is just wrong It's a site for sharing photographs, not moronoic platitudes that collapse under the most casual scrutiny. "It's a good day to have a good day"?

Let's just hang that one up on the wall of an oncology ward. They'll love it.

And to "Be who you are, not what the world wants you to be" is just self-centred nonsense. In the real world, who we are is a necessary compromise between our own desires and the needs of others. It's called civilisation.

Those are my top three. I'd also rather not see so many pictures of cats, Big Ben, poppies, white balloons, tattoos and Amsterdam, but I won't even try to justify those prejudices  (and of course, it's quite likely that someone is looking at my photos and tutting at their predictability and narrow range of themes, along with the paucity of uplifting thoughts and feet).

But even clichés can be good in the right hands. Look at what this photographer has done with a hackneyed, familiar scene:

The same photographer also managed to come up with a stunning photo of Big Ben:

I'd like to see what he could do with a cup of coffee.

A Week in Instagram

I woke up this morning with a one pound coin and a fifty pence piece stuck to my back. I've no idea how they got there, but I'm not complaining.

The last week has been spent trying to expose my older son to a daily dose of sunlight, so that his vitamin D levels improve. He already walks as if he has rickets, but I think that's just him. If I ask him to walk normally, he gets very cross.

Our first trip took us to Ashdown Forest - the place that inspired the Winnie-the-Pooh stories. By sheer chance, we parked only a few minutes' walk from the memorial to A.A.Milne and E.H.Shephard, carefully placed in a setting that recalls this famous line:

"Wherever they go, and whatever happens to them on the way, in that enchanted place on the top of the forest, a little boy and his Bear will always be playing."

The forest appeared to be deserted and for a brief moment, it felt as if we had entered a lost idyll, but the discovery of a rather large bra hanging from a tree quickly changed the mood:

Did the bra's owner have to leave in a hurry, or was she suffering from some form of post-coital amnesia?

Sadly, I think I've got to the age where I'm more interested in unusual trees than abandoned underwear. I particularly liked this tree, which had a bark that reminded me of The Thing in the Fantastic Four:

The following day I explored Birling Gap at low tide, negotiating my way across hundreds of rocks covered in sharp periwinkles. After ten minutes, I realised that I was alone and wondered why most people were content to huddle together on a small stretch of beach, rather than seek out a deserted cove.

I walked along a wave cut platform, looking at the small rock pools that had formed in this transient, tidal environment, watching tiny wisps of fish nervously dart out of sight. As a boy, I could happily spend hours exploring the microcosm of a rock pool. As an adult, I find myself more preoccupied with thinking about what I should be feeling, and wondering why I'm not.

I find that a remote, empty beach quickly induces a sense of timelessness, as if I am the last human left at the end of the world. Is that a bit potty?

Sometimes the isolation can be therapeutic, providing a chance to see things in perspective without any distractions, but this time all I could think about was an annoying tune that had popped into my head:

"Didn't we have a lovely time, the day we went to Bangor..." Maddening.

On the way back, I took a rather average photo on my phone, which Instagram later transformed into something that vaguely resembles a magic lantern slide.

As I said in an earlier post, I have become a huge fan of Instagram. If you have an account, you'll find me listed as phil._.b (the dots and underscore are vital). Every photo in this post is from Instagram, apart from the bra.

I haven't quite worked out the Instagram etiquette yet, but I generally work on the rule that I'll show you mine if you show me yours.

In contrast to the stark isolation of the beach, I enjoyed a visit to a local village fete, in a place called Glynde:

Almost everything you could want was there: a Punch and Judy show, stalls selling bric a brac that would remain unsold, a tent with a tea urn and a selection of fruit cakes made by the ladies of the parish. Only the local vicar was missing, with the obligatory appeal to restore his organ.

Glynde is an idyllic village, seemingly frozen in time. Many of the cottages are, I'm told, owned by a local aristocrat and rented out. This may strike many as an absurd anachronism, but the reality is a village of beautifully maintained properties rented at affordable prices.

I think I'd rather have noblesse oblige than 'shareholder value'.

My favourite building is the blacksmith's, which is still a working forge:

Later that day, my wife and I went for dinner with some friends in Hove. As I walked across the station footbridge and looked below, my Instagram alarm button started ringing again:

I liked the symmetry of the trains and felt pleased with the shot, but am I now going to start seeing Instagram opportunities everywhere?

I blame my phone, which continues to exceed expectations. For example, when I saw a Ladybird resting on some berries yesterday, I assumed that a close-up would only be possible with a proper camera. Fortunately, the phone coped admirably:

In the pre-smartphone era, I wouldn't have had a camera with me on a short walk around the outskirts of Lewes. But now that I have a decent phone and an Instagram account, I'm learning to look with fresh eyes at the familiar:

This is an abandoned quarry. I love the contrast between the rocks and the primordial-looking ferns. It's a strange place and whenever I hear the swoop of wings in the distance, I almost expect to see a pterodactyl.

This is a rather odd picture because it looks as if it has been heavily manipulated, digitally, but in fact I've barely altered it. The field in the background is Landport Bottom - a place populated by dog walkers and nervous sheep. It's hard to believe that history was made here, 751 years ago.

From Landport Bottom, a wooded path leads to the top of an old chalk quarry. I never tire of the view of the Weald and the Ouse river, meandering into the distance:

In the evening, teenagers come up here, light camp fires and drink copious amounts of beer. So far, none of them have tumbled over the cliff in the dark, but I expect that there have been some near misses.

After doing so much walking, I will hopefully sleep soundly tonight. If I'm really lucky, I may wake up with another £1.50 stuck to my back.