quite early one morning, above the fog at steyning bowl

 

cormorant roost at wandsworth

 

horsted keynes station

 

old road sign at horsted keynes

 

chimney pots at horsted keynes station

 

no semioticians beyond this point ... you'll be riddled with nostalgia

old southern region fire buckets ...

 

of course, we wouldn't set foot in one ...

 

you have been warned ...

 

for afsaneh ... rest in peace

always carry a roll in your handbag, m'dear !

the chelsea dairy

 

putney skyline

 

britannia rules the waves

 

an ancient tugboat at shoreham harbour

 

early sunlight and frost on the downs at steyning bowl

in the dark in wandsworth park ... moonlight without roses

 

on the way to work ... wings of desire

 

welsh food, still sentient

 

somewhere ... a long way east of kansas

putney pulling power

 

distant thunder

forgetful, i climbed down from the cab on to the gravel drive besides the hotel, just as a distant gun fired at the end of the silence of remembrance

for a full minute i stood in the at-ease position and listened to the breeze coming across the sunlit park to writhe in the dry foliage of the surrounding ash and oak trees

i closed my eyes for a few seconds, the better to listen, and tried to visualize all those millions of innocent people needlessly deprived of that simple pleasure by fatuous war mongers

ten minutes later, at the church a few yards along the track, a solitary man was still standing to attention besides a newly cleaned war memorial

as i drove away, a little old lady came hurrying from the car park carrying a tiny wooden cross

a little tripod that i can carry in my rucksack

i found a very cheap tripod in asda and can try taking some pictures in the dark during the cycle ride to ( and from ) work

it was a bit windy and cold this morning, so i think i can do better next time

it is ever so dark in wandsworth park

 

at the big roundabout between wandsworth station and wandsworth bridge

 

the streets of battersea are paved with gold

dream on ...

the night after photographing the thelma and louise billboard in seedy riverside fulham, i dreamed i threw myself over the white cliffs of dover, falling endlessly with eyes tight shut so as not to see the imminent point of destruction

with neither impact nor pain, the scene dissolved to the ante-room of heaven, more like the arrivals hall at PHX, where i found myself waiting in line for saint peter's approval, wearing a big grin and standing next to susan sarandon

inexplicable club exterior in brighton