Please find to your left my chronological age. I thought I'd better come clean as I can't be forty forever. I also thought I'd better write some words this week rather than uploading examples of my photographic obsessions.
I had a lovely time photographing numbers on a row of beach huts in Bembridge last week. Sometimes my family criticises me for my interest in photos of tarmac, doors, paving slabs and the occasional rusty nail. I explain to them, gently, that there is such a thing as freedom of speech and expression and that just because they are not interested in such things, it does not mean that their mother can not choose to find such objects fascinating. They usually walk off half way through my explanation. I hope you have not chosen to do the same thing.
I've just been to Sainsbury's as a couple of friends are coming round to watch 'Slumdog' later. I often pick up a magazine to read while in the queue (I know, it's almost as bad as 'testing' grapes). Today I had a quick peak at 'Grazia' and it got me thinking. There was an article about Madonna's stringy arms - again, I would refer to freedom of expression and another about Liz Jones who writes various columns and features. The 'Grazia' article questioned the wisdom of her confessional style and there were various quotes about how she has lost lots of friends and has had to move because she does what all writers are advised to do and writes what she knows about.
It made me think about blogging and how personal it should be. I've been known to have the occasional wobble on this blog about things that have happened and family circumstances but I'm not sure how healthy that is, either for me or the blog.
I have a little more time than usual at the moment to ponder why I blog, what do I think I'm doing, should I really be exposing my thoughts in this online show and tell? All that stuff.
I have to confess, though, no matter how much I persuade myself that the best thing about projectforty is that it makes me think, makes me write and makes me record things that would simply just fade away, there is a (probably not so) deep dark place in my brain that really wants it to be read by as many people as possible and have to watch my counter click around on an hourly basis and start complaining about how many comments I have to respond to.
Incidentally, here are some belated comment responses:
- I did play the ukulele in the Isle of Wight (badly)
- no smeg fridge or dualit toaster in the airstream
- I forgot to take corkscrew, chairs and insect repellant to the festival
- my Calcot nails were deep red/pink and kind of sparkly (they are still looking pretty good)