hello world @ blog

“The face is a picture of the mind with the eyes as its interpreter.”   ―  Marcus Tullius Cicero   I came across the work of the photographer William Klein the other week after watching the BBC Imagine programme charting the life of  the 80 year old iconic photographer   Klein's early work captures the gritty street life of New York in the 1950s. Here there's something so very unique about his photography of crowds, street life, people, faces in the crowd. Where most photographers are voyeurs, standing back to capture a moment in time, Klein is altogether different: He goes forward, advances into the crowd with his camera, to produce raw, explosive, intense, yet intimate results; where the subjects faces are laid bare for us to interpret. Sometimes I can get totally lost in a photograph of faces. Who are these people, I ask myself,  Where are they now? What were they doing? what pained them, what pleased ...

  I can do Posh. Oh yes I can do Posh and Sophistication extremely well, considering I hail from the West Midlands. But then offer me a nice cup of tea with a biscuit and the whole facade comes tumbling down as you will observe a flurry of biscuit dunking, but no slurping I hasten to add. However certain posh standards are an absolute must and are to be upheld at all times. So when it came to a holiday in Malta this week, there was no way one would be staying in any below par accommodation. It's  only right, considering the awful dodgy Travel lodges I have to endure for business trips. So Malta meant luxury and this meant nothing but 5 star treatment . fit for the Princess that I am! I had never been to Malta before, a small sun kissed yet windy archipelago in the Mediterranean. This time of year you will find few tourists, few larger louts or fat pink over sized lobsters on the beaches. You will instead find a warmth and a generosity from the...

Its Remembrance Sunday today. A time when we all remember "The Fallen" from the many Wars. How fitting that I should blog that I finally finished reading All Quiet on the Western Front . Yes it took me a long time to even start to read it. But I did and I am so glad I did. For the last few months,  I have been totally transported to the hellish, bloody, death-ridden battle fields and trenches of World War 1 France. Clinging onto every morsel of life, every strand of survival with our young Narrator Paul. Whether on the train back to Suffolk or on the Circle Line to Westminster,  I was there,  transfixed, mesmorised, hopeful... teary. We live the story out through the eyes of a  young German Soldier, Paul. His early youthful optimism turns to auto pilot enermy killing machine and savagery. Unhopeful for any future for himself. All he must do is survive the bloodbath Hell before him. "We were eighteen and had begun t...