Reading: Bleak House


Prompted by Andy Miller’s The Year of Reading Dangerously, I’ve just finished Dickens’ Bleak House. I’d had a nagging voice in my head for a while, pointing out that I wasn’t really reading books any more – just Twitter, Facebook, email, RSS feed on constant rotation – and those I had read hadn’t been great: too many unsatisfactory musicians’ memoirs and self-deprecating travelogues by men warily approaching their middle age. Like Miller, I have a self-perception of being someone who reads books – as a child I read constantly – but a combination of work, commuting, family, commuting, playing the guitar, family, work – and all those digital distractions – meant it had been a while since I’d read a proper book. A while possibly measured in years (though, unlike Miller, I hadn’t – thank Christ - sunk as low as doing Sudoku).

So I read Under Milk Wood (it seemed a bit ridiculous to be more familiar with the – brilliant – dub version than the original text, and I kept seeing it referenced all over the place). That didn’t take long (though I feel it’d be worth reading it again soon); next I got stuck into Bleak House. A slow slog at first, and then – gradually – a feeling I’d not had for a while: looking forward to getting on the train to work to have a chance to do some reading; then a feeling of giddiness as I could see the end approaching, wanting to know what happens and how does it end? When I finished it last night I felt a great sense of satisfaction (maybe – ahem – even smugness) at having achieved something: now I’m the sort of person who reads Dickens, and maybe relief that my brain’s not actually too Twitter-addled to read a long, wordy book. More importantly I want to read some more Dickens, and soon. I feel more invigorated by the whole experience than in many ways I feel I ought to – after all, I’ve always known that reading was A Very Good Thing. I just got out of the habit for a while. Here’s to more reading.


Tour de France à Londres, 2014



The Tour de France passed by my work yesterday – more or less, anyway. We nipped out of the office and down to Tower Hill, found a sunny spot, bought ice creams, and waited. The sunshine turned to rain and, eventually, the riders arrived. I had a small gap through which to point my Nikon – looking straight across the road, so not great for focus-locking. I got a couple that I was pleased with (most of the others made it look like the riders we’re going at about 5mph – too fast a shutter speed, not enough background blur to give a sense of speed or dynamism).

I’m told that at least one of these riders is Alberto Contador, and that apparently counts for something.

Saturday morning, interrupted


Having observed the Saturday morning Charlton Lido swim ritual every week since the pool reopened in March, this morning thunder and lightning forced us all out of the pool. I’d only done three lengths which, as it turns out, isn’t quite enough to shake off last night’s pub trip (the Job Centre in Deptford’s first night – it’s good, despite the ropey name/concept), and it certainly isn’t enough to get the general feeling of smug wellbeing that comes after 20 lengths (I know that’s not hugely impressive in the grand scheme of things, but it’s something).

Now, fingers crossed that the weather improves for this afternoon’s Plumstead Make Merry.


We moved house two years ago, from a house whose garden was rarely visited by birds, to one that gets a reasonable number of the usual suspects – given our inner London location we can’t expect too much, I guess. Last year saw a brief visit from the goldfinches; this year they’ve pretty much moved in. I look out of the kitchen window before setting off to work and they’re on the feeder; come home from work: still there. The annual nyger seed budget was blown weeks ago.

Photographing them isn’t easy – they fly off at the first sign of human movement, and they’re pretty much in constant motion. Here are my best efforts to date:



January Antidotes

a shameless borrowing of the idea behind Caught By The River’s Antidotes To Indifference series


1. We went to the Tate Britain on a quiet day in the gap between New Year and the start of the year proper, and it was great. First visit since it’s been re-hung, refreshed, repainted, and so on: they’ve done a great job. Great to see more sculpture on display around the whole gallery than before.

2. Stan Tracey’s Under Milk Wood.

Apart from knowing the name, I’m not sure I really knew who Stan Tracy was before he died last year. This Caught By The River post included a clip of his ‘Starless and Bible Black’, which I found myself listening to on repeat. I had to buy the whole Under Milk Wood album, and it’s made an excellent accompaniment to January commuting in the dark. My knowledge of this kind of jazz is limited, but it seems to me the perfect blend of melody and angularity.

3. Turner and the Sea at the Maritime Museum in Greenwich

A too-quick look around this exhibition was enough to know I’ll have to go back for a proper look before it closes. The sketchbooks and later works were particularly stunning.

4. [View the story "Somerset Levels flooding - Jan 2013" on Storify]

Undoubtedly grim for those affected, but I’ve found myself fascinated by the photos appearing every day on Twitter showing the flooding around the Somerset Levels. A view of a completely different English landscape to any that I’m familiar with. I’ve Storified a few (link above).

5. Photos

An occasional reminder to myself that, amongst the HDR horror, there’s some amazing landscape photography on Flickr. I’ve been enjoying Ragnar Stefanssson’s work a lot recently, and it’s been good to see Ben Jones back on Flickr. I’m always keen to get recommendations of other photographers doing interesting landscape photography.

Bill Evans Trio in 1965

A fine antidote to the January gloom: an hour-and-a-bit’s worth of Bill Evans’ trio live on tv in 1965 (thanks to @richard_king for tweeting it).

Imagine music tv like this now…without Jools Holland lolloping on to add his rudimentary boogie-woogie piano, or a subtly snide and knowing commentary from a popular radio presenter. And yet, given we have more channels, and lower production costs, it shouldn’t really be that difficult.


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