Okay, it's Friday, about 2.30 and I'm on my way to visit my father in Abingdon. Currently I'm sat in the bizarre oasis that is Leigh Delamere Service Station, home of weary travellers and extortionately priced coffee. Nothing so unusual in that, you might think.
Trouble is I seem to have pinged into a parallel universe.
It was fine until I left work. A short drive to Tesco was in order just to top up on diesel and then I'd be on my way. I pulled up to a pump and selected 'Pay At Pump' as usual. After my details had been entered I attempted to remove the fuel cap. It wouldn't come off. At all. All it did was slide round and round like some children's toy. Exasperated I took the ignition key and pushed it into the hole to see if it was locked. It wouldn't go in. I nervously eyed the ever growing train of cars building up behind me; this was not good.
Eventually I had to give up on it; nothing would move that cap out of the hole that held it fast. The stabs of angry motorists' eyes bore into me, so I quickly got into the car and put the key into the ignition. The key wouldn't go into there either.
Oh shit.
Major panic was flushing through my tightening muscles now - what the hell could I do? A horn sounded behind me. Oh fuck off, I thought, I'm too busy having a nervous breakdown. Eventually with a lot of wriggling (and cursing) I got the key enough into the hole to be able to turn it and the engine spluttered into life. Phew. To the relief of the drivers behind me I pulled away, my face a picture of embarrassment.
I gauged that I had enough fuel to get me to Abingdon so I headed to the M4. But this event had shaken me and I nervously crawled up the sliproad onto the motorway. The heavens opened, lorries flew past leaving trails of blinding mist in their wake while other motorists glee fully put their collective feet down to see who could cause the biggest pile-up first. I'm usually quite a calm driver. Today, in this strangely skewed reality, I was terrified.
I couldn't get to Leigh Delamere services quick enough. And yet sat here, typing this with a much needed coffee at my side, things still don't feel right. I see creatures all around me in the shape of human beings but I know they are all weird aliens. Some random woman just came up to me and asked how I could get on the Internet in a service station. Although I was polite to her, I could see the menace behind her eyes and sense the lengths of tendrils snaking round underneath her human form.
But I can't put it off any longer. I am going to have to quit this consumerist hell-hole and venture out into the curtain of rain. Better be quick too - my car key seems to be permanently buggered and I couldn't lock the door.
Next time I go by train. First class of course. Preferably with a carriage all to myself.
Friday, 8 July 2011
Tuesday, 5 July 2011
Save The Laundry!
Poor Stu.
No sooner had I cooked him breakfast (of scrambled eggs in fried open cup mushrooms) then his phone goes and he is summoned into work to cover for a stylist who had phoned in sick. On a Sunday of all days - the only day we really get together. He was not happy but grudgingly agreed to go in. I said I'd drive him down to the salon; being yet another glorious day, I thought a cuppa in the Waterloo Gardens Teahouse next door to the salon would slip down a treat.
So, with an Orange and Lemon Rooibos tea and a slice of pistachio and rose cake, I settled back to read a bit more of Patrick Dillon's The Much Lamented Death of Madame Geneva. Then I noticed on the counter a flyer entitled 'SAVE THE OLD LAUNDRY'. Upon reading this I realised it referred to the large Victorian building on Marlborough Road in Penylan, with Blenheim Road running alongside it.
Ever since moving to this area in 2004 I had always been fascinated by this large, red-brick, industrial looking building (at that time being used as a carpet and flooring showroom) and quite unable to fathom what its original purpose was. It looked like it was once some kind of factory, but the ornate entrance was rather confusing. The large area surrounding it, contained within a brick-walled perimeter, also contained a number of outhouses.
Apparently it was built in 1898 as a laundry for the expanding suburbs of Roath and Penylan, whose residents needed somewhere to get their dirties cleaned. Being a product of the Victorian era explained the elaborate entrance. It was originally surrounded on three sides by fields; something that didn't last long once the building of the terraces and Marlborough Road school started in earnest. The laundry fell into disrepair in the 1920s and has been for many years a retail showroom.
And now it has been purchased for demolition and for retirement homes to be built on the site. Which is all well and good I suppose but it would be a real shame for yet another part of Cardiff history to vanish. The flyer I picked up was from the campaign to save the existing building and to use it for another purpose, such as an arts centre (which would be brilliant - right on my doorstep!). But I can't see that happening somehow.
So I set myself a mission for the morning - to take pictures of the Old Laundry before it disappeared forever. It was great light for photography and the sky was blue enough to contrast with the red brick of the building. It was also kinda sad too, knowing that this intriguing survivor of the Victorian era would soon be condemned to dust. But I guess that's the nature of cities - any available space will end up being built upon and this acre of land must be gold in property developers eyes. At least this won't end up as another Tesco, Starbucks or bloody Greggs.
Anyway, here are the pics I took on that Sunday morning while my poor partner worked his wonder on waiting wigs*.
And here are a couple of related links: Save The Old Laundry Facebook page and an excellent blog entry by Peter Finch on the Old Laundry, which proved a great source of information about the building.
*He doesn't actually do anything with wigs, but the alliteration in that sentence was too hard to resist!
No sooner had I cooked him breakfast (of scrambled eggs in fried open cup mushrooms) then his phone goes and he is summoned into work to cover for a stylist who had phoned in sick. On a Sunday of all days - the only day we really get together. He was not happy but grudgingly agreed to go in. I said I'd drive him down to the salon; being yet another glorious day, I thought a cuppa in the Waterloo Gardens Teahouse next door to the salon would slip down a treat.
So, with an Orange and Lemon Rooibos tea and a slice of pistachio and rose cake, I settled back to read a bit more of Patrick Dillon's The Much Lamented Death of Madame Geneva. Then I noticed on the counter a flyer entitled 'SAVE THE OLD LAUNDRY'. Upon reading this I realised it referred to the large Victorian building on Marlborough Road in Penylan, with Blenheim Road running alongside it.
Ever since moving to this area in 2004 I had always been fascinated by this large, red-brick, industrial looking building (at that time being used as a carpet and flooring showroom) and quite unable to fathom what its original purpose was. It looked like it was once some kind of factory, but the ornate entrance was rather confusing. The large area surrounding it, contained within a brick-walled perimeter, also contained a number of outhouses.
Apparently it was built in 1898 as a laundry for the expanding suburbs of Roath and Penylan, whose residents needed somewhere to get their dirties cleaned. Being a product of the Victorian era explained the elaborate entrance. It was originally surrounded on three sides by fields; something that didn't last long once the building of the terraces and Marlborough Road school started in earnest. The laundry fell into disrepair in the 1920s and has been for many years a retail showroom.
And now it has been purchased for demolition and for retirement homes to be built on the site. Which is all well and good I suppose but it would be a real shame for yet another part of Cardiff history to vanish. The flyer I picked up was from the campaign to save the existing building and to use it for another purpose, such as an arts centre (which would be brilliant - right on my doorstep!). But I can't see that happening somehow.
So I set myself a mission for the morning - to take pictures of the Old Laundry before it disappeared forever. It was great light for photography and the sky was blue enough to contrast with the red brick of the building. It was also kinda sad too, knowing that this intriguing survivor of the Victorian era would soon be condemned to dust. But I guess that's the nature of cities - any available space will end up being built upon and this acre of land must be gold in property developers eyes. At least this won't end up as another Tesco, Starbucks or bloody Greggs.
Anyway, here are the pics I took on that Sunday morning while my poor partner worked his wonder on waiting wigs*.
And here are a couple of related links: Save The Old Laundry Facebook page and an excellent blog entry by Peter Finch on the Old Laundry, which proved a great source of information about the building.
*He doesn't actually do anything with wigs, but the alliteration in that sentence was too hard to resist!
Saturday, 2 July 2011
Cutting Into The Morning
No matter how young I still feel in my head, my body keeps on reminding me how old I actually am. Or older perhaps. It just won't shut up about it.
Take this week for example. Having danced my feet down to stumps in Exit last Saturday and then up at stupid o'clock in the morning for the strike on Thursday, my body decided that I was in my mid-trillions and acted accordingly. My legs turned to wood (not good for the tap dancing) and my mind was about as sharp as jellied eel. I tried to do some trade mark examination at work yesterday, but it just wasn't happening - I was too busy dribbling into the pc keyboard and nearly short-circuiting it.
So instead I took half day and headed back to my lodgings in Roath, with the intention of editing the footage of the picket lines that I'd videod on the 30th. I had just purchased a Ministry of Sound compilation dance thingy and put that on to get the momentum going. And it worked, to be fair.
But the editing was taking its time - having worked out a structure to it, all I needed to do was slot the relevant clips into position and export it from iMovie. Simple, yes? Oh no, not the way I do it. Is that shot just a few frames too long? Is the speech legible, or should I add a filter to it? Ooh, I don't like that gap in the soundtrack between shots - what can I replace it with? Shouldn't I put a few more cutaways here? Oh no, it's looking murky; should I post it off and have it colour graded??
Hence I was editing way into the evening and past midnight; about 2 in the morning I was trying to do a chromakey title that just wouldn't work, much to my frustration. But it was pretty much all assembled by this time, so I reluctantly powered down the Mac and crawled into bed next to my gently snoring partner. If only my mind powered down as easily.
Trouble is, once I start doing something like this, I have a hard time putting the brakes on. I remember when I was studying the animation module at Newport College (now the University of Wales, Newport); I'd be up ALL night, my mind kept awake by endless cigarettes and cups of coffee, my hands blackened by charcoal that was scribbled onto each individual sheet of A4 and my lungs choking with the cheap hairspray that was used to fix the charcoal. I was in my late 20s at that time and even back then it took its toll the next day. I think if I even attempted that now this blog would have to be communicated through a medium.
But it's Saturday, I've just about recovered from the late night and I'm finally content (well, content-ish) with the cut of the video that I'm currently uploading to Facebook, YouTube, etc. The sound is pretty bad though and makes me seriously consider getting a proper HD video camera if I'm going to do more video work.
I should really get some writing done today (that creative impetus has gone by the by this week what with one thing and another) but the sun is out, the sky is blue and I feel the call of the wild. By that I mean a nice stroll round Roath Park.
I just hope I don't fall asleep on a park bench. A comatose, dribbling, 40-something male is never a nice sight.
Take this week for example. Having danced my feet down to stumps in Exit last Saturday and then up at stupid o'clock in the morning for the strike on Thursday, my body decided that I was in my mid-trillions and acted accordingly. My legs turned to wood (not good for the tap dancing) and my mind was about as sharp as jellied eel. I tried to do some trade mark examination at work yesterday, but it just wasn't happening - I was too busy dribbling into the pc keyboard and nearly short-circuiting it.
So instead I took half day and headed back to my lodgings in Roath, with the intention of editing the footage of the picket lines that I'd videod on the 30th. I had just purchased a Ministry of Sound compilation dance thingy and put that on to get the momentum going. And it worked, to be fair.
But the editing was taking its time - having worked out a structure to it, all I needed to do was slot the relevant clips into position and export it from iMovie. Simple, yes? Oh no, not the way I do it. Is that shot just a few frames too long? Is the speech legible, or should I add a filter to it? Ooh, I don't like that gap in the soundtrack between shots - what can I replace it with? Shouldn't I put a few more cutaways here? Oh no, it's looking murky; should I post it off and have it colour graded??
Hence I was editing way into the evening and past midnight; about 2 in the morning I was trying to do a chromakey title that just wouldn't work, much to my frustration. But it was pretty much all assembled by this time, so I reluctantly powered down the Mac and crawled into bed next to my gently snoring partner. If only my mind powered down as easily.
Trouble is, once I start doing something like this, I have a hard time putting the brakes on. I remember when I was studying the animation module at Newport College (now the University of Wales, Newport); I'd be up ALL night, my mind kept awake by endless cigarettes and cups of coffee, my hands blackened by charcoal that was scribbled onto each individual sheet of A4 and my lungs choking with the cheap hairspray that was used to fix the charcoal. I was in my late 20s at that time and even back then it took its toll the next day. I think if I even attempted that now this blog would have to be communicated through a medium.
But it's Saturday, I've just about recovered from the late night and I'm finally content (well, content-ish) with the cut of the video that I'm currently uploading to Facebook, YouTube, etc. The sound is pretty bad though and makes me seriously consider getting a proper HD video camera if I'm going to do more video work.
I should really get some writing done today (that creative impetus has gone by the by this week what with one thing and another) but the sun is out, the sky is blue and I feel the call of the wild. By that I mean a nice stroll round Roath Park.
I just hope I don't fall asleep on a park bench. A comatose, dribbling, 40-something male is never a nice sight.
Friday, 1 July 2011
The Caffeine-Fuelled Protest
This morning as I was about to depart at ridiculous o'clock, I kissed Stu goodbye as is customary. He eyed my outfit blearily.
"That doesn't make sense".
I looked down at myself. "What?"
"What you're wearing."
I guess I could see his point; I did have on camouflage trousers and a high-vis PCS jacket - a somewhat contradictory attire. Nevertheless, it was my choice, as I did feel as if preparing for battle today.
Today of course is June 30th, the day when the teaching unions NUT, ATL and UCU along with public sector union PCS are all out on strike against the government's draconian plans to cut pensions, pay, working conditions and jobs in... well, just about everywhere in the public sector. I was requested to capture this momentous day in the medium of video, focusing specifically on Newport.
Film and video being my thing of course, I gladly accepted and armed myself with my trusty Fujifilm FinePix S5800, a spare pack of batteries, two 2GB memory cards and my 5th Gen iPod Nano should I need a spare voice recorder and/or video camera. And a flask of very strong coffee.
A note about the coffee; it was my chief sustenance and stimulant throughout the morning as I barely ate anything (the exception being a tray of the greasiest chips ever from a Newport fish'n'chipperie... they just slid down before I even had time to chew them).
But it was a great morning and in my capacity of videographer I got to visit various different picket lines; the IPO/ONS, Nash College, DWP offices in the town centre, the Passport Office and University of Wales, Newport, City Campus. And I got a lot of footage - just as well I brought the spare memory card - and some great soundbites.
Then I hit a wall around 10.30 and seriously started flagging... time for more coffee. Luckily the City Campus of the University of Wales, Newport had a (sort of) canteen type place, where for £1 you were given a paper cup to fill up from a hot drinks dispenser. I wasn't arguing though - I needed the caffeine urgently.
A rally, organised by Newport Trades Council, began in John Frost Square at 12 and was reasonably well attended. But then this is Newport - a city that was once steeped in history, famous for the Chartist Rising of 1839, that now just seems dogged with depression and apathy. (And I lived there for 5 years - the most depressing and apathetic time of my life). The speakers however - from PCS, the teaching unions, local Labour councillors and the fabulous Pippa Bartolotti from the Green Party - made up vocally for the lack of enthusiasm from the locals.
I decided that an overhead shot from the window of Newport Library, overlooking the square, was needed. So I climbed the stairs to the top floor and got a nice dramatic shot of the scene below. Ooh look, there's a coffee machine up here too! Yet another £1 for a paper cupful but I was fading again by this time (plus the walk up the stairs had nearly finished me off). So I put the money in and chose 'freshly ground coffee'. Big mistake. I swear each individual bean was being roasted over a tea-light before being ground by mice in mittens, it took that long to produce. I was getting desperate and people around me were backing away, probably due to the sound of my grinding teeth and the sight of my bulging, reddening eyes - just like Arnold Schwarzennegar in Total Recall. Luckily, the cup was full of brown hot liquid before my head exploded Scanners style.
Coffee cravings notwithstanding, it was a great day and we all felt like we had achieved something. The Newport rally may have been small in comparison to those held in Bristol and Cardiff, but we did the best with what we had and I am proud to have been part of it.
The video footage I captured looks great (although the sound is lousy - note to self: get a proper dedicated video camera!) and I've got ideas on how best to edit it. May take a while but I do tend to fuss over these things. I meant to get straight down to editing when I got back to Cardiff. Instead I ended up face down in a microwaved chicken korma from Tesco. Guess I just can't hack early mornings anymore.
"That doesn't make sense".
I looked down at myself. "What?"
"What you're wearing."
I guess I could see his point; I did have on camouflage trousers and a high-vis PCS jacket - a somewhat contradictory attire. Nevertheless, it was my choice, as I did feel as if preparing for battle today.
Today of course is June 30th, the day when the teaching unions NUT, ATL and UCU along with public sector union PCS are all out on strike against the government's draconian plans to cut pensions, pay, working conditions and jobs in... well, just about everywhere in the public sector. I was requested to capture this momentous day in the medium of video, focusing specifically on Newport.
Film and video being my thing of course, I gladly accepted and armed myself with my trusty Fujifilm FinePix S5800, a spare pack of batteries, two 2GB memory cards and my 5th Gen iPod Nano should I need a spare voice recorder and/or video camera. And a flask of very strong coffee.
A note about the coffee; it was my chief sustenance and stimulant throughout the morning as I barely ate anything (the exception being a tray of the greasiest chips ever from a Newport fish'n'chipperie... they just slid down before I even had time to chew them).
But it was a great morning and in my capacity of videographer I got to visit various different picket lines; the IPO/ONS, Nash College, DWP offices in the town centre, the Passport Office and University of Wales, Newport, City Campus. And I got a lot of footage - just as well I brought the spare memory card - and some great soundbites.
Then I hit a wall around 10.30 and seriously started flagging... time for more coffee. Luckily the City Campus of the University of Wales, Newport had a (sort of) canteen type place, where for £1 you were given a paper cup to fill up from a hot drinks dispenser. I wasn't arguing though - I needed the caffeine urgently.
A rally, organised by Newport Trades Council, began in John Frost Square at 12 and was reasonably well attended. But then this is Newport - a city that was once steeped in history, famous for the Chartist Rising of 1839, that now just seems dogged with depression and apathy. (And I lived there for 5 years - the most depressing and apathetic time of my life). The speakers however - from PCS, the teaching unions, local Labour councillors and the fabulous Pippa Bartolotti from the Green Party - made up vocally for the lack of enthusiasm from the locals.
I decided that an overhead shot from the window of Newport Library, overlooking the square, was needed. So I climbed the stairs to the top floor and got a nice dramatic shot of the scene below. Ooh look, there's a coffee machine up here too! Yet another £1 for a paper cupful but I was fading again by this time (plus the walk up the stairs had nearly finished me off). So I put the money in and chose 'freshly ground coffee'. Big mistake. I swear each individual bean was being roasted over a tea-light before being ground by mice in mittens, it took that long to produce. I was getting desperate and people around me were backing away, probably due to the sound of my grinding teeth and the sight of my bulging, reddening eyes - just like Arnold Schwarzennegar in Total Recall. Luckily, the cup was full of brown hot liquid before my head exploded Scanners style.
Coffee cravings notwithstanding, it was a great day and we all felt like we had achieved something. The Newport rally may have been small in comparison to those held in Bristol and Cardiff, but we did the best with what we had and I am proud to have been part of it.
The video footage I captured looks great (although the sound is lousy - note to self: get a proper dedicated video camera!) and I've got ideas on how best to edit it. May take a while but I do tend to fuss over these things. I meant to get straight down to editing when I got back to Cardiff. Instead I ended up face down in a microwaved chicken korma from Tesco. Guess I just can't hack early mornings anymore.
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