Thespian Headshot I…
Posted by Fyse on Saturday, 7 June 2008
One of a set of publicity shots taken for a friend’s theatre company, who are taking a couple of shows to this year’s Edinburgh Fringe Festival. (Looking at it again just now, I remembered that I’d intended to remove some of the hair frizz, particularly top right. Damn, really must do that…)
Epiphany…
Posted by The Floating Face on Friday, 11 April 2008
This afternoon Fyse came to a sudden and unpleasant realization. There aren’t going to be any more Harry Potter books. He saw a copy of ‘Deathly Hallows’ on a shelf and found himself thinking ‘ooh, can’t wait till the next one’. Then just as suddenly realised THERE AREN’T GOING TO BE ANY MORE.
Obviously he knew that already on an intellectual level, but it now hit him deeply on an emotional level. Many might say he’s being overly dramatic.
Sunset over the Docks…
Posted by Fyse on Wednesday, 9 April 2008
On Sunday the weather was highly erratic, rapidly switching from snow to
beautiful sunshine. I gambled that a clear spell around sunset would both
result in some photogenic skies and last long enough, so went for walk
on Clifton Down. At the bottom is a platform with views over the Avon
Gorge, up towards the bridge or out to sea. I think the cranes in the distance
look kinda like giraffes, though perhaps not so much in this shot. The weather
held until I was walking home, when the snow came in sideways. This doesn’t
feel much like April to me…
House Hunting II…
Posted by The Floating Face on Monday, 24 March 2008
Bzzzz.
“No answer. You’re sure it’s not the top flat?”
“No, but we are meant to be meeting the agent. Don’t you think we should…”
Bzzzzzzzzzzz.
There is a pause then a loud rattle, followed eventually by a male voice, heavy with the aftermath of inebriation. “Hello?”
“Hi there. We’re supposed to come and look round the flat?”
“…”
“Hello?”
“Crap. Hold on.”
After a lengthy pause, Fyse and friends are buzzed in. They climb four flights of stairs and wade through unidentifiable debris, only to find cupboard-sized rooms with paisley wallpaper and a kitchen thick in primordial vegetation. They make a break for freedom before catching something lethal and within five minutes are back outside, shivering at the mere memory. As they stand discussing other options they notice a man approach and wait nearby on the pavement, looking at his watch.
“Does that look like a letting agent to you?”
“You mean with the soulless eyes and odour of pestilence?”
“No, Fyse. I mean the suit and clipboard, coupled with the fact that we’re meant to be meeting one.”
It is indeed a letting agent, one both extravagantly flamboyant and somewhat manic. “Hello there, sorry I’m a touch late. One of those days, I’m afraid! Aha ha ha! I’m sure we’ve all been there! Am I right? One moment, I’ll just lay my hands on those keys…”
“Oh, don’t worry. I hope you don’t mind but we’ve already had a look around.” The agent emerges from his bag with a confused look.
“Now how have you managed that? I’m pretty sure you don’t have a set of keys!” He shakes them for emphasis. “I was here only yesterday, and I know I locked that door. Aha ha ha!”
Fyse and friends pause, looking at each other. “Ah. Right. So that would be the lower of the flats, would it?”
“That’s right. Wonderful kitchen, very spacious.”
“Not the one with the grumpy, hairy, hungover hippy.”
He blinks. “No, the flat’s currently between tenants.” Fyse and friends are pretty sure they have just been categorised as undesirable. “Not the largest rooms in the world, I’m afraid. Only single beds, but I don’t suppose you lot will have much call for doubles anyway! Aha ha ha, I’m only pulling your legs. Shall we proceed?”