Fyse's Floating Face

Contains much that is apocryphal, or at least wildly innacurate…

House Hunting II…


“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…”


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?”



“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?”

End of the Dance Show…

From the Dance Show III…

This was from what seemed to be some sort of zombie dance.

House Hunting…

“Christ, there’s about half a dozen buttons. Which one is it?”

“Er, number 12. 12A”

“I have ‘Smith’ or ‘Vickers’, and assorted illegibles. I’ll phone them, say we’re outside.”

Fyse stands on the edge of the pavement, hands in pockets, scrutinizing his surroundings with pursed lips. “Ooh, look guys. There’s a Tesco’s right opposite, and regard that delightful little coffee shop! I love this place already.”

“Yes, well. Let’s see inside first, shall we?”

Fyse spins to look once again at the building with the poorly labeled buzzers. An off-white front door is set back a little from the pavement, allowing room on one side for another entry, propped open and emitting tantalising smells. In the basement is an Indian restaurant, and a large gilt sign clearly delineates the route to food from that of the accommodation above. It is to these flats that Fyse and friends are heading, beginning with this single step the thousand mile journey of sorting housing for next year. With collective hysteria very similar to that of a financial crash, the student rental market has gone crazy this year. A critical mass of jittery undergrads was reached and suddenly everyone is steaming round the agencies six months early, desperate not to miss the boat and end up lumbered with a dingy cupboard in the middle of nowhere.

The door opens and another group stream out, profusely thanking the landlord as they go. So, rivals for the house’s affection, thinks Fyse. The plot thickens. He snaps from reverie into action.

“Yeah, like I was saying guys, right opposite a supermarket? I bet that’ll be NOISY. Lorries at all hours, no doubt.” The rivals begin to walk away down the street. “And look at that DREARY LITTLE CAFE, a real ‘greasy spoon’ dive. Seriously guys, is it even worth looking at this DUMP? Guys?”

Fyse turns round just in time to slip through the door behind his friends, who appear eager already to disown him.

From the Dance Show II…

From the Dance Show I…

Private Eye…

Yes, it’s another photo instead of a proper post. Taken backstage during the run of ‘City of Angels’, this is the guy playing Stone, a private investigator and one of the lead characters. The processing included some quite heavy tinting, and is supposed to look a but like the effect used in the film ‘300’. It doesn’t really, but is kinda atmospheric none the less.

I really will write a proper post again one day. In the mean time, expect more photos. I just took over 1000 during the dress rehearsal of the university Dance Show…

A Pause in Rehearsal…

Things have been mighty busy of late in the world of the Floating Face, and
rehearsals for an upcoming musical are the prime cause. ‘City of Angels’
opens on Tuesday night, and with a very-far-from-smooth technical rehearsal
‘completed’ today, tomorrow is the dress rehearsal. I still haven’t written
any proper posts, as you have no doubt noticed, but here’s another picture
to fill the void. Rehearsing for a show gives plenty of opportunity for
photography, with photogenic people willing to be in front of camera, who
are also appreciative of the results. Most of the photos have been, like
this one, shot with my fast 50mm lens and available light. This shot was
partially posed, in that she was already sitting at the window, but after a
few unnoticed snaps I got her to shift slightly in order to get a better
angle and catch more of the reflection.

Father and Son…

This is a shot taken from the archives, in fact from amongst the first
photos I took with my D80. With no time to take something new I was
looking for a shot I could enter under the theme ‘People’, and eventually
settled on this. As you can see, it’s pretty heavily edited, and I started
out aiming for a cross-processed look but didn’t quite end up there. With
the submission deadline approaching and insufficient photoshop skills, I
sent it of as is. In the cold light of day I think I whatever the road I was
going down, I may have gone too far. Thoughts?

The Budapest Metro…