Bournemouth

When the sea air had cleared from our lungs and we had shaken the chill of the evening air, we went to our local chip shop. We do so only rarely but their food is good. The advantage of a Friday night is that as trade is so brisk, all the food is fresh. It appeared to be cooked in clean fat at the correct high temperature. It was a calorie loaded thrill.

Even in ones fifties it is perhaps best to listen to ones mother's advice. I ignored her yesterday when she asked me not to lift a plant tub for her. When I did so, I felt my back go and imagined I might have set back its recovery by about a week. I was certainly in pain this morning and, for the first time ever that I recall, I walked with a stick. Old, fat and grey on the outside; old fat and grey on the inside. Nevertheless I would not be deterred from my plans for the day. We went to see my Mum first as she has not been well. Today's heaviest lift was the mug of tea she provided. We continued to Bournemouth where, as I have written, we sought Greg's Halloween costume. It should cause a stir when we publish the photographs. It's pretty much the kind of thing Madonna might have worn if her on-stage moral decline had continued indefinitely.

Bournemouth in my life is more distant even than Bedford. My memories are hazy but not all happy. I studied there from 1974-77 and always returned with great enthusiasm but also lived some of my most difficult times. There were uneasy relationsships with my peers many of whom are now stable colleagues. In those days I was disliked for many reasons, perhaps for being both brash and aloof at different times. Those around me formed an opinion of my sexuality long before I did and, apparently, promulgated it quite widely. I had never felt the need to label myself in any particular way and my coming out late in 1977 and after my cadetship, marked only the beginning of any certainty about my identity. I was the original 21 year old virgin and I can't say it bothered me a lot. In retrospect it bothered me a lot more that everyone else had decided I was gay long before I had joined the debate. Whereas I lived in Bedford for six continuous years, I lived in Bournemouth for only three and periodically. My varying roles over the years which followed took me back there infrequently. Not being a very social animal (drinker) I never formed the emotional attachment which is evident in some of my younger colleagues today, at that level with the town.

Today, I saw its buses which are interesting but did not feel the enthusiasm to photograph them. Without enthusiasm, good photographs (of any subject) are not made. Bournemouth is not a town of stunning architecture but I enjoyed the library visually and the striking car park (Avenue Road) opposite; they made it into my photostream. The police were very active - perhaps they always are there -  and some vehicles seemed to be going round and round in circles. The bus activity, however, was even more intense with 'More's' frequent services in particular, heavily patronised.

We ate lunch at Pinocchio, Poole Hill http://www.pinocchiosbournemouth.co.uk/ . The food, whilst unexceptional, was of good quality and flavour and served swiftly and accurately. We ate outside where it was warm but the persistent gloom of the morning did not even start to shift until 1pm. The skies later could not be described as blue as the afternoon sun shone through a clinging high haze.

I saw two Mitsubishi L200s today. It is a car which has absolutely no reason to exist. There is no possible use for an L200 in the UK. It is offensive to the eye in every aspect of its style and every facet of its appearance says 'gross'. You expect every driver descending from its ludicrous cab to drip tattoos and possibly be carrying a baseball bat between gold-capped teeth. Some models bear the legend 'Animal', an apt description, I am sure, of both vehicle and driver. The latest model is called 'Barbarian' at which point my vitriol, however righteous, becomes almost superfluous. The swept flatbed cover which adorns some examples makes a nasty vehicle look even nastier and anyone who fits such an unnecessary accessory to an unnecessary vehicle should be removed to a place of safety.

Redundancy does not start or end with 4WD planet killers. As a parting shot I shall ask you to reflect on todays archery in Delhi which you might have seen. Those are not BOWS. Those are pieces of machinery whose use has nothing to do with the historical makers or users of the bow. They look ridiculous and their competitive use should be outside the mainstream perhaps every ten years in Antarctica.

Please view my photostream at www.flickr.com/photos/johnoram and check out my new if somewhat niche group on Facebook. Hasta luego!