Category Archives: Sophie is photographing

Z is for zero

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Day zero to be precise: the day when all of those months of planning and anticipation and expectation came to an end and I became a mum.

Moments after this photo was taken, on the Paignton platform of the Dartmouth Steam Railway, my waters broke. I was taken by surprise a little because Arthur actually wasn’t due for a couple more days. I remembered what we’d been told in our antenatal classes, and fully expected that this might not imminently signal the start of labour – we’d been told only to get concerned if things hadn’t started progressing within 48 hours. But half an hour later, just after I’d sat down with my family for lunch, I experienced my first contraction. It was beginning.

You can read the rest of my birth story here.

But what’s most significant about this picture, about the person I was and the thoughts I had on that last day out before Arthur was born, is how much everything changed once he was here.

I thought I knew what to expect. I thought I knew how I would want to do things, what sort of mum I wanted to be, what I would be capable of. But I know now that I really had no idea. It’s been such an incredibly steep learning curve over the past twenty-two months, and my primary teacher has been my son.

And I love that.

I love that for all my love of planning, my tendency to want to be in control of everything all of the time, to want to know what’s coming and anticipate how I’m going to react to it, I’ve actually been able to let go so much.

I can’t say it’s true of other aspects of my life, but I love that where parenting Arthur is concerned I’ve generally managed to let him take the lead in our adventure. And as his second birthday fast approaches, and that bump which transformed into a baby and then a toddler is fast transforming into a little boy, I know that for all that has happened over the past two years, our adventure is still just beginning.

Z is for zero.

 

Joining in with The Alphabet Photography Project over at PODcast. 

X is for Xampanyet

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A tiny tapas bar in the Born area of Barcelona, near the Picasso museum: a little slice of history where locals and tourists alike gather to soak up the atmosphere, the food and the cava.

It’s never easy to get a table, but once you do, shuffling along benches and perching on stools to squeeze everyone in, you’re always in for a treat. From the ubiquitous pan con tomate to plates piled high with melt-in-the-mouth ham, from little red peppers stuffed with cheese to fresh and vinegary anchovies. We always eat too much, and it always costs a fraction of what we think it will. And it’s always washed down with copious amounts of house cava – served in vintage saucers and strangely refreshing despite being a little too sweet.

As I’m writing this I realise I haven’t actually been there for ages. For a while, after one of my best friends relocated out there with her family, Barcelona became my second home. But then I moved out of London, and Arthur came along, and suddenly popping over for the weekend became somewhat more challenging. We did make it back to the city this summer, but like many places in Barcelona this little tapas bar was closed for the holidays. I guess I’ll just need to book another trip to savour its flavours again.

X is for Xampanyet.

 

Joining in with The Alphabet Photography Project over at PODcast.

London leaves

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I love where I live, but as autumn encircles the UK I’ve felt a little envious of people further North. We’ve had hints of orange in our leaves, and they’re beginning to desert their branches for the ground, but all in all it’s a pretty poor show in comparison to the explosions of colour I’ve seen in photos from elsewhere.

I remember last year still being surrounded by green whilst rust coloured leaves fluttered across my Facebook feed, and we did get our turn eventually – fiery foliage hanging on long after other trees had turned to winter skeletons.

So I know that autumn will embrace Torbay eventually, but in the meantime I figured I should take advantage of our week in London to show Arthur what all the fuss is about.

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It was this tree that caught my eye first, defiantly resplendent in yellow, despite being flanked in green. Arthur ran smiling across the mottled grass, picking up leaves to examine more closely along the way.

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At one point he declared he wanted to climb a tree – I think he was inspired by the squirrels. I was impressed by his determination as he tried to work out how he could get purchase on the trunk, but actually in the end a hug seemed much more appropriate.

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We continued on across the park, entranced by the increasingly rich pallet of colours surrounding us.

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They are beautiful, those lovely London leaves. And an injection of colour was just what my autumn needed.
Country Kids from Coombe Mill Family Farm Holidays Cornwall

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W is for winter

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I might not be terribly find of the thought of the nights drawing in or the prospect of endless grey drizzle, but there are actually lots of things about winter days I love.

Snow in particular has a strange power over me. One of my best friends is Canadian, and she thinks I’m mad. But then I’ve never had to deal with the drudgery of it – the blackouts, the snow ploughs, the military precision required just to leave the house. For me snow is magical: transforming city and countryside scenes alike as it deadens sounds and amplifies the light.

I love what it does to people – to total strangers. This picture was taken in London Fields, in one of the particularly impressive bouts of snow we’ve had in recent years. Everyone seemed to be transported back to their childhood, real or imagined, as they built snowmen, made angels with their arms or pelted each other with the white stuff till they collapsed giggling into it. And all of this in what seemed like silence under the branches of trees heavy with their own liberal dusting.

We’re much less likely to get snow in Brixham – being by the sea tends to ward off the coldest of the winter weather, which is one of the the only things I don’t like so much about living here. You don’t need to go too far inland to find it though: frozen ponds and crystallised leaves, delicate icicles and impenetrable frosty ground.

I think it reminds me of the fairy kingdoms I liked to inhabit when I was growing up, the supreme delicacy of the patterns in the ice and the way it makes everything sparkle. There’s something humbling about those moments when nature reminds you of its presence, too: the way it transforms the landscapes we work so hard to control and makes everyday life just that little bit more difficult.

W is for winter.

 

Joining in with The Alphabet Photography Project over at PODcast.

October sun

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As I watch the world through rain-battered windows, white horses galloping across the bay to the invisible shores beyond and the wind, still eerie in the daylight, ricocheting off my neighbours’ walls, it’s worth remembering that not every day is like this.

Just the other side of the weekend we woke to blue skies, the sea calm and the sunlight glinting off cliffs as far away as Dorset. The air was crisp but still warm in the sun. It didn’t feel much like autumn then at all.

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I followed Arthur up through the woods and along the path to the fort. His excitement was palpable: as with all of our little adventures, even the well-trodden ones, there was a sense that anything might happen.

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When we got there, it wasn’t clear whether he had shrunk or the world had grown. Whichever it was, he looked so tiny as he ran around being chased by his shadow that it almost took my breath away.

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Once his efforts had exhausted him he came back to me again, both bigger and smaller now and ready for  sleep: peaceful and contented in the October sun.

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Country Kids from Coombe Mill Family Farm Holidays Cornwall

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V is for Vietnam

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For our honeymoon we went to Vietnam. It was a challenge fitting even a fraction of what I wanted to see there into those two weeks, but I was determined to try.

We started in Hanoi, spending two days walking around the city, soaking up the sights and smells and flavours. That was where I took this picture: just another selection of wares in a pavement stall, but one that with its seafood and herbs and vegetables sums up what I love about Vietnamese food. I love the colours and textures in this picture too, and the shapes – all those circles full of promise.

So much of our trip was about the food, really. That was what had inspired us to go in the first place – the pho and the summer rolls and the banh cuon we’d enjoyed in restaurants in Hackney. We had a Vietnamese supermarket near us there too, but it was wonderful to see all of the ingredients in their homeland.

By the time we left, we’d sampled all sorts of new dishes, successfully dodging the peanuts that would have triggered an allergic reaction to discover a huge range of exciting tastes. We’d seen noodles being made, rice paper rounds drying in the sun, prawns being crushed to create the pungent paste that was seemingly at the base of everything. We’d learnt to cook some new dishes as well: spicy seafood hotpot, and even those delicious banh cuon – delicate and slippery steamed rolls filled with prawns and pork.

I’d love to go back, and not just for the food. It is such a beautiful country – and so steeped in history. Hopefully one day, when Arthur’s a little bit older, we’ll be able to revisit for a longer trip.

V is for Vietnam.

 

Joining in with The Alphabet Photography Project over at PODCast Dove.

 

U is for upside down

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I’ve raided the archives again this week. This photo of me doing a headstand in the garden pretty much sums up my early childhood: outdoors, and upside down. Whether it was hanging in trees, rolling head over heels or walking on my hands I was never happier than when things were the wrong way up.

I remember one morning in primary school when someone bet me that I couldn’t stand on my head for the whole of break. Never one to turn down a challenge, I promptly kicked my heels towards the sky. Everyone else got bored after a few minutes but I was seriously proud of myself when the bell went. That, and a little bit dizzy.

It’s something that’s never really left me. I got very into trampolining in my teens, drawn by the prospect of somersaulting through the air. I learnt to fly forwards, backwards, tucked, piked and straight, twisting and landing on my back and front and feet. It was pretty awesome.

As I bounced into my twenties I still somersaulted whenever I could, but I’d hit a (virtual) ceiling. I couldn’t really learn new skills without proper training, and there was too much else going on for that. So I branched out, finding a circus school and working on my tumbling.

It all petered out a bit as teaching and later pregnancy and motherhood took over my time and energy, but I’ve still found ways to get my fix. Last summer I persuaded Leigh to take me and Arthur to circus camp : we spent a week in the rain in deepest darkest Cornwall juggling and tumbling and hanging from the trapeze.

And I’m back to trampolining too. I couldn’t believe my luck when we moved to Torbay and I found somewhere that was not only prepared to let adults loose on the trampolines but also timed it so the babies could do a gym session too. Arthur’s moved up to the toddler class now, but I still get to turn the world on its head every Friday.

There’s a metaphor in all of this. Something about seeing things from different perspectives, not accepting the common viewpoint, wanting to shake things up until they’re topsy turvey from time to time, just to see what happens. It’s liberating, for the body and for the mind.

U is for upside down.

 

Joining in with The Alphabet Photography Project over at PODcast. 

T is for toll bridge

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There’s always a sense of anticipation that builds the closer we get to the border. It was the same when we used to travel from London as it is coming up from Devon, though the view from the M5 definitely makes for a more beautiful journey.

Nothing quite prepares you for the sight of the bridge itself though, the gateway to Cymru. The hulking pylons stand firm as cars speed through, contrasting perfectly with the delicate cables which soar diagonally to their tapering peaks.  The pale green is always surprising, as stunning against thick grey clouds as it is when framed by a clear blue sky.

I must have hundreds of photos like the one above – I can’t resist, have to get my camera out every time we make the crossing into the land of my fathers. Very rarely on the journey back though. It doesn’t seem like such an event, somehow.

I’ve always thought it was apt that you pay the toll as you go into Wales rather than when you leave. I’m not sure anyone would bother otherwise – it just wouldn’t be worth it.

T is for toll bridge.

 

Joining in with The Alphabet Photography Project over at PODcast. 

S is for sea

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There is something about swimming in the sea that just cannot be surpassed.

The sense of freedom that comes from knowing that, if you wanted to, you could just keep going. The relaxing buoyancy of the salty water, supporting you as you recline and look up at the sky. The little rushes of excitement that come from the ebb and flow of the waves, reminding you that you are at the mercy of nature’s power.

There’s the refreshing coldness too. It might take your breath away at first, but once the tingling in your limbs have stopped and your body has become acclimatised to its new environment you cannot help but submerge your head beneath the waves to be enveloped by that invigorating chill once again.

I think that last part might be a side effect of living by the sea. I’ve never been super keen on British waters, preferring the more gentle touch of the water in warmer climes. This summer though, when we were in Barcelona, I found that there was something missing when I clambered down the beach and dived in. It was just not cold enough to give me what I was looking for.

It was the prospect of seeing the sea every day, of being able to go for a dip whenever the mood took me, that was one of the biggest lures for life in Brixham. When I lived in London I found myself craving it – an ache in my heart that could not be satisfied by even the most impressive lido. I want to be one of those people who dives beneath the waves every day, whatever the weather.

I’m not there quite yet, but it gives me a deep satisfaction to know that the sea is part of my daily life. I’m watching it out of the window now: a turquoise blue rising up to meet the sky at the horizon, white horses breaking gently as the breeze ruffles its surface. It looks so inviting I don’t think I’m going to be able to resist for much longer. In fact when Arthur wakes up from his nap we might just have to go for a swim.

S is for sea.

 

Joining in with The Alphabet Photography Project over at PODcast Dove.

R is for reflections

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I don’t think I’ve ever lived somewhere before where a simple walk into town takes me past so much beauty. You can take the high road, past the multicoloured cottages which look down over the harbour, but more often than not I choose the steps which wind their way down to Breakwater beach.

The pebbles are not easy to traverse, but it’s worth it for the sound of the waves pulling at the shore, the smell of the seaweed and the breeze which whips its way around the cliffs. From there it’s only a little further to the marina.

I love to look at boats – have often wandered down to unprotected jetties in foreign ports just to peek at the vessels that float there, full of so much potential. It’s more than a little bit surreal having them on my doorstep here, and whilst the security in place means I rarely get up close I always pause at that point in the harbour wall, listen to the wind in the halliards and breathe in the heady mix of saltwater and diesel that lingers deliciously in the air.

My last sailing trip was from this marina. Having been a keen but not entirely competent crew member on many yachts over the years I finally decided that doing a day skipper course would be a good idea. I was four months pregnant at the time, and haven’t managed to fit in any sailing since.

When Arthur’s a bit bigger though I cannot wait to introduce him to the unadulterated pleasure of travelling along powered only by the wind.

But in the meantime we will continue to enjoy these boats vicariously as they bob gently at their moorings, masts pointing proudly up into the sky which is in turn reflected beneath them on the mirrored surface of the depths below.

R is for reflections.

 

Joining in with The Alphabet Photography Project over at PODcast.