Rum, Sodomy & The Lash

             

" 'Said Captain.
I said Wot?
' Said Captain.
I said Wot?
' Said Captain.
I said Wot?
' Said Captain.
I said Wot You Want?"

***

Sometimes you have to suffer for your art, and, there's no way round this, darkroom work is one of those times. It does really seem ridiculous to me that these days, the key thing that defines you as a photographer (your images) is usually parcelled out to software and a machine. It is sort of like a music box. All of the right notes in all the right places, clearly defined, nothing left to chance, with each little tine being pinged at the correct time. Yes it is music. But it isn't music.

A musician (well a decent musician) can coax an unwilling lump of wood or metal into warm, organic life with a depth of feeling you wouldn't believe possible. A simple vibrato on a note can bring a full grown male human to a quivering blubbing lump. I think this is because music is such an intrinsic part of being human that we have an art form that can cut through all the insanity of modern life to the quick of what it is to be human.

I own a number of albums where the essence of organic musicianship has been distilled into something which is so heartfelt and deeply meaningful, that they seem to transcend the medium and become something other.

I am sure you've got a few like that too, but they are sort of rare aren't they?

Two I can point to with a definitive "That one" are by the Canadian artist Bruce Cockburn.

He's a funny sort is old Bruce. I must admit that although he has been going since the late 1960's/early 1970's there's been a certain patchiness; a patchiness which seems to have increased with time, but then again maybe he just changed . . .

So, I'll forgive him that, but will go back to 'High Winds, White Sky' and 'Sunwheel Dance' (his second and third albums respectively) and state that in them he has created two complete worlds.

Even (and especially) the covers work with the music to create a whole.

Obviously recommending music is a difficult thing . . one man's meat and all that, but if you have a penchant for British folk of the 1970's and like the thought of being tucked away in a cold Canadian Winter, then either of these albums does the trick completely.

The Cover to High Winds was taken at a place in Toronto called Ward Island. The photographer was George Pastic and somehow, the cover and the songs on the album fit like a hand in a glove. It even extends down to the whimsy of the enclosed booklet - Bruce on a bicycle; Bruce being mysterious in a river; hand-written lyrics - it's as near a total artistic statement as albums get.

And that is an important thing, because it is a statement of intent; a complete world, and you, buying the album (and thereby contributing to the artists's well-being) are being invited to purchase a seat to that world. For the asking price and a possible lifetime of pleasure, it was (and still is) a small price to pay.

The booklet was small and very beautiful.
It sets out with a purpose and achieves it.

Though not quite the same as a statement of intent, 'Sunwheel Dance' from 1970 (recorded in Toronto like its predecessor) has, if you let it get into you, such a feel of a lonely, homely cabin in the middle of nowhere, that you would never want to leave.

             

The cover photograph is by Bart Schoales and is as near dammit a perfect introduction to the themes of the album (light and spirituality).

The final track brings in outsiders to the cabin, visitors if you like (though the band has been present throughout the album, they have done what really good bands do, become transparent) and their singing in harmony is a thing of great wonder. It makes you feel so completely homely and comforted that you transcend the music. Your soul takes wings and moves and is moved in no uncertain ways. Well mine does anyway.

You see, certain pieces of art can transcend their weighty dimensional anchors and move you to places where spirit and feeling and consciousness combine.

You can get that with photographs too - there are images that bear multiple viewings, whereby the photographer has transcended all the dimensional realities of a piece of the world carefully chopped down to fit into a rectangular or square view of the world, and somehow managed to imbue the essence of their art into what you are viewing.

I could choose many actually, but two random examples are as follows:

Wynn Bullock - Tide Pool 1957

Walker Evans - Alabama Tenant Farmer's Wife

As you can see, they are utterly different, and yet I never tire of looking at either of them, simply because they speak to me.

So . . . remember at the top of the page before I started digressing, I was talking about darkroom work and how it was important?

Right, here we go.

It isn't just important, it is vital.

And why do I say that? Well, despite what the populists would have you believe, photography is a craft rather than an art.

It can be an art, definitely, but when you look back at its history and the great men and women who have made it their own, you are struck by one thing. Most of these people were craftsmen. 

They nearly all developed their own film.

They nearly all printed their own prints.

Most got their hands dirty (and stained, and suffered metol-fingernail) letting selenium and hypo and acetic acid and pyrogallol and metol and hydroquinone seep into their souls.

They laboured in dark places for our education of what it is to be human and in doing so managed to be able to transform the seemingly mundane into the everyday extraordinary.

That is craft.

They captured our intensely incredible, three dimensional world and rendered it into two dimensions.

And what dimensions.

They can take your soul and inspire.

They can make you weep and laugh and rage and crave change.

And they can change too, providing a voice, a proof of a world transformed or laid bare for all to see.

The seemingly humble photographic print is a powerful thing. it can change the world. It can change your life. It can be an exquisite object of love and labour. Tactile and beautiful; signed or unsigned, it is the distillation of photography, and as such should be treasured and revered, because you see print-making walks hand in hand with photography. 

It is as human an activity as making music.

Joseph McKenzie once said to me he thought I was lucky being a musician (which I sort of was) because of the immediacy of being able to create music. Were I able to speak to him now, I would say he was far luckier being a great photographer, because he was able to produce lasting works of extreme beauty and truth.

And that is why friends, I urge you. If you are at all interested in photography, you simply have to try and make photographic prints. It doesn't have to be a complex setup. I loaded film into daylight tanks in cupbards for years; I have contact printed 35mm negatives onto 6x4" resin coated paper. I have worked at the very most basic level of exposing paper with a torch and processing the paper in the dark because I couldn't afford a safelight, and what moved me to this madness? The love of the print.

I still operate on the same 'guerilla' basis; yes I now have a darkroom, but it is very rough and ready (and without any running water or sinks) however I can happily produce works of art that are entirely of my own creation, from making the photograph to developing to printing to archiving to writing notes on the back.

If you really want to achieve the beauty of the print, something that you are entirely in control of, then it can be done. It just requires a bit of thought.

I am not going to teach you how to make a print (there are many great texts online or on bookshop shelves that will do the trick), all I am going to say is that if you farm all your photographic effort out to the same software that everyone else uses and then let a machine spray ink onto paper and then say you have a print, then you are only half a photographer. There. That's me damned for ever!

Is it any wonder that most serious galleries these days still tend to poo-poo the inkjet?

I think they feel the same as me.

Yes it is an image, but no, it isn't a photograph **.

The following pictures, whilst poor scans are of prints.

The prints are properly processed and archivally stored.
They will outlast me, and you.

They are my wee attempts at rendering the world I see into something that hopefully moves the viewer in the same way I was moved when I made the images.
 They are entirely my own work from beginning to end.

Woods.
 Reverse of print with printing details

Woods.
Full frame negative.
Grade 2 Ilford Galerie
Kodak Polymax Developer
Archivally Fixed in 'Plain' Fix
Archivally washed
Untoned

A pleasant surprise
 flip the sleeve over and another print!

Silverprint Archival polyester sleeve.
These are great for long term storage.

I store my best prints in Silverprint Archival sleeves and then in Timecare Archival boxes. 

Yes it is expensive, but why not take the best care of what is, after all, a highly crafted product.

One day I might try and put on an exhibition - you never know.

Thanks for reading and God bless.

** I have no choice with regard to colour - it seems to have gone too far, but the monochrome print (my own concern) is as vital now as it ever was.

FBR51 (Wahoo!)

Mornin' maties. 

Well that was a party to end all parties. 

It had the hallmark of one of those parties that is written about in years to come. 

Everything happened . . . 

And the end of the evening? 

A damn good Keel Haulin' 

Oh yes, perfection.

We left a scattered trail of boats awash with grog and drunken sailors. 

We left islands with natives glad to see the back of us. 

We literally spliced the mainbrace, by order of Her Majesty.

It has given me great pleasure to return with the Duke of Edinburgh to Sheephousecestershire, to witness the International Fleet Review celebrating the Completion Of Fifty FogBlogs. 

FogBlog has confirmed, through the smartness of its writing and insight, and superb execution of the Ideals Of Blogging, the best traditions of service on the seas of ether. I offer to all the officers, men and women of Sheephousecestershire my congratulations. It is particularly pleasing to see the strong bonds forged by hardened drinkers with their ship's cats here today. May all visiting sailors and delegations return safely to their home-ports with fond memories of this historic celebration. I know how greatly the dockyard and other supporting services have contributed to making this Fifty FogBlogs Review an occasion which I shall long remember. 

Sir Herman of Sheephouse can take great pride in his accomplishments of the past, and his ongoing service to Blogging, and their Significant Contribution To Insight on the worlds oceans of improbability. 

Prince Philip and I send our warm good wishes to all of you and look forward to following your important endeavours as you sail to meet the challenges of another Fifty FogBlogs Of Service. 

Splice the mainbrace.

—Elizabeth R

By Royal Approval no less.

God Bless You, your Majesty.

Even Mog had a wee totty o' the hard stuff (double cream)

***

Well this week I am celebrating somewhat of a landmark . . yes, incredibly, last week was my Fiftieth Post!

So, to mark such an auspicious occasion, here's some balloons.

No Expense Spared For My Readers.
Yes, a quick visit to the Card Factory and some helium was all that was needed.
Taken with the 1934 Uncoated Leitz Elmar  (deliciously smooth).
Ilford HP5 - EI 800, developed in HC110 Dilution G

When I started FB all those months ago I hardly dared to believe I would reach this point, but there you go - no one is more surprised than me . . The big question is though - can I take it to 100 posts?

Hmm - have I really got another 49 interesting topics in my broin?

I don't know actually.
You see generally, when writing FB, I often don't have a clue as to what to write from one week to the next. Sometimes it is different and I can get ahead, but mostly this is not the case. I'll wake up, get up, make some tea and just start with a thought and see where it goes from there.

From a creative writing point of view it is the equivalent of that old adage about art: "Drawing is taking a line for a walk!" It really has become like that for me.

From a positive point of view I have allowed myself to indulge in the morass of childhood memory, which is a good thing (for me, but not necessarily for you).
I have vented about all sorts of topics and sounded unfeasibly like Mr.Self-Important. Which I am not, honest; I am really not as half as far up myself as I sound.
Here, Sheephouse does a Harry Hill-style aside to the camera and says:
On the whole I am a fairly quiet unassuming person - this being said, I am far more gregarious these days than I ever was in my latter childhood/teenage/twenties.

Talking of which (which I wasn't), wouldn't you just love to be able to go back and be a best friend to yourself when you were younger!
Sort of like a brother from another time; big and bad, with an attitude that would sort out the naysayers.
If I were to do it, I would wear a futuristic suit like Robin Williamson in Mork and Mindy.

Left:Mindy                                       Right:Mork
Imagine if you could time travel and meet yourself
without all the time travel problematicals of
doppelgangers

I somehow think that if you had walked around in the mid to late 1970's with a companion like that then people wouldn't have been half so dismissive.

And I mean Mork . . not Mindy.

If you'd walked around with Mindy you would have been followed by a mob.

Can you imagine though the you as you are now, going back in a suit like that to key times in your life and just being there for yourself . . it's an incredible thought isn't it.

Curiously the One Show on BBC1, ran a similar theme last night with their presenters. Fortunately for me, NONE of them elected to return in a red space suit and helmet.
I would have been the dog's bahookies in the '70's . . oh yes!

So, digression aside, 50 posts old, and still going. So what am I going to write about in this one that could possibly be of interest?

Will it be a diatribe on the wonders of blogging and how to do this that and the other?

Will it be a rant about how FB is too good for the world?

Will it be a discourse on the usual shite subjects I always write about?

Well no. Actually dear reader (if indeed you are one) it is about you!

You see, the beauty of using Blogger is that you get 'stats', so, for instance, I can analyse everything to the nth degree and get all excited or not.

FB has sort of gone from something where it seemed like the only visitors were web bots, spam bots and bot-bots (closely related to the African antelope the dik-dik and the Scots creature the nickety-nackety-noo-the-noo) to something where I actually seem to have people reading pages.

Too-too. Tooty-too-too-too!

Hark? Wot's that sound?

Yes, by jove, you're right - it is!

The sound of a man blowing his own trumpet!

At the time of writing this, FB is now up to a tickle over 3182 page hits, which isn't bad for pages of nonsense!

I know I have regular visitors - Hi Dave and Bob and Bruce and Mike and Wayne . . but it would be nice to hear from other readers . . so if you are a regular, don't be shy, say 'Hello Sheephouse' - send me an email.

I won't bite and promise to send a nice email back. You might even get a free teabag if I can work out how to transmit matter easily and non-messily.

I hope dear reader, that you (yes, that's you . . .the one with the bushy eyebrows and the jowls) have found things of interest . . certainly someone seems to have found something interesting.

If you scroll down to the bottom of this page, you will find a list of the most popular posts, sorted in order, and it always surprises me to see that these change sometimes on a weekly basis.

If you scroll down even further, you can see my map - well it isn't mine, but you know what I mean.

It is fascinating, because it has really grown from being just me in Scotland, to Maniacs in Canada and Nutters in the South of England, to Fruit Loops in America and Blutwursts in Germany, and now beyond. Greetings to all of you!

My Clustr map, because it gives you all this wondrous information and is a telling and revealing of page hits and reads.

Can you see yourself yet?

See those little triangles?
I can click on them and get the approximate  location of the querying IP

For instance, I hope I didn't scare my two (early on) mid-Pacific readers with my Blog about sea-borne plastic, but their little dots appeared on the map the week that was published, so you see, doing stuff like this, can maybe have a tiny impact somewhere. And I've since had a few hits from Hawaii, so Aloha to you!

And with regard to the plastic thing (oh no, not again) if I have even highlighted the problem to just one person then that is something.

Change never occurs quickly - it can be like the giant snowballs my Dad and I used to make. We started off at the top of a fairly steep field with a tiny pea-sized piece of snow, and started rolling (he was trying to tell me something I think) anyway, before you knew it, that pea had become head-sized and then torso-sized and then gravity took over and it started rolling downhill of its own accord and before it crashed into the river it was about the size of a very large fat man!

So, in the words of Dr.Strange Records, you can (by planting seeds of thought, just possibly) "Destroy Society One Mind At A Time".

The posts that seem to have been most popular are evenly mixed with the usual photographic nonsense and the reminiscences about my childhood.

I can tell you from the beauty of stats that for two weeks running, Russia and Russians really seemed to like the picture of me, Steve and the parrot, and I can only assume that is because I described Steve as looking like he has just breezed in from the Kremlin (his jacket was pure Cold War Class!).

My ode to the humble Olympus Trip 35 is my most popular post, but it could well be overtaken. Larry Burrows and his epic war photographs appear as a referring query every single week, though strangely the one image that seems to be looked at the most is the dead SS guard taken by Lee Miller.

eden ahbez and his life are also queried on a regular basis, so this is good.

Gonks, incredibly, are also queried on a weekly basis - initially exclusively from Australia, but now from all over, so this says to me that somewhere, my doodling with a keyboard is maybe making connections with some like-minded brains . . or not.

Whatever, I hope you are entertained by my writing, and most importantly, that it raises a laugh in the face of a world going belly-up.

I make nothing from this - it is a entirely a free creative exercise, and in the spirit of all creative endevours it is done for pleasure.

Of course (natch) should someone wish to employ my modest writing skills, I would be very happy to oblige . . but it isn't going to happen (who am I trying to kid?) . . so I shall just keep typing and thinking until I get bored. And then one day I shall grind to a halt, drool over my desk and say 'Done' and that will be it.

I shall be like the priceless heirloom mentioned in a Rambling Syd Rumpo preface "passed down from Father to Son 'til the handle dropped off" (or not, but who knows).

Being as cagey as possible I shall say We Shall See, and leave it at that.

So, 50 runs and not out - we'll see where it goes from here.

Take care and as usual thanks for reading - God bless.

Have to go now as I have some remnants of the yummy 50th birthday cake the Cap'n made me with the remains of his Ramen disaster of a few weeks back.
It's super-delicious chicken/prawn/beef/kimchi/bilge flavour - yum yum pig's bum.

Caveat Emptor - The Leica Sniff Test

Well shipmates - 'tis time to keelhaul your dandos, because the Old Grey Mare is a grungin' in the meadow . . 

Yes, it's time to clamber aboard the Happy Shippe FogBlog and set sail on the seas of improbability!
And what a week it's been . . .
Start of week:
Quiet. Too damn quiet. Somethin' was brewin'

Midweek:

Sheephouse clambered up onto the deck shouting,
"It's all about photography!" 

He was clutchin' some sheets of paper, and he'd spilled his lunch all down his shirt, so I thoughts to meself, Oh yes, it's got him bad.

Later in the week:

We's discovered that there was a stowaway on board. 

Firsts I thought it was another cat. 

Mog was acting funny and we chanced to see a slinky figure sulking around the galley. 

But luck was with us and we trapped it with a barrel o' good salt Herring.

'Twas a strange creature - it ate a great mouthful o' Herring, chewed and then spat the whole lot back out on deck, proclaiming,

"Nassty, salty fishes. Not sweet. No. Ruined, ruined!"
and ran off.

We couldn't find hide nor tail o'him, but on Friday we had him.

He must have been powerful hungry, for Matey Mate (the Ship's Mate, believe it or not - what a happy happenstance o' namin' that was for his parents) said we should use some of the remnants of the Ramen disaster from last week, to trap him.

We shoved a bucket of Prawn/Beef/Chicken/Kimchi flavoured noodle-bilge into a quiet corner and stayed on watch. 

It worked.

"Hmmm. Nices wormses. Wormses good. Sso tassty for nice Smeagol. Happy Smeagol. Nice food. Plenty too. Not nassty, like nassty, salty fishes."

He slurped away some more, and spoke some more.

"More than enough here Precious, Plenty for us. 

But we don't like that nassty catses, oh no! 

Not catses. Catses eat fishes. 

Smeagol loves fishes more. 

Nassty catses eat Smeagol's fishes. 

Maybe nassty catses has to go! 

Maybe when it's sleeping Precious. 
Maybe when it's dreaming of mices, we creeps up and throttles it. 
Hmmm, then no more nassty catses"

I'll tell ee mates, that was enough for me. I broke cover with the burlap sack I had, popped it over his head and lashed it tight. 

It was a struggle to get him onto deck, but I managed.

"Threaten my Mog would ye!" I shouted as I held him over the waves.

"No, no, Nice catses, nice catses. Maybe share nice fishes with nice catses!"

I didn't wait to hear any more but pulled off the sack and dropped him over the side, shouting,

"There's plenty o'fish for you in there matey!"
and we sailed on, for it was a strong wind and we was makin' good time. 

I used my spyglass and saw him lithely clamber aboard some flotsam and start sculling off in the opposite direction.

A curious creature and that's no mistake.

Anyway's me hearties, we arrived back in time for Mr.Sheephouse to dash into the printers and set the type and pull a few copies of his broadsheet.

Oh yes, an eventful week and no mistake!

***

This week's FB is all about photography, which is a relief because I thought I had lost it!
Anyway, I chanced upon a copy of the 1974 Leica Manual in my local Oxfam recently - it was a decent price so I bought it.
If you've never read a copy, I can recommend it! There are lots of different ones out there, but they do seem to be climbing the charts with regard to pricing . . . anyway, in trawling through its pages I encountered a picture of a Japanese gentleman doing something rather extraordinary . . .
Here he is.

"Hmmm - smell like it hasn't been aired in long time."

Curious isn't it.

Reading the text, I discovered that as well as the usual visual and aural inspections that one should normally make when purchasing a new secondhand camera, there was another . . the olfactory test!

Yep - I was a bit astounded, because I have never heard of such a thing. Sniffing a camera? That's a bit, how shall we say . . . deviant, isn't it?

I say I say I say sir. 

Wot 'ave we 'ere.

A little illicit camera sniffing?

Oy say Sir. 

That's illegal 'round these 'ere parts. 

Aven't you read By-law 136, Subsection B, Paragraph 2?

It cleary states:

"Anyone involved in, or indulging in, the nasal inhalation of camera air for such purposes that are outwith the normal olfactory motions of product purchase, will be prosecuted"

In uvver words Sir:

If you are are caught havin' a nifty snortle of your camera, you are deemed to be in breech of said by-law and as such will be asked to face the correct consequences of such actions.

In uvver words Sir:

You're nicked.

Something along those lines.

The only reference to sniffing cameras I can find is more akin to that new car smell thing where people go and luxuriate in acres of tanned leather, so for instance, you unbox your camera and sniff the new smell. Nowhere have a I seen it being an essential part of the used camera buyers armament.

Well folks, here it is, right now. Buying a secondhand camera?

Take the lens off and sniff the bloody thing!

Have a really good snort, savour what you smell and sniff again. **

Why?

Well, readers of FB will know that I recently purchased a very nice Leica IIIf RD DA (serial number 72****) - it was made in 1954 and you know what, in the short period of time I have owned it I have become rather attached to it . . wanting to buy it little treats like a case and a new strap and so on. I am glad I didn't though.

Its 3 month guarantee ran out this week, and I thought last weekend, I had better give it a quick going over just to make sure there was nothing untoward that was going to show up (typically) the day after the guarantee ran out. It has had a hazy finder since I bought it, and I accepted what the vendor said about it being a little hazy . . it didn't bother me that much and didn't seem to be too bad. To be fair, he had offered to get it cleaned at a discounted price, but I opted to pay what he was asking with a Russian lens chucked in to the bargain.

Lieca IIIf RD DA RF 'Haze'.
Don't just take such descriptions at face value my friends.

Anyway, in checking it out last weekend I did something I hadn't done originally. I used my small Photon torch to shine a light through from the rear of the camera, through the viewfinder and rangefinder windows, fully expecting them to just be hazy. I donned a pair of reading glasses, because to be honest, working with computer screens all week, my eyes are fast becoming shot. Anyway, what did I see? Hmmm. Curious. Hmmm. Bloody hell! FUNGUS!!

Was I annoyed and upset? YES. How can haze be fungus? Well, it can and was.
And to this I will say: Caveat Emptor.
Check and double check everything. In fact treble check everything.

My brain is funny sometimes. Illogical and then all of a sudden, everything drops into place.

A Japanese man doing something deviant jumped into my head. And so did my own actions when I purchased the camera. I had unmounted the Jupiter 8 lens it was supplied with and my nostrils were tickled with quite a 'musty' smell - you know the sort - it just smelled like it hadn't been aired in a long time. It wasn't too bad, but it was there, and I (in my naivity) just thought it was the smell of a camera that had been unused for a while and that it would dissipate fairly soon. Of course, eventually putting 3 and 3 together I realised that the reason it smelled 'musty', was because there was fungus growing inside the camera.

Re-reading the text of the Leica manual again, sure enough, it clearly stated the very same thing:

"Now a word to those of you who would stick your noses into a Leica. Do it! The telltale odor of mildew or fungus growth is hard to mistake. If you detect it in a used camera it means trouble."

There, writ large in black and white.

Sniff your camera!

Why on earth have I never read this anywhere else?
I have read screeds about buying cameras, and yet this very obvious and seemingly silly piece of advice is missing.

Well, I exhort you now:

Go forth and SNIFF.

I have gone over all my others with a fine tooth comb, however what I am more bothered about is that I have had a vastly infected camera nestling up tight with my (not exactly slight) collection. I have also recently purchased a nicely ancient uncoated 1934 50mm Elmar which has been mounted on the IIIf's body, so I will have to watch that too.

I am rather cheesed off to be honest - the whole thing has been a waste of time and postage and expectation, however the vendor has accepted it back no questions asked and I have scraped together some more money, and hopefully should receive a nice little 1960 Leica M2 soon.
But back to sniffing - it is as basic a check as anything - probably the most basic thing you can do when checking a camera - I exhort you to do it!
If you've read about fungus, you'll know that fungal growth in cameras doesn't just appear overnight - it often takes months and years to establish itself, so it was pretty obviously there when it was described as 'haze'.

The importance of a torch test

Shelob's Lair

Can you spots me in there my Precious?
Nasty smelly caveses - we hates them.

Even innocuous bits inside a camera viewing system can mean trouble

Strangely when viewing normally through the VF and RF windows, this was all just apparent as 'haze', it really was - to my naked eye it looked a bit iffy but nothing drastic - it has taken the power of the mighty Photon II torch to bring it out in its full, nasty glory.

So there you go - Sniff Sniff Sniff.

In the words of me old mate Gollum:

Bests to check your nasty caveses my darlings.

Curse us and crush us - nasty stuffses inside.

Bad surprises for the unwary. Poor Precious, poor Smeagol!

Oh yes.

Goblinses and nassty black beasties and webses

But we're not going back. No. We're not. 

Some nice fishses and cool water away from the burning torchses.

What's it got in its camera Precious?
Not fair.
What's it got in its camera?

If this has interested you at all, I have done a wee squinty pdf of the original article by Norman Goldberg. It is a wise selection of advice, which, whilst Leica oriented, is actually of use to anyone buying a secondhand mechanical camera.

Feel free to download it here

Obviously the Leica Manual is copyrighted material. The publishers were Morgan & Morgan of New York, however in checking around they don't seem to exist any more, also Mr.Norman Goldberg who wrote the piece obviously owned the copyright, however he died in 2006. You can find an intersting article about one of his inventions here

So to conclude and wave goodbye to my IIIf, I thought I would include a photograph from the last film I put through it - Ilford HP5 at EI 320, developed in HC 110 Dilution G for 20 minutes.

I still have the 1934 Elmar lens though (which I purchased from a different vendor) - that I am keeping, and I am trying to negotiate a semi-swap/trade-in for another Leica.

Hopefully this one won't smell musty.



Beyonce And The Imagination Witch

So that is farewell to my 1954 Leica IIIf - a real shame as I don't think I have enjoyed using another camera quite as much. And before you ask, yes I could get the vendor to clean it all up and get it back, but can they really eradicate everything? The seeds of doubt would be sown and would grow into an expensive paranoia, so it has gone out of my life. I hope someone else finds it as nice to use as I did.

As usual, thanks for reading, and God bless.

** Camera Sniffers and Camera Sniffing are ® Sheephouse Inc. 2012

Outside The Office Hangs The Man On The Gibbet

Greetings playmates. well, yet another strange week, but interesting.
We have an old sayin' 'round these parts, and it is part law too:
Never Dip Your Nib In The Office Ink
Meaning don't get your real life involved in your work, or in our case, don't help yourself to any of the cargo.
But we had to.
We couldn't lay into port and we were short rationed.
Mog offered us some of his fermenting Cod, but I've been there before and had to warn everyone. It's no use with an entire crew making the side of your boat look like a sea-cliff, so we had to see what we had below.
We ended up with some very nice Jaspers Cheese, from the Santaroga Valley **. it was curious stuff, but you know what, I think it brought us all closer together.
Mr.Sheephouse had his on some crackers with half a bottle of port.
He vanished for a day or so, and then emerged into the noon sun, waving some scraps of paper, his usually crisp white linen shirt stained with rummelled.
Yes, strange stuff, but it did a power of good.
Even Mog had some spread on a freshly caught Conger.

***

Let me take you back friends . . . waaaaay back.

Back to a time, some 40 years ago, when people were people.

Where cheese was guaranteed.

Where, looking back from this wonderful viewpoint of the 21st Century, we never had it so good!

Yes, it's the 1970's.

I never ever thought I would say this, but now I can see the '70's as some sort of cultural highpoint. It really is an astonishing thing to say that isn't it, who could have imagined that the Brown Decade could be considered to be anything other than ten years of nonsense.

Of course the nonsense was there, but I am going to be contentious here; rather like there are numerous people who say that "if you can remember the '60's you weren't really there", there are people at large who say the 70's was a time defined by Abigail's Party, Cheesy Pop Music, Flares and Moustaches. A time where every man looked like a catalogue advert, and where every woman drifted around in either a.) dreamy, flowing dresses or b.) platforms and midi-skirts. The men were either Bond or Bowie, Carradine or Travolta, or (ahem) The Fonz; the women either Greer, Twiggy, Farah Fawcett or a 'Dolly Bird'.

Lovely to be able to gather culture together so neatly eh!

Well folks, it was almost nothing like that.

I have a good memory for these things.

The 70's started out in a semi-impoverished state where the greyness of the late 40's and early 50's was still carried over, blended with new found-60's freedom and an unhealthy dose of Americana, and ended in a massive release of youth-inspired energy, which tore down the walls for ever.

It was a time of strikes, factions, civil outrage, injustice and very real violence - you could get your head kicked in pretty much anywhere .

Football violence, racial violence, plain stupidity.

The youth of the day also had a lot to be angry about and they showed it - no wonder - look at the clothes they had to wear!
Ah, clothing, the great leveller - what a joyous subject. Strangely, these days the '70's are a lot less lampooned than they used to be, or should be, but by Jingo . . why?
WHY?
There were some truly shocking styles, running the gamut from Hippy-inspired Chic, through Droopy Collars and Hipsters, Velveteen, Corduroy, Tanktops, Tesco's PVC Bomber Jackets ('Tesco's Bomber' - always a term of insult on my estate) through to Levi 501's, Doctor Martens, Braces, Sta-Press, Ben Sherman, Brushed Denim, Rayon, Lee Cooper, Brentford Nylons and a healthy dose of design blindness.

Adults started the decade still looking sort of like their Mums and Dads, then had a quick run by Jason King's house for some nice gear and a droopy moustache, and by the end of the decade they were the newly burgeoning Yuppie generation.
Kids wore what they were told to, and it was always awful.
Strangely for me, I escaped a large amount of this 'stylishness' simply because my parents couldn't afford it, so it was Green Flash or Rucanor plimsouls, Levi jeans (cos they lasted longest), Fred Perry polo shirts (ditto) and a hand me down windcheater!

Two Pages From The Oracle.
Mid-1970's Kays Catalogue

Very Typical Indeed. Nice.

Just About Every Girl That Got On The 114 Bus Looked Like This

It was a world away from the now populist cod-70's view based upon the magazines of the time (oh the power of advertising - it was so good, it is now taken as historical accuracy!) and perpetuated and evolved from the 'Yeah Baby' Austen Powers view of the 60's.

Anyway, I have headed off across country again, so let's get back on the main road . . vroom vroom!

In the early '70's my friend Steve and I used to indulge in something which these days would be questionable.

If not downright dangerous.

And frowned upon.

Can you imagine, two twelve year old lads left to their own devices.

What are they going to do?

Yes, you've guessed it . . . head up to London on their own and spend the day wandering around museums!

We had two favourites - the Geology Museum (literally one of the finest and most interesting museums I have ever been in) and the absolute pinnacle, The Imperial War Museum.

(I had been fascinated with all things war from a very early age and it still surprises me that I never joined the Army, but then again all that male bonding stuff was never my scene. I can sort of imagine what it would have been like though, after working for a summer with the Forestry Commission: they were a hard bunch of guys, both drinkers and talkers, but I sort of found my footing and actually the cameraderie they showed towards me is something I have an incredible fondness for.)

Anyway, more digression. The Imperial War Museum (or just IWM from now on) is an incredible place. And it isn't all battles and bombs and tanks and subs either. It has a huge social aspect to it, and I suppose, now, thinking back, this was what I found fascinating.

My mother had been a nurse at Ashridge Hospital dealing with burns victims (one of them a poor RAF pilot with 80% burns); my father an engineer at CAV involved in the manufacture of fuel injection systems for Merlin engines and so on. The roots of my wartime fascination were here, as there were cupboards in our house where there were lots of old looking things: my father's kitbag from when he had initially joined the Royal Artillery (though he was called back as a reserved occupation, being an engineer and all that); an ARP helmet; an ARP medical tin (with instructions!); a Royal Artillery collar badge; a Notts Forest Yeomanry badge; an Australian army hat (with a side that popped up); lots of stuff like that basically.

I suppose rooted in my subconscious were questions like: 

What must it have been like facing down the might of the German Armies?

Dealing with rationing and hardship?

Bombing and bad news?

That next silence after a V1's engine cut out, might well have your name on it.

Anyway, Steve and I used to get the tube and head up to town on a regular basis.

London at the time was nothing like it is now. Yes, it was the hub of the nation. Yes, it was incredibly busy. Yes, it was somewhat daunting. But it was also fascinating and along with that fascination, the museums occupied days for us - they were and still are incredible places.

Forget shopping . . we were teenage boys!

How could we be bored in London when there was all that free entertainment!

We interspersed our museum visits with trips to HMS Belfast, and long walks along the South bank of the river between the Belfast and Tower Bridge.

These days it is unrecognisable. Not that I've been there since the late 1970's, but you see it on TV and in films - changed beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Back then, it was a labyrthine collection of warehouses and wrecked buildings, dirty, tired streets and pends. Evidence of war was still very obvious.

It was littered with small greasy spoons and pubs, bric-a-brac shops and stables, warehouses and manufacturers, occupied by remnants of London's mid-low underclasses: shabby old men and proto-bag ladies; hardened teenagers; neat gentlemen working hard at their trade; workmen in Transit vans going about shady looking business; draymen with horse-drawn drays and cheery road sweepers. Newsagents shops, billowing fag smoke out onto the street, occupied by older ladies and gents of the wartime generation who remembered what it was like to have incendiary bombs raining down on their heads.

The pubs were run down and brown from decades of smoke. Bodies slumped in gutters, not from drugs, but from whisky and rum and beer.

In a word, it had character.

But back to the main meat and potatoes . . . during my first visit to the IWM, I purchased something which I wish I still had . . but it fell apart years ago.

It was a poster, a fairly large one actually, but I loved it, because it said something.
I stuck it on my wall, and absorbed its message, which is a truism more appropriate today than it ever was.

This poster was designed by the cartoonist Kenneth Bird, otherwise known under his pseudonym ‘Fougasse’.
He was the Art Editor for Punch from 1937 – 1948.
Pure genius, and like most of Bird’s propaganda during the Second World War, given to the nation.

If  ever a hammer was used to crack a nut it was the Careless Talk campaign - simply brilliant, managing to get home the importance of wartime secrecy in the very foundations of society, in a funny but utterly memorable way.
They were the work of Kenneth Bird otherwise known as 'Fougasse', a cartoonist and editor for Punch magazine.
They are graphic design heaven, and  I can say that because I trained as one!
To my mind they sum up the war years perfectly. Their clean lines and concise use of words getting a profound message across in just a glance, sending you on your way with a laugh and a smile and a remembered point.

Here are some more for your enjoyment and elightenment:

As you can see, it was an extensive campaign.
Don't you just love how he has managed to incorporate Hitler and Goering into most of the images.
Having heard the phrase 'Walls Have Ears' used frequently during my life I can only concur that it found its way into the national consciousness, which was the intention in the first place.
Incredible the power of good copy isn't it!

So why am I showing you all this stuff from 60 years ago?

Simple really.

The message has never been more necessary!

Far from it for me to tell you what to do, you have to realise one thing, these days, walls really do have ears!

From the inappropriate Facebook comment, to Tweeting about shite that you're unhappy with; from blethering aloud on the bus about just when you are going on holiday, to emailing a friend about just why you hate your boss, it is all out there, and all accessible. From the overheard and misconstrued remark, to the quotation taken out of context, you have to be cautious.

And total, stupid un-cautiousness is an obvious and very real danger these days.

I have sat on buses and heard people saying when they were going away and for how long. I've stood in B&Q and listened whilst a hapless husband has told his wife that the lock they were looking for to replace the broken one wasn't in stock, so did she think they could just shut the door and leave it unlocked!

Were I of a certain frame of mind, I could follow these people and bingo, an easy target for a burglary!

You know all the stories of arrests made because of Facebook comments, of Tweets that have gone awry.

I think people view the digital world we have created as some happy clappy playground, where everything is joy and light, and like a playground, adults will be around to protect you from the dark exterior. This is not the case at all. There are vast numbers of predators out there, both benevolent and malicious.

VAST.

And they all want one thing. You. Whether it be to protect you from yourself; whether it be to take away someone's (albeit often stupid) freedom of speech. Your money or identity? Your passwords or information?

The wolves are circling and there is little we can do about it.

This Blog will be being registered somewhere.

The thought police will even at this moment be wondering why I recommended the Olympus Trip 35 as the perfect covert camera (my post 'Granny Takes A Trip' is by far my most popular, and I am wondering whether that is due to the fact that it describes the Trip as covert).

In other words we are being monitored, 24/7 as they say in the colloquial. Big Brother is here and now and masquearding as a benevolent Big Brother, working hard to help you live a happy life so that you can keep paying your taxes and knuckling under.

And it is utterly bizarre to me to think how the simple world of my childhood (where two twelve year olds could walk relatively safely around the more down-at-heel parts of Central London) has been so vastly changed.

These days, lone children are viewed with suspicion, and you know what, being suspected and expected of being suspicious can only lead to one thing in a rebellious mind! Rebellion. 

Trust has been replaced with fear. Truth has been replaced with falsehood.

The real guardians are gone and the wolves rule the forests.

The digital plantation owners are the establishment, and you'd better believe that for all the lovely, generous bonhomie, there is a truly serious price to pay.

You are watched and tracked and monitored.
Your phone is as good as a voluntary tracking device.
Every word you type and send out into the world; every unguarded remark.
Your registration with Facebook and Twitter shackles you to machines that crunch everything about you - likes  and dislikes, thoughts, preferences, whereabouts. ***

For all our so-called 'freedom' we are hardly free.
The machine age is here, we are in thrall to it.

Can you imagine?
Mankind without freedom?

Why, that sounds a lot like slavery to me.

Be safe, and be guarded.

Thanks for listening, God bless for reading, and remember, this Sunday, on the 11th hour, of the 11th day, of the 11th month, all those men, women and children who gave their lives for something that is fast becoming, in today's upside-down world, an abstract concept.

Walls Have Ears

You Never Know Who's Listening.


** http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Santaroga_Barrier

*** http://isc.sans.edu/diary.html?storyid=5728

*** http://www.buzzom.com/2012/06/companies-use-twitter-more-than-facebook-to-gather-information-about-the-market-and-competitors/