Time, gentlemen

In a local cemetery, one of the head-stones refers to the deceased as ‘a gentle man’. We’re so used to the word ‘gentleman’ we don’t think about how it starts with ‘gentle’.

 

The term - gents - seems to belong to black and white movies, and it’s odd to describe the enterprise as a hairdressers rather than barbers. The forlorn business is just off Rye Lane in Peckham. Clad in black, it looks funereal and definitely out of time. No doubt it’ll be swept away like so many hair trimmings.

The cone and the crown

It’s been one of those days. This morning as I travelled on a bus through Rye Lane I saw a police operation… uniforms moving fast. Moments later a collection of limousines, the shiniest I’ve ever seen, parked outside Rye Lane Chapel on double-yellow lines. There was a funeral. Then, when I reached the West End I spotted Prince Charles in the back of a (shiny, of course it was shiny) black car (his presence announced by a police outrider blowing a whistle). But all this was topped by the sound and sight of a guy who looked like he lived on the street. There he was outside Oxford Circus Tube making music with a traffic cone. I kid you not. He blew into one end and out the other end came ‘Hey, Jude’ as if played on a trumpet, sort of. I didn’t have my camera. Shame. Loads of others did and an Irish guy said to me after he’d finished filming: ‘That’s going straight on YouTube.’ Lots of people tipped money into the inventive musician’s paper cup. 

Putting a spell on you

I’d never noticed the whacky spelling on this defunct business in Peckham until the other day. I would guess that it was not lesions that were on offer but driving lessons. In any case, the collision of one word with the other would turn off most learner drivers.

And how about the bonkers sign in Abu Dhabi offering univeersity research, forigen translation and overce (now that’s ingenious) calling. Somehow I don’t think I’ll be searching out their advertised help with my curriculan vitae. 

The fan and the fire

Long absent from the blog because I’ve been travelling. Yes, ventured out of Peckham!

So, there I was in Abu Dhabi… when I spot this odd scene. To the right is an electric fan plugged into an energy source inside the abandoned café. To the left is a construct containing a small heap of burning coals. The fan is directed at them in order to keep them alight. But, why? As I ponder this a guy comes along and lights his cigarette from the coals. Then he saunters off to his building site, one of many in this land of petroleum fortunes. The explanation, surely, is that lighters and matches are banned on site and the Heath Robinson contraption is a way to get round this. Ingenious. Daft.

A homage to Lee Miller

I took this photo because the scene reminded me of a famous shot taken by Lee Miller: 'Portrait of Space, near Siwa, Egypt'. Hers depicts a desert landscape beyond a rip in a fabric. Mine, a shop in Choumert Road, off Rye Lane in Peckham, which is seen through a tear in the cover for a vegetable stall. And here’s the contents of the  market stall. Bright and peppery. 

I thought the lay-out of this blog entry would be the words sandwiched between the photo of the rip, and the peppers, but, hey, it's gone tits-up. I'm confounded once again by technology. Never mind. With luck you get the message.

Phantasmagoric Peckham

When I began taking photos I’d worry about whether I'd taken a good picture. Luckily, there were  photographers around to advise me, mostly because of street photography workshops held in Tate Modern (thank you, Sophie Howarth). Now, years later, friends who are successful photographers and artists (Phil Polglaze, Derek Moore, Nick Cobb, Chris Clack) give me pointers. But I’m starting to trust my own judgement. When I looked at this photo, snapped on Rye Lane in Peckham, it triggered a ‘Wow!’ Here you see it in miniature, so you will miss some of the detail. But this, I think, is a good photo. It zings.

... or somefing

As I sat on the bus in Peckham I looked over at the phone box, which smells of pee (this I know because I’ve stood at the nearby bus-stop many a time) and I thought about how I’d seen a Snappy Snap shop that recently had closed. And, I thought, yes, Snappy Snaps is really old technology and for historic-recording purposes I decided to take a photo of the poster. As I depressed the shutter two boys peeped from the side of the phone box. They’d been hiding. Next thing: a voice from behind me, a man talking rather loudly into his mobile: ‘Someone’s taking a picture of kids. Paedophile or somefing.’ To say I was shocked gets close to how I felt. I put my camera away for the day.

Sharing the love

Just what is it that I love about Peckham, excluding words like: exuberant, colourful, crazy, thrusting, energetic, in-your-face, unpretentious? Apart from those qualities, it’s the notion that all life is there. Some bit of ‘all life’ can be found there doing its thing… often with attitude.

Take a butchers

Rye Lane in Peckham must have a dozen butcher shops. Now, there’s a new, trend-setting boy on the block. Note the modern (boudoir?) wall-paper! This butcher sells only red meat: beef, lamb and goat. The place is stream-lined and the background music is contemporary. All the other butcher establishments, except this one, sell a range of goods from parrot fish to plantain; peppers to yams. All of them sell chickens that can only be described as scrawny, except this one. No chickens. 

New apprenticeship scheme?

You can never start ‘em too young! This headline conforms to the image Peckham holds in the imagination. They’re all out nicking, aren’t they?

Well, no. On Peckham Rye at the weekend, there were A-4 home-made posters tacked to trees and railings appealing for help in finding a ‘loved ferret’. There was the couple walking at the right pace for their three-legged Yorkshire terrier. And, a game of five-a-side football; three of the players were women. A land of contrasts.

rather too much spirit

Looking at photos taken in mid-70s London during the Winter of Discontent (the photo of men warming themselves on the street with a meagre fire fed with cardboard boxes, stood out) I overheard one of the Hairy Bikers say: ‘God, it looks Victorian!’ We were at Tate Britain’s photography exhibition: ANOTHER LONDON, International Photographers Capture City Life 1930-1980. The images ranged from foggy romanticism or destitution to funny and touching; the usual class consciousness and displays of British spirit. One photo showed a young married woman, on her knees, scrubbing her doorstep. Who does that now and who thinks their neighbourhood status is connected to their doorstep?

In the spirit of Victorian-looking poverty pictures, I offer this, taken a few years ago from a bus as it made its way through Peckham.

Star lunch

Photo taken today outside a Peckham café. As it happens I know the man who ate everything on the plate, bar the crusts. He works in pest control and once came to my house to eradicate it of mice. I, too, ate lunch at this café: £2:50 for bubble and squeak, fried egg and tomatoes. Delicious, filling, convivial and all this for £2:50!

Moving up a register. On the radio this morning it was said that, following on from his Olympics/Grand Slam success, Andy Murray stood to earn One Hundred Million Pounds. Achieving millionaire status… it’s so yesterday.

War: what is it good for?

I came across this painting on a wall in Peckham. The image is powerful and the words puzzling. If war’s not a man’s thing, it certainly ain’t a woman’s thing. Does it mean that war is a technology thing… played out with and by  machinery? For sure, the soldier is lumbered with weaponry and gadgets. Or does it mean that being a man does not equate with being a warrior? Whatever. It’s a statement to stop you and start a debate, even if only with yourself.

Do I look pretty in this?

Dogs feature large at the annual Peckham Rye Fete. Held this weekend, the fete, as usual, attracted lots of people who ambled and did things like eat cakes, buy ephemera, watch Punch & Judy, chat and generally gather on the common land as if we were at a medieval fair. I bought books, garden plants (six for a fiver), and a pot of ‘sunrise’ marmalade, which is a layer of lemon over orange. Last time I came across the word sunrise attached to something I could consume, it was a tequila sunrise but that was a long time ago. The greatest attraction of the fete, though, is always the dog show. This boxer was a contender in the fancy dress competition. He didn’t win, but he was a contender. 

Killer Fridge

                            I’m stumped for a comment on this headline, except, REALLY! 

Bowled over

How often do you see a gent wearing a bowler hat? Here’s one. He’s on Rye Lane in Peckham (everything a pound!) For once the road is clear of thundering buses and exhaust(ing) cars because after an accident, police had taped off the road.

Window shopping

On the bus (coming back from Tate Modern’s Edvard Munch exhibition; lots of angst but no Scream) I spotted this man outside an Afro-Caribbean hair and beauty shop on Peckham’s Rye Lane. When I later zoomed into the photo I saw that some products are made by Fair & White or Soft ‘n’ White; there’s even a Whitening Cream, which I thought was illegal. I like the photograph, not sure about the products.

God and Country

The Rye Lane Chapel in Peckham appears to advocate turning not only to Christianity but to royalty in our battle to avoid sin. In any case, the image of the Queen, like an infinite granny, is quite cheering.

Dogs, balls, poo

People in Peckham like to do it large. And, so do their dogs. A friend’s dog is known as Two-Balls Alfie because he’s only happy if walking with two balls in his mouth. One winter morning as I crossed Peckham Rye I saw a woman scooping up her dog’s poo into a plastic bag. ‘Oh,’ I said, ‘what a way to start the day.’ ‘Well,’ she said, ‘it warms your hands up.’

Dodgy broilers

Steaming hot day and Rye Lane is packed with shoppers and dawdlers. I’m one of them. I spot the sign in one of the many butchers where broiler chickens hang by their feet, ready for the pot. As I took the photo, three guys behind the one in the foreground turned away, not wanting to be captured.