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. 

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.

Is your Christmas lickin' good?

Wishing you a Merry Christmas with, I hope, a more succulent bird than the colonel will produce at KFC.  Photo taken on Rye Lane, from top deck of bus on a sunny, winter's 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. 

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.

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.

Odd couples

Today on Radio Four I heard that H G Wells’ father used to own a shop that sold china and sports equipment. Footballs and porcelain is a pretty daft retail proposition, so too is the offer of teas, coffees, and tennis re-stringing in a shop in the Elephant and Castle. As you can see, this rather sublime venture is now boarded up. A friend tells me there’s a stall on Rye Lane in Peckham selling bras along with brassicas, but I have yet to find it. Must try harder.

We love Peckham

My experience of Peckham’s riot was sonic: screaming sirens and helicopters noisily circling for two days and nights. A few days later and Rye Lane has returned to its usual bustle, although one shop stands as a blackened skeleton and others have boarded-up windows. Among them is Poundland. Boards covering its smashed windows have become a ‘peace wall’ of post-it notes, a spontaneous outlet for the community to counter the lunacy. 

Peckham: love and loathing

For some it inspires fear and loathing, but many of us love Peckham. We love its vibrancy. Its energy… craziness… diversity… humour. But, I confess that a stroll down Rye Lane is not always a walk in the park. It can be confrontational. So, if I’m feeling less than resilient, I go to one of the other nearby haunts: East Dulwich, Nunhead or Forest Hill where the pace is more sedate. And it’s rare to see a murder poster in a window with nets.

Let them eat cake

I was walking down Rye Lane in Peckham when a bird winged past me and into a Caribbean bakery. I followed the bird in and photographed it as it helped itself to delicious ginger cake crumbs. The staff of the bakery were utterly unperturbed and just looked on. Once the bird had eaten its fill, it flew back to the street. Later I identified it as a Pied Wagtail (with one sore foot).