Sunday, July 20, 2014

A Load Of Teen Spirit

Here we go again.

Oh, hush.


Some folk say that my photo style in distinctive. But I say I just want you to be sure you've found the right blog.  


Alistair loves this kind of thing. It inexplicably made me hungry.


I was at the seaside yesterday. This ├╝ber-cute pooch was my first photo of the day. I had to photoshop his lead out, mind. Yes, I like to set them free.  


This is a bird. If it was still in colour, I'd remember what sort it is. I DO remember that it's sitting on a lobster pot, mind. I had a photo of a seagull sitting on a wooden post with the sea behind it that I was going to use at this point. But then I realised it wasn't interesting.


Roof tiles. And they could do with a scrub, let's be honest.


Scruffy starlings. One of those two words is unnecessary.


A bluetit (I think) and a sparrow play peek-a-boo. They're probably discussing the inclusion of porridge oats, most of which ended up on the lawn.


I'm told this is a Siskin. That's a new one on me.


A lady blackbird searches for its mate. I saw him about, but he was a shifty bugger, and looked like he'd been drinking.


I'm going to stick my neck out and say this is a great tit? Someone will correct me, I'm sure. Or giggle. He was a handsome little sod - and nicely focused - whatever he was.


A bollard. Ahoy!


Two horse police constables, walking the beat.


If Slash was a horse?


This little beauty wandered over to the car and stuck her nose in through the open window. I thought this was lovely, but she was distressed by my lack of apples and polo mints, and wandered off.


And to finish, this lad. For some reason, this reminds me of Kurt Cobain.

It's probably the hair.

That, and he left a load of teen spirit in the middle of the road. 


Indigo

This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009-2014


Sunday, July 06, 2014

Readier Than Me To Return

This entry is dedicated to my wonderful friend Jayne Martin. Without her, this would never have been written, and I'd be a far less happy individual. 

Thank you Jayne =) x



I am surrounded by flowers. 

The field is wide and crests the edge of the hill. The beautiful linseed blooms are a blue ocean, a long overdue tide. I've waited weeks to come up here, to wallow in its shallows, to watch the bees dance across its surface. 


Beneath me, the Earth goes about its business, oblivious. 

Beside me, my companion snores gently, enjoying the shade.  

And above me, the arms of the wind turbine circle lazily. We lie in the squat shadow of the turbine's tall trunk, the echoes of its blades turning close to our feet; the sun is high and just behind us. 

This is the hottest part of the day, and we timed our walk well. 

Better yet, we came prepared. A flask of cold water, its contents shared between a cup and a bowl, stands empty and capped nearby, readier than me for the return journey. 

My companion stirs besides me. She rolls and rises, stretching her legs and yawning hugely, before nosing and lapping at the last of the water in her bowl. That done, she settles back beside me. Her dark fur will follow me home after I return her to the dog sanctuary at the end of my shift. 

This is my final walk of the day, and I made it a good one. 

Shall we head back, Sweetie? I ask the border collie, fussing her absently. She raises her head and looks at me inquisitively, intelligently. Possibly she's unsure that she heard me correctly? Then she shifts her gaze towards the gyring shadow blades below us. The trio arc slowly, hypnotically. They mark the seconds, but stretch the minutes into downtime. 

Her point is well made. 

You’re right. I guess we're in no hurry.   

She thumps her tail appreciatively for a moment, and settles back to sleep.

I am lulled by the lazy humming of forgetful bees.

And I dream of the sea. 



Indigo

This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009-2014
All photos are copyright © Indigo Roth, 2014

Sunday, June 22, 2014

Framed In Floofy Clouds

Well, summer is officially here. I'm brimming with story ideas, but as I've been working at the animal sanctuary today, and have a new job to go to tomorrow, I hope you won't mind a few photos. 

Finally, I found some linseed in flower. Everywhere has been chock full of that dreadful yellow oil seed stuff this year, but the purple is now here. This is my favourite summer sight, I must confess. 


A wary chicken. They say objects in the rear view mirror appear closer than they are, so this lad must have been sitting right on my shoulder. He trashed my car soon after, and stole my credit cards.


I managed to get close to a wind turbine today, and found it framed in floofy clouds. Job done.


This lady donkey was attending a wedding at the local church. I think she'd already eaten her hat. And most of the flowers.


The galaxy's most evil chicken. Maybe I should give J. J. Abrams a call?


The camera loved this magnificent lad. Those horns!


I'm not sure if he's dozing off or enjoying a private joke. We may be related.


A little bokeh before we finish. Yes, linseed again. Lovely stuff.


Mr. Abrams was in agreement. May I present (spoiler alert!)...



Indigo

This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009-2014
All photos are copyright © Indigo Roth, 2014

Sunday, June 08, 2014

More Inverness Than Ipanema

Some things are timeless.

Tall and tanned and young and lovely

The floor is cold beneath my bare feet as I enter the airport, humming. The air conditioning hits me, a merciful icy blast after the midday furnace outside.

A woman in business dress - her long blonde hair in flight - pushes past me, singing a familiar tune.

The girl from Ipanema goes walking

The Girl from Ipanema? How odd; I was just thinking about that song. I turn to watch her retreating, determined gait and wonder if she’s singing along to something? But I see no earphones on her, and there’s no piped music in the air. I guess she must like singing in public?

Something touches my bare leg, and I glance down and find a five-year-old boy tugging at my knee. He looks up at me enquiringly, perhaps lost, his wide blue eyes twinkling under a mop-top haircut.

And unexpectedly, he begins to sing.

And when she passes each man she passes goes A-a-h!

The statement is clear, his young voice steady and in key. And it’s the next line of the song. Weird. His mother bustles over and tugs him away by the hand, throwing me an apologetic glance. She chastises the boy as they hurry away, and her sharp-but-musical words find my ears.

When she moves it's like a samba

They move away and out of earshot. I turn slowly, bewildered, to find a group of nuns in my path. One carries a guitar - this is an airport I suppose - and they all carry a tune. As the penguined choir divides and sweeps past on either side of me, the Ipanema refrain continues in three-part harmony.

That swings so cool and sways so gently
That when she passes
Each man she passes goes A-a-h!


There’s a particular delight in the delivery of that last line. My jaw drops. Cheeky nuns? Well, I’d always suspected, to be honest. Good grief, another sane day in Camp Roth. *

[ * Camp Roth is a location, not a rumour. ]

The air is cold on my shoulders as I start to walk forward again; I really should have brought something warmer for this place. Still, onwards.

Now, where was it I was going? As I ponder this, my mind a blank, an old man in a short-trousered military uniform and beret is wheeled towards me in a bathchair. Medals gleam on his chest, but despite the rakish moustache, his eyes are inert and introspective. Behind him, a helper - perhaps a granddaughter - in sensible sandals and a long flowing summer dress, continues the verse while surveying a shop window.

Oh - but he watches so sadly

As I approach, the head of the old man raises and turns my way. His eyes have found a shine to match the medals. He sweetly croons his life story.

How can he tell her he loves her
He would just give his heart gladly


They pass from view, and again I focus ahead, my feet squeaking on the polished marble. Was it Arrivals I wanted? Departures?

The thought goes from my head as a beautiful redhead in a dark blue dress strolls my way. Her smiling eyes are upward, her face enjoying the play of sun as she passes beneath the indoors palms of the airport. Her voice fills the air, sultry yet elusive.

But each day when she walks to the sea
She looks straight ahead not at he


Well, isn’t that the truth.

Still, she looks Scottish and not Brazilian. Yes, definitely more Inverness than Ipanema. Do I recognise her? She looks like someone I saw on TV, maybe? As if she senses my scrutiny, she turns to look me in the eye. There’s a smile on her lips, but it erupts into laughter as she glances down at my attire.

Waitaminute, what is it I'm wearing exactly?

I look down and realise I’m naked. Well, apart from the Union Jack gathered about my shoulders.

Indigo Roth's Naked Flag In An Airport
I bend further down and hope it’s long enough. I sigh. It’s not.

The dreamy lady continues to laugh at me. I think it’s at this moment, with those exact words, that I realise I’m dreaming. Yes, it all makes sense; I’m naked in a public place, wrapped in a flag, and the woman of my dreams is laughing at me.

Not for the first time, I curse my subconscious.

It’s definitely out to get me.

I feel the imposing grasp of security guards on my arms. I don’t resist. I could spread my wings and fly out of this place, or sublime into smoke, or open my eyes and find myself in my bed.

But the lilting tune on the lips of the redhead holds my gaze as they drag me away to the cells. As she waves her delicate fingers and blows kisses to the guards, I feel the flag slip from my shoulders.

The tune may be timeless, but the experience is not.

Tall and tanned and young and lovely
The girl from Ipanema goes walking
And when she passes he smiles
But she doesn't see
No she doesn't see...




Indigo

This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009-2014.
With thanks to Karen Gillan. Not that she knew.

Sunday, June 01, 2014

Rolling Around In Circles

Sunday again. They roll around in circles so quickly. The sun was out, the sky was blue, the clouds were fluffy, and frankly the camera sounded more fun than a keyboard. So there. Enjoy.


I have a soft spot for bees. Well known fact. The little sods refuse to stay still for portraits, however. I tripped over and took this photo by accident. Which only goes to show, etc.
 

I really like this. It has posts and wires, but the sweep of the tractor trails leads me all the way in. This might make next year's calendar.


I had two versions of this, which are very different. But together, they looked the same. One had to go. This is a prime example of Life imitating Life.


Now, can you tell me this fella is not a VERY cheeky lad? I'm a sucker for a cheeky animal, and it was very hard not to give him the sugar in my pocket. I don't think he would have been able to open the paper sachets, mind.


When he finished being cheeky, he wandered closer and tried being adorable. And, as you can see, he totally nailed it.


One of his friends, in glorious soft focus. Does anyone want to sing "White Horses" with me? Do you not remember the black-and-white children's serial? Click here to hear the theme song. I guarantee you'll be humming it all day and swearing about me. Especially Lesley. You're welcome.


For Alistair. Because he likes this kind of thing.


For me. Because I like this kind of thing.


The sun was behind the church, and very bright. This is problematic. But I switched the high-definition contrast on, and let the camera do the heavy lifting. It's a bit overdone, but the front of the church is clear as day. The quirky angles add a bit of atmosphere, too. Spookeh.


I have no idea. I hope that Diane, Cheryl or Ms. Bobations will be able put me straight on this one. They're absolutely tiny, hence the dodgy purple fringing on the image.


Another purple, for which I apologise. But at least I know what this one is. Well, I'm told this was referred to by my Grandfather as "poor man's geraniums" at any rate. Any takers?


An offbeat one, for my lovely friend Katherine "Kato" Kellesis. Kato and her sister Krista are explorers of urban decay and trespassing to photograph it, the little tinkers. This is a bit more rural, but I thought of you, my dear. 


For foreigners. Because they can't get enough of this kind of thing. Red phone boxes are sadly rather rare these days, and one next to a post box was too good to miss. The post box is old. See the "GR" on it? That means "George Regus", and it was installed when one of the Georges was on the throne. Perhaps after a curry.

Finally, this lad. Words fail me. Tho not him perhaps.


Actually, I think this needs a caption?


Indigo

This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009-2014
All photos are copyright © Indigo Roth, 2014

Sunday, May 25, 2014

And A Romantic One To Finish

Well, Sunday again, and not a word written. The good news is I have some concrete ideas ready to roll, but I have been somewhat distracted by the demands of job hunting. So, as is quickly becoming my norm, here's some nice pikchers.


The view across the back gardens of a quaint local village. Quite why (and how) I was in this back garden I cannot say. What would the Americans say? "I plead the Fifth."


Some kind of iris next to a pond. Hence the netting. Tho it gives is a "Matrix" feel, don't you think? Of all the flowers by the pond, this is The One. "Do you think that's water you're drinking?"


I believe this is a campanula, in one of those hues that gardeners insist on calling "blue" rather than "purple". I object on chromatic grounds, Yer Honour!


A Californian poppy with Forget-Me-Nots chasing. Perhaps they're pilot fish of some sort? I like the colour contrast, whatever they are.


Love-in-a-Mist. I have no idea why. I assume botanists smoke much of what they grow, and then name them. It makes me think of the deadly blooms in Jumanji.


Pink. Definitely.


My folks' back garden. Yes, yes, all arty and from ground level. It's amazing what the lens can do to upright things; those camapula are fine upstanding citizens normally.


An unusual post box, the first rural one I've seen embedded in a wall. I stopped the car suddenly, and narrowly avoided a remodelling of my tail section.


This is what the Boffins in Cambridge call "a chimney".


A couple of shifty-looking jackdaws...


... yes, they're definitely up to something.


So tell me... PICTURE 1 or...


... PICTURE 2? I'm divided.


Thistles! For Alistair and Gabrielle, who have been patiently waiting for me in Scotland for months. I'll be there soon, you two, honest injun!


A wild rose! Yes, a romantic one to finish.


Indigo

This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009-2014
All photos are copyright © Indigo Roth, 2014