Social Failures

This afternoon in Stranraer I stumbled across a protest in the town centre, a group of maybe 30-40 folks setting out their stalls (literally) to protest against the `Bedroom Tax’ and other social injustices.

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Kudos to them for getting off their backsides to object.

But please, in the interests of being taken seriously:

  1. learn some vocabulary. The greater majority of political objections I’ve seen north of the Border centre on the simplistic phrase `[Scotland] says no to’ (be it a local proposed windfarm or tax scheme); how stupid does on have to presume one’s listeners to be that `opposes’  or `rejects’ are too complicated?
  2. learn, or better, write, some protest songs. And learn to sing. Screeching an ungrammatical Louis Jordan song from 1944 into a microphone, accompanied by electric guitar, rather detracts from the message.

Hardly surprising that I had the Dire Straits song Industrial Disease going through my head all afternoon – `there’s a protest singer, singing a protest song’…

Recursion

image

…see recursion.

One of the many shots that have changed since I was last in Perth – the remains of an estate/letting agent, ironically now itself up for sale. It’s not like Perth didn’t have enough such shops elsewhere in the legal/restaurant/cultural district, so I’m a bit surprised they even bothered trying out here.

Our Earth Was Once Green

A few months ago, when we moved into the area, one of the first local scenes I spotted was this view of beech trees along the brow of a small hill, running along the side of a fence, terminating with a gate and a hawthorn tree.

I managed to capture the view with the remnants of snow as the deeper drifts melted away:

Some Trees

Some Trees

and I wrote a previous article about what set that image apart from a quick mobile snap of the scene as well.

As a photographer, I was looking forward to capturing the scene in varying seasons – indeed, I could anticipate my output becoming repetitive and running out of inspiration for different ways to portray it.

I got as far as two variations.

First, The Answer: tall beech trees, covered in new foliage for the onset of summer, blowing in the wind:

the answer

The Answer

and then an evening portrait of summer skies with blue wispy cirrus clouds above the trees:

Some Sky

Some Sky

In the past week, the impressive beeches have been cut down; a drain pipe has been laid just this side of the trees, the fence is removed and the whole hillside has been ploughed so what used to be an expanse of green grass is currently brown soil. I guess at least that won’t last long before it recovers.

Our Earth Was Once Green

Our Earth Was Once Green

Yesterday evening I caught a TV programme about Scotland’s landscape, from the point of view of some awful Victorian book, a rather romantic tourist guide for “picturesque” views, the programme showing the contrast with tourists’ search for an “authentic experience” of Scotland – yet pointing out how, more or less by definition, to be a tourist is inevitably to be an uninvolved spectator.

One of the guests in the programme was a local photographer, who explained how landscape photographers struggle with the dichotomy of presenting the landscape as timeless, pure, untainted by human hand, whilst knowing in the back of their mind that they’re perpetrating a myth through selectivity, that the landscape is far from wild and natural – the deforestation dates back 8 millenia to pre-history, what now appears as Highland heather-clad grouse-moor heath used to be crofting land prior to the Clearances, etc.

While landscape used to be my chosen genre of photography, and a fair proportion of what I now shoot – including the above – still qualifies as such, I think it’s time to recognize that landscape photography is not just about the tourist photographer seeking ever-wilder ever-more-northern scenery, nice as that can be, but rather includes potentially less travel whilst valuably documenting the landscape changing from year to year, whether those changes arise from natural forces or human intervention.

Social Provisions

A juxtaposition.

Social Provision

In 1875, local blacksmith John McWilliam presented Stranraer with a well/pump, originally installed near his forge on Sun Street but now moved round the corner to Lewis Street.
In the background, there’s the peculiar architecture of council accommodation. A grim grey desaturated processing seemed appropriate…

Moved On

At a guess, I’m assuming the dental practice that was here has moved on.

A disused former dental practice building, Lewis Street, Stranraer

Perhaps the NHS should update their webpage, although the banner image serves to illustrate the former glory of the building.

Delusions of Grandeur

A small scooter covered in silvery rear-view mirrors, Portpatrick harbour

You can have as many shiny mirrors as you like, but the view will still only be the thick blue smoke coming out the back. 
For the past couple of days the Lowland Scooter Club seem to have taken up residence in the village. The noise and smell of scooters passing by has been, er, distinctive…

the mind of a dog-walking automaton

damaged crash-barrier beside the B738 Dunskey Road

In the course of this morning’s walkies, Dog & I passed a police van with blue lights flashing, finishing-up at a small scene of wayside destruction.

I’ve been mulling over the nature of interactions with road users for a few months. Every day, we walk along roads (single-lane A- trunk and B- country, such as this), all national speed limit (max 60mph for cars). Being dutiful citizens, we tend to follow the Highway Code and stroll along the right of the road facing into oncoming traffic, as one might expect.

Being logical, I like to think in terms of a table of combinations of possible encounters:

  • A given oncoming vehicle’s speed may be such that they pass way too fast, pass at a comfortable speed, or dawdle slowly past. The distance they pass can be too close (ignores me standing in the gutter), smoothly swerved round to give an extra meter gap, or they can indicate and cross to the other side of the road. Degrees of interaction vary from car-occupants who gawp and stare, to those who appear to consciously avoid eye-contact, a few who nod, some who raise a finger above the steering wheel, some who smile, to those who wave, sometimes even enthusiastically.
  • My normal dog-walking position is along the side of the road, with Dog on the grass verge beside. According to circumstances, I can variously hop onto the verge myself, I can stop to help them pass (particularly if the road is narrow or there’s traffic coming in both directions), and/or I can nod, smile or wave (sometimes even enthusistatically if I recognize the driver).

So, what combinations constitute the happiest encounters? To be clear, I don’t find comparatively high speeds inherently worrying – otherwise I wouldn’t walk beside roads with a 60mph limit; within reason, driving briskly only minimizes the encounter time, which is fine – we’ve all got places to go. I do find it horribly rude when drivers slow down so much and stare, as though Dog & I were some kind of roadside exhibition for their tourist pleasure, especially if I’ve paused to let them pass – it’s a presumption on my time. Considering the combinations of possible action and response above, I notice that happiness is maximized, not in simple direct proportion to the magnitude of a gesture (a wave beats a nod, etc), but rather when a gesture is present but middling (pulling out a yard beats overegging it and crossing the white lines to the other side of the road – what kind of an obstacle am I?!).

Those are the minutiae of decisions. Returning to the bigger picture, to reduce encounters to a simple matter of speed and law would be to neglect a vital other dimension: in acknowledging when other parties show consideration, however small, we acknowledge their humanity. We do not exist in islands made of metal boxes, but we live in relationship to a community of all road users; therein enjoyment can be found.