Ace Jet 170

Waterworld

 

Oxfam Bookshop, some time last year. Two tattered volumes from around 1910 of technical data relating to the waterways of the UK. Edge to edge text. But…throughout one volume, maps. Flipping beautiful maps.

Annotated with proposals for new works, overprinted with routes, amendments and notable features, the maps looked as fresh and clean as the day they were born.

That overprinted text. Lovely.

 

 

The staff found them tricky to price, with no real precedent, and I actually paid more than they asked for. There's a bargain and then there's fair play.

 

Paris in your pocket

 

I've always said that I only really miss two things about England: Pubs and London. We took full advantage of both while we could, wandering and drinking as we went — the perfect way to enjoy a city.

I found this in the Oxfam Bookshop on the Portobello Road and snaffled it up for the surprisingly tiny price of £1.99. I have a weakness for pocket city guides. Imagine wandering the streets of Paris with this in hand instead of your phone. 

 

The Bogside

 

 

I spent a day in Derry last week. I've been a few times before but with children, in bad weather, and with no real motivation to do anything in particular. We walked the city walls, got soaking wet…went to the pub and watched the racing, as I remember.

Last week I was flying solo, on a professional assignment and the sun it was a'shining.

I avoided the walls for a while, explored the city's inner workings then hovered at its west side exit, Butcher's Gate. The road beyond leads, in a south-westerly direct, down to the Bogside.

I can't deny that I was a bit nervous about heading down that way.

The Bogside is a sprawling, largely Catholic/Republican enclave, sitting outside the city walls and, you might say, in its shadow – remember I said 'down to the Bogside'. As the name suggests, a long time ago this was not a place you would want to live. And that's why, when us English muscled our way across the island of Ireland around the 1600s, those that we didn't like were pushed down this way, into the quagmire. Even today it's not particularly pretty.

It has a complex history but once you know some of it, you can imagine why resentment was sparked, grew, manifested itself in violence and, in some areas, remains.

So, I was a bit nervous about heading down that way.

We like to think we live in enlightened times and certainly, since I began working in interpretation design, I have found myself more and more considering all sides of a story. It could be said that that is one of the missions of interpretation design – to provoke and to reveal – to give an impartial view of (always) multi-facetted stories; to tell us the things we didn't know and to change our view to a fully informed one.

Living in Northern Ireland, that seems particularly important.

An English man in the Bogside, you can easily imagine, is not a welcome one and my trepidation remained even though I barely skimmed the periphery of the area.

 

Two things I noticed…

One was that the longer I spent down there, the greater the feeling of excitement grew in me. Excitement tinged with fear. It was thrilling and for the first time I felt I was consciously tasting 'Dark Tourism'. I began to see why some people seek out a place with a grim history. In the case of the Bogside, I'm not sure 'history' is quite right, its past is still part of its present.

The other thing I noticed was that once you've walked down from the city walls to see the murals up-close and rising above you, they take on a greater power.

I live in East Belfast. It's largest Loyalist and not so far from us is an area of intense muralisation (that's not really a word but it'll do for now). The murals of East Belfast of very paramilitary. Lots of badges, crests and gun-toting, balaclava-wearing 'soldiers'.

The murals on the Bogside are more creative and conceptual. At least the ones you see on its edges. They tell stories and have social meaning. There's protest and cause in them. They feel like expressions of the subjugated, oppressed and victimised. 

I don't know anyone who suffered or lost people during the troubles, it's very distant from me. But I've learned a fair amount about Irish history and now have some insight into the bigger Irish picture, un-influenced by more direct and contemporary things.

Walking along the Bogside's edge, I felt that there was still reason for dark thoughts to be present in the shadows.

 

NYFlea

 

 

My tidy haul of ephemerality.

Part way between our Styversant Heights hideout and the big city was the Dumbo Sunday Brooklyn Flea, a small, well formed market of vintage goods. A perfect way to spend a morning before heading to Central Park for a family picnic (if a Saturday works better for you, then Williamsburg is the place to wander sinfully amongst the stalls of retro nonsense).

US FDC's and old school bingo cards were a dollar a pop.

Bowne & Co.

 

Bowne & Co. Stationers is billed as New York City's oldest continuously running business, founded as it was in 1775. Luckily for us, it happens to be a print shop.

If you're at the bottom of Manhattan, maybe to catch the free ferry to Staten Island or the not free ferry to Liberty Island, then you might as well take a walk up Water Street either before or after your voyage to buy letterpress prints from the shop and/or visit the South Street Seaport Museum which Bowne & Co partners. You can explore the museum's collections of photography, printing, ephemera, ship models and scrimshaws (carvings on marine mammal ivory) and the shops (there are two actually) sell a selection of irresistible and reasonably priced print porn.

It's a great location too, as you might expect right on the water's edge so there's plenty to see.

 

25 Years

 

 

Just back from NYC.

It was around 25 years ago that I first went to New York. It was a solo trip at a pivotal time in my personal life and the city energised and changed me. I returned a number of times both on my own and later with Karen, coming close to moving there in 2000. Our decision to not move in the end, given what happened the next year, was later to seam fortuitous, although of course at the time we had no idea why. 

Catastrophe aside, we never regretted our decision, choosing to get married and have a family instead. And although New York became a distant place, it didn't take much to fuel an urge to return: Seth wanted to holiday in a city, ideally Tokyo…New York would do. OK, we said, New York it is.

So, just over 19 years after our last visit, we were back, curious to see how the City had changed and expecting quite a different experience with two boys in tow this time, albeit 13 and 16 year olds fully engaged with our destination. Seth's sights were set on Koryo Books in Koreatown, bubble tea and the Line Friends store in Times Square. Noah (true to form) wanted an authentic New York bagel (Bagels & Schmear), pizza (2 Bros.), Xi'an noodles (Xi-an Famous Foods) and a pastrami on rye (David's Brisket House, Brooklyn).

As it turned out, we all managed to find what we wanted from the City and we had an awesome time; seeing some great sights, experiencing the unexpected, witnessing some sad things and coming home exhausted, with sore legs and plenty to show for our trip.

Yes, we saw changes: the High Line wasn't there before and, of course, the 9/11 memorial, which had a powerful effect on me. It was sad to see the demise of certain things and the unwelcome development of other things but it was also great to see improvements and positive developments that we weren't expecting.

It's a very personal response to the City but my stand-out experiences were:

• Wandering the neighbourhoods
• The subway signs that I hadn't noticed before
• Fishs Eddy (still as good as it was)
• Phil's Stationery (more about that amazing place later)
• Brooklyn Flea (Sunday in DUMBO)
• The massively improved Empire State Building visitor experience
• Anchorman in Bryant Park (a free event sponsored by Netflix)
• The Korean jazz band in Washington Square Park
• Bowne & Co. at South Street Seaport (again, more later)
• Walking the Brooklyn Bridge
• Getting absolutely soaked to the skin in a thunderstorm

Worth noting, we did New York on a bit of a budget; with, effectively, four 'adults' travelling during the main summer holiday, it was never going to be a low cost thing, so we looked for things to do that wouldn't cost $100 for us all to get into (I'm looking at you The Met), missing out on free MOMA on a Friday afternoon (it's currently closed) but winning with that fab outdoor film showing in Bryant Park, picnics in other parks, $1 a slice pizza from 2 Bros. and the High Line, amongst other things.

All my money went on vintage stationery. Man alive! The stationery!

 

Coast Stories

 

 

On Saturday 6 July, 2—10pm, I'll be selling my weird wares at the Seaside Revival Festival in nearby Bangor (Northern Ireland, for readers from other lands). I'm in the throes of creating a special coastal series of ThreadForms, using photos taken from around the coastline over the past 15 or so years (I knew I'd find a use for them!). Threaded lines, typed titles, found materials and original photos meet in 30 x 40cm frames.

Dublin: The accidental island

 

 

The North Bull Wall sticks out above the Port of Dublin in a kind of north easterly direction. Building began around 1820 and took 5 years. It was constructed as a breakwater and to hold back the North Bull sand bar which hindered the progress of ships bound for Dublin Bay.

A not entirely planned outcome was the forming of a 5km long island running parallel to the north Dublin coastline, now the multi-designated Bull Island; Bird Sanctuary, Biospehere Reserve, Nature Reserve, Special Protection Area, Special Area of Conservation and finally, a Special Amenity Area.

The North Wall, the southern edge of the island, is accessed across a wooden bridge and hoofing along it reveals evidence of that last designation. Dubliners love a swim. It’s integral to coastal life. I guess that can’t be unique but as someone who was raised in the land-locked midlands (of England) the sea, and the culture it stimulates, is still new to me despite by mature age.

Even on the freezing cold, wind-blown morning that I was there, there were old dudes in the water – accessed by concrete steps down into the sea from bathing booths. Remnants of a boom-time for the local community’s aquatic recreationals; their aquatreationals.

Apparently, water quality hit a low during the seventies which, perhaps explains why the dull grey bunkers were left unloved. But a concerted effort, begun in the eighties, has seen that addressed significantly. I can’t say if the swimmers I saw were stalwarts that have persevered through the murky-water days but considering it was a random chilly Wednesday morning in early April, their presence suggests the pastime is still a normal part of life in these parts.

Dublin: Bull Island—Raheny

 

 

Over the last two weeks I have, periodically, been walking the streets of Dublin's coastal villages as research for a Tandem project. Nice work if you can get it. The 130 bus carried me out of the city to Bull Island and Dollymount (more on the island later) from which I walked inland through St Anne's Park to the nearest DART station, at Raheny.

Once you're through the park, the scenery takes a distinct dip in quality as you scurry on, in appropriate haste, through an unfamiliar council estate, but after a little while you come into Raheny village. A bit better. Then, turn a corner, and behold!…Our Lady Mother of Divine Grace.

Rising like a great brutal pointy gateway to another world the Roman Catholic Church was designed by architects Peppard & Duffy and completed in 1962. The main entrance is distinctly modernist; an interpretation of romanesque churches and abbeys of Ireland with that arrangement of triangles that simultaneously points to both heaven and earth.

I think I accidentally approached from the perfect angle; my first site of the building was sudden and was preceded by mundanity at best so the effect is striking.

As ever, I have to add what is becoming a standard disclaimer: I can't find much about the church online. It's built on the site of an ancient holy well of St Assam, which was the name of the previous over burdened church.

A very short entry on Archiseek notes that the overall design is, 'Not completely successful, the remainder of the church is quite boxy', and I must admit that, after looking for more interesting views of the building I found none. All the effort must have gone into the entrance but maybe that's enough. It was for me.

Raheny station is almost literally at the back of the church so my progress was hardly hindered by this diversion.

 

 

Ship Heads

 

I don't really post anything specific about the day job here but I keep thinking about the work we did for the Titanic Hotel Belfast and, in particular, how it relates to things I enjoy most about what we do at Tandem.

The truth is, I stumbled into Tandem. I was only supposed to be there for ten months, covering someone's maternity leave. That was just over five years ago and, unless something drastic happens beyond my control, I have no intention of leaving.

I've completely fallen for interpretation design. Maybe I've explained this before – it's hard to keep track on what I put out on this blog – but, in summary: the work is worthwhile and we get to do great things with surprising means. It's hard, challenging work that takes us all over the island of Ireland mostly (although not exclusively). At its heart, interpretation design is loaded with values that bring cultural and societal enrichment. It's 'hearts and minds' stuff on the whole, rarely with a commercial objective.

Even with this particular project – where there is a commercial backdrop to the work we did – our focus was on preserving the stories and heritage of an important building now that it has been re-purposed as a fancy hotel.

You can read about this Titanic Hotel project on the Tandem website but here's a potted overview:

Titanic Hotel Belfast can be found right across the plaza from the 'World's Best Visitor Attraction' Titanic Belfast. The building was the Harland & Wolff Drawing Offices and Headquarters – originally designed, very cleverly, to give the designers of H&W's ocean-going vessels the very best conditions to work in. The two main drawing offices are vast, vaulted and many-windowed rooms positioned to make use of the northern (i.e. best diffused) light which swamps the spaces.

Putting that in context: other shipbuilders kept their draughtsmen in temporary sheds that they moved around their ship yards. By comparison, H&W's working conditions were literally second to none.

As part of the purchasing deal, the hotel operators were charged with being responsible for preserving the heritage of the building. And that's where we stepped in. We developed a bunch of 'light touch' interventions that highlight what working life within the building was like during H&W's glory days.

We referred to the plaques pictured above as 'Room Labels' – just one of the aforementioned interventions. They appear all over the original part of the building and tell visitors about each specific room, or original feature in some cases. They are my favourite part of the project.

A mahogany frame matches the timber work around the offices and an engraved brass surround (inspired by plaques found on H&W engines) frames a vitreous enamel text panel. The brass surround is based on the foolscap paper format which would have been used in the offices for admin docs. The H&W motif is the company's original motif.

Other interventions included routered Corian® wall panels that feature a floor tile pattern found in the building along with ships names or (as pictured) the job roles found within the walls of the Drawing Offices. 

Here and there, super-discrete pieces give visitors little moments of delight – like the engraved lamp base below which features an amusing quote from the one of H&W's big cheeses, Mr Wolff himself.

 

 

Unfolding Antwerp

 

 

1911, and little did the photo-etchers at Southampton's Ordnance Survey Office know, as they beavered away at their photo-etchings, that a soon to be formed Serbo-Croat nationalist group's resentment for the annexation of Bosnia and Herzegovina from Turkey would manifest itself in the brutal assassination of the Archduke of Austria and his wife by Serbian student Gavrilo Princip.

The etchers were as surprised as the printer when it all kicked off after that, with the Austrian government blaming the Serbian government; Germany offering to back-up the Austrians who promptly declared war on Serb-kind; Russia mobilised, calling on France to get stuck in; The Germans declared war on France and Britain declared war on Germany because they wouldn't get their troops out of neutral Belgium.

Them etchings ain't gonna etch themselves.

 

#theoldmenoforangefield

 

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For the past five years, during term time, I have found myself walking our dog around Orangefield Park, near to the Grammar school our boys go to. My oldest son – the one that's an actual giant – plays rugby and Saturday morning is more often than not match day. Just like it is throughout the western world no doubt.

I drop him off for pre-match training, give the dog a walk, then take my position pitch-side to shout a bit. It's great and although I don't have a long history of sportsfaning, 'The Rugby' has become a top-notch source of pleasure…and pain, of course. Such is the plight of the sportsfan.

Orangefield Park fills a gap between the school, a densely residential area, a key arterial road and a dodgy estate. Like many parks, it's a meeting place where people meet people they would never normally meet.

My favourite people are the old dudes. The grumpy, friendly, silent, chatty dog-treat packing, dog-walking, old dudes. 

I've watched, from the bushes, the ebb and flow of the old dudes. Sometimes walking solo, sometimes in pairs…occasionally in packs. I do engage with them – usually as our dogs are drawn to each other's odours – not least because I know that one day, I will be one of them.

I've been taking sneaky snaps of them whenever a back or gaze is turned. If you're on IG, you can follow the hashtag above to keep tabs on the park's most worthy patrons.

Ernest Hemisphere

 

 

Have I mentioned I love my job? Actually, have I mentioned what my job is? Yes, obvs, I'm a graphic designer but it would be more accurate to, now, describe me as an interpretation designer. I used to 'do brochures and stuff', now I do 'exhibitions and that'.

We (that is, Tandem) use the term 'Interpretation Design' (a specific discipline that I wasn't familiar with until I stumbled into my current position nearly five years ago) because what we do is much more than exhibition design. It encompasses exhibition design and lots of other disciplines too. As our Lord High Prophet of Interpretation, Freeman Tilden, described it, it is a discipline that encompasses many disciplines.

So now I design exhibitions…and visitor experiences and museums and interior spaces and interior interventions and architectural interventions and environmental interventions and wayfinding and public art and interpretive graphics…all underpinned by principles set out by the main man just over sixty flipping years ago.

Lots of what we do is connected to heritage or cultural stuff. So I often find myself rummaging through the kind of things I would love to rummage through whether I had this job or not. And often I'm lead down tracks I'm not meant to take.

Last week, I was looking for historical illustrated maps and found dealer in antique maps and atlases Barry Lawrence Rudermann. What an amazing image database Bazza has! Ever since I bought my first atlas I've considered the poles to be the finest of cartographic delights. While BLR may have a different preference there is much Pole action to be had.

 

Chester Rocket

 

Chester, 1963: The custodians of the cathedral faced a dilemma. The bells needed maintenance work but it was feared that putting them back might have a detrimental effect on the buildings structural/architectural integrity. An alternative plan was hatched by architect George Pace, who specialised in ecclesiastic structures.

It took a while but by 1968 Pace had been commissioned to design a solution by Dean G W O Addleshaw, backed by his crack team of clerics. Work on the Addleshaw Tower began.

I’m sure Pace was the best man to sort the bells out and perhaps Addleshaw’s support of the scheme meant the Dean absolutely deserved to have the new building named after him. I am definitely not suggesting for a second that anything fishy occurred and, quite frankly, I’m shocked that you might even think such a thing! Shame on you.

In June 1973 the foundation stone was laid on what was once an old burial ground, in the south east corner of the cathedral’s grounds. Building work continued in ernest and by October of the following year a new set of twelve bells, recast from all but two of the originals, were installed.

Chester heard the first proper ringing of the new bells in February 1975, for a posh wedding. Something to do with the Duke of Westminster.

The Addleshaw Tower was George Pace’s last major work and while it caused a bit of a stir initially, largely because of its modernist sensibility, the ‘Chester Rocket’ also received much praise and a Grade II listing, for its respect to its historic setting.

I first saw it from the roof of the cathedral while on the tower tour. It’s stunning and I was lucky enough to be able to admire it from almost all angles.

Bricks + Mortals

A history of eugenics told through buildings

 

 

Last week I was lucky enough to go to the Association of Heritage Interpretation annual conference, this year in Chester.

Three days. Lots of talks. Some not so good. Some amazing.

By far the best one I saw was by Subhadra Das from University College London. Das is a museum curator of UCL’s science collection and her talk, 'Bricks + Mortals', centred of the, now, little known Victorian scientist Francis Galton.

Galton was the first person to recognise that we all have unique fingerprints – in itself, not an insignificant contribution to the world – but he did loads more. He also invented and gave name to eugenics, the science of improving the genetic quality of a human population. Some, including Das, have described this as ‘the science of racism’ and for good reason. Back in the 1800s University College effectively legitimised this science which was, you will not be surprised to hear, adopted by the Nazis and has over the years fallen (or been pushed) into obscurity – although Galton had his disciples and UCL have a building named after him. If you listen to the podcast below you'll here about more well known names connected to eugenics.

Das has made it her mission to tell the story of Galton and his science, dragging it out of its hiding place (in plain site). So in that spirit, I thought I’d share a couple of links with you. Not exactly her talk from last week but a TEDx talk she did that includes quite a lot of her talk (and is also a bit different)…and below that…

 

 

…the UCL web page that is all about her exhibition ‘Bricks + Mortals’, and includes a podcast you should listen to (that is actually her talk and more). That's here.

読書

 

My summer read. 

Japan is stalking me. From the corner of my eye I see it, spying on me; following me. From the shelves of a shop; from a painting; whispering, it calls to me through my phone's podcast app…(the flipping weirdo); I bump into it, disguised as a postage stamp that just 'happened' to be passing my way; it sends my son models (better call the police).

It tricks me into letting it in by wearing a rather attractive jacket. 

I was talking about Japan with a friend of mine recently, around a camp fire, as it happens – so I was reminded of Jun'Ichirō Tanizaki's In Praise of Shadows which Rob and Jon recommended via the North v South podcast.

I was telling Mike about Seth's Gundam habit and Mike was telling me about his mate that worked out there for a few years. Specifically, Mike remarked about quite how different his mate found the culture – for example, when travelling on the tube, unless you know the language it's incredible hard to recognise your destination by the station signs.

Reading these short stories gives you an inkling of the differences too; in the lifestyle and also in the format and style of stories.

The collection is compiled to demonstrate a broad Japanese brush so stories range wildly from matters of culture and honour to family, sex and nature with some translated from nineteenth century texts and others from modern work. So far, all are beautiful and 'other landly' – even the gruesome description of a Samurai's ritualistic suicide in 'Patriotism' almost moved me to tears, wrapped as it was in his motivation for such an extreme act and his wife's devotion and support…best you read it yourself, I can't possibly do it justice here.

 

The cover design is by Matthew Young and uses an illustration – Local Training the Country from Don't Give up Japan, 2012 by Hiroyuki Izutsu.

Hospitaleyes

 

This is, probably, my favourite building on the Belfast skyline; ever since we moved here I've admired it. I may be in the minority but I know I'm not alone. In fact, I'm very grateful to James Greive, who wrote about his fascination for the Belfast City Hospital building a few years ago on Architecture Ireland — not least because his piece fills in some gaps (and, provided the architect's impression below. Hope that's OK James).

The hospital building was the brain-child of 'avant-garde' architect Louis Adair Roche while he worked at Munce and Kennedy who don't seem to be around anymore. Cork-born, Roche's family moved up to the northern territories of the British Empire during the 1940s with LA packing his suitcase and heading over the water to study making buildings and that at University College London…in London. It seems that the hospital was his finest work, although it is also considered by many to be a monstrous carbuncle. I flipping love it.

Surprisingly, to me at least, it was opened in 1986. I've always assumed it was from the seventies. But, speculating wildly, that date might be a clue to explaining how the flip LAR got away with dropping that spaceship into the south western corner of the city.

I've heard stories about other Belfast buildings built during 'The Troubles' (late 1960s to late 1990s): against the backdrop of paramilitary shenanigans, seriously dubious city planning decisions were made. Maybe there were a few backhanders here and there; maybe there was a little 'pressure' applied — a little 'persuasion', you might call it. Who knows; between you and me I get the distinct impression that the laws of the land, during those difficult times, were somewhat more flexible than in other regions of the United Kingdom.

Whatevz. I for one (and I think Mr Greives would agree) am glad that the Rochemeister was granted approval for his design.

 

This gives you an idea of the building in context although you get a much better sense of its prominence from the ground.

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By the way, I didn't take the photos! They're great and I stumbled across them online, on the MDE Installations website. Finding them (the best photos of the building I've seen) is what prompted this post but they weren't credited so I can't say who took them. I use them with gratitude to the photographer and in the hope that whoever it was doesn't mind and won't be round to punch my lights out :-)

 

 

Roche died in 2014.

This is what The Irish Times had to say.

And here's a piece in The Irish News.

Is that Switzerland in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?

My interest in cartography intensifies inline with the concentration of cartography. Sheets are lovely but an atlas! With an atlas comes a frenzy of map-joy. And a pocket guide! A small, maption-packed book…with cloth-bound, foil-blocked cover…and a plethora of tipped-in fold-out maps. Man alive! 

On a recent drive to Galway (a four hour slog from Belfast) I listened to an episode of the BBC's Seriously podcasts. It was a spliced together collection of recordings of Roald Dhal, talking about his past. It's great. Amongst all the things he touches on is what an adventure travel used to be. It still is, of course, but not like it was back in the day.

Obviously, you might still purchase a pocket guide for your holiday – and that guide might still be a thing of beauty, albeit super-efficiently mass-produced – but may I suggest that the reduction in adventurial magic that Mr Dahl refers to is directly proportional to the reduction in production investment in pocket guide production. Needless to say, I'm sure the cover price also reflects this difference.

Magic

Episode 1: A Potter

I'm not a fan of The Potter. Too derivative for me. But I know, I concede, I’m in the minority; I certainly am in our household. I’m not sure what the dog thinks but everyone else (the goldfish doesn’t count) flipping loves a bit of Potter.

During the summer we went to The Making of Harry Potter, down there at Leavesden Studios near Watford. Even I was a little excited – I imagined there would be at least one or two things I’d find interesting. I was wrong. There was loads of stuff. You’d have to be a very cold-hearted troll to not enjoy it; if you're a Potterette, I expect you’d need some kind of charm spell to keep your brain from exploding. There is much to get excited about.

The sheer volume of stuff is enough to make you pledge your allegiance to He Who Shall Not Be Named in order to obtain just a tiny fragment of it. Thankfully your soul is saved (although not your bank balance) by the gift shop, crammed as it is to the mythical sea creature’s gills with fabulous stuff. The perfect takeaway being, obviously, a wand and we were delighted to be fleeced two-fold…for two.

Magic: a delightful visitor experience and a perfect memento of the day.

 

Episode 2: The Poet

At the end of September Tandem’s latest project went live: Seamus Heaney | Man & Boy is a permanent visitor experience, housed within HomePlace, a new arts centre dedicated to, arguably, Ireland’s greatest modern poet. I had very little to do with the project so when we all went along just prior to launch day, I could enjoy it without too much baggage. I wasn’t that involved but I was in close enough proximity to the project team for a little Heaney magic to have rubbed off on me and I had by this time come to enjoy his words immensely.

Man & Boy has been received very well so far with some great press coverage in the Irish Times, the Guardian and the New York Times. It is a special experience and I think you'd have to be a very cold-hearted troll to not enjoy it; if you're a Heaneyite, I expect you’d need some kind of charm spell to keep your brain from exploding. There is much to enjoy. At the centre of the inspiration gallery upstairs there is a fountain pen, suspended as if in thin air. It's the kind of pen Heaney used.

The perfect takeaway? His wand…his gold nibbed, inky wand.

 

Episode Three: Two Jokers

You can’t buy a Conway Stewart from HomePlace. The company that made them went out of business, first in 1975 and then later in 2014 after an attempt to rejuvenate the brand just didn’t come off; despite the company's reputation for excellent pens demand was just not high enough.

The company was started originally in 1905 when Frank Jarvis and Thomas Garner left De La Rue, a leading fountain pen manufacturer, to set up on their own. Legend has it that they named the business after two music hall comedians of the day. It didn’t do them any harm, things went pretty well and Conway Stewart enjoyed great success with their top notch and affordable fountain pens.

It must have been some time in the 50s that Seamus Heaney was presented with his pen by his parents. He was 14 and went on to use that pen for the rest of his life. He wrote about it more than once: in ‘Digging’, the first poem in Death of a Naturalist, Heaney famously wrote:

Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests; snug as a gun

In the more explicit 'The Conway Stewart’, from Human Chain, he beats less around the bush and goes into so much detail that pen nerds have speculated confidently over precisely which model he describes – probably a 58 although some have suggested a 388.

Mine is a 15.

I got it on ebay. It’s a nice example although not exactly like the Poet’s. His had three gold bands around the lid, mine only has one. But still, when it arrived my hands trembled as I removed it from its modest packaging. It feels nice in the hand and is, I have to say, an elegant pen. Yes, it’s “squat”, as Heaney described his and yes, it does feel “as snug as a gun”.

It also feels magic.

Over 900 Years Tall

In the May 6 edition of Daniel Benneworth-Gray’s Meanwhile (you do subscribe to Meanwhile don’t you?) he featured Jan Tschichold’s The Form of the Book. Amongst the details Daniel drew out of that was what Jan said about “Deviant formats” – formats that don’t work. JT mentions formats that are too big, too wide and too heavy. He doesn’t, fortunately, mention too tall.

[Screen goes all wobbly and we jump back in time].

In the dim and distant and dim past – so long ago, in fact, that no one quite knows when it was – someone or other decided it would be a great idea to put a church on a thirty acre island in the Thames known for its thorny bushes.

By the 10th century (those in the know now know) there’d been a Christian church on Thorny for quite some time although there’s no trace of it today. When Edward the Confessor ascended to the throne in 1042, Thorney’s status as a sacred place was well established and he saw to it that the construction of a new, more fancy church was begun. This grander building – probably the largest Norman church of its time – was consecrated on Holy Innocents Day 1065. And not a moment too soon! Just a few days later Edward made his last confession and departed for that even grander church in the sky.

The Abbey continued to rise in national importance as Kings were crowned and later buried within its walls. Although Edward is credited for establishing Westminster, it was Henry III who imagined what we can see today – partly because by Henry’s day, those pesky French were knocking up some really fancy cathedrals and we all know that kings are covetous creatures. So in 1245, Edward’s church was respectfully (Henry was one of Edward’s biggest fans) pulled down and construction of Westminster Abbey began in ernest. Not surprisingly, the building work took much longer than the time Henry III had on the planet and a whole bagful of kings and queens came and went, each making all sorts of additions and modifications to the plans, before the job was done.

[Screen goes all wobbly and we jump forward in time].

In 1965, the 900 year anniversary of that original consecration was celebrated in a year of events and commemorated in a very tall book that I suspect even Tschichold would have approved of. It's mighty tall but just a few pages in and it makes so much sense. Very tall photos of very tall things give way to very tall text columns and then more very tall photos of more very tall things. When tallness doesn't cut it, the designers (Roger and Robert Nicholson, London) turned to a 90° turn for a wonderfully long and shallow vista instead.

The book should have a fancy and rather audacious dust jacket but my low cost copy had already lost it's coat of many colour. No matter – the modest hard cover with that beautifully positioned and thrifty sans type will do nicely for me.

There's a few copies on eBay I notice and they don't all cost that much. Watch out though, there's a low cost paperback version but the overall design is lovely so even one of those would be good.

Back in The 'Ham

I was over in my old stomping ground the other week, seeing my Mum who wasn't too well, and I managed to squeeze in a conflab with that man Luke Tonge, off of the Internet and the Monotype Recorder and Boat and other things. Anywho, he gave me this, which was terribly nice of him…not least because he also bought me a pint. Hope to return the favour when I'm in The 'Ham again.

Beachy

Everyone loves a pebble, don't they? In fact, I would go as far to say that if you don't like pebbles, you don't like life. You are a fool. A fool!

I will concede though that 'pebbles' is personal. My wife, for example, being of pure heart and mind chooses the whitest of white examples. Immaculately cleaned by the violent salty tumult, their chalky surfaces seem quite unnatural to me. No, the impeccable stone is not for me. Tainted by the mess of life I favour a beach gem to mirror my scarred soul.

A couple of weeks ago we were up on Northern Ireland's north coast for a few days. Man, it's a remarkable coast! And with a land-locked upbringing behind me, living so close to the craggy land edge of this island is all the more exhilarating.

Hachette Job

'Twas the tenth year of the second millennium whence I happened upon a somewhat modest volume inside which there was to be found, described in line and word, a city so French it is now known by some as…Paris. 

Remarkably, by an unholy coincidence, by fortuitous happenstance, exactly and precisely five years, two months, one week and three days later I chanced upon this quite different and similar bound collection of papers that describes, in word and line, the very same different land of somewhere else. Italia.

You can click on each image for a closer look.

Clan Wars

If you go down to the woods today…then make your way through the trees…and pop out the other side (just like the Ancient Clan O'Neill probably did around the middle of the thirteenth century) you might find yourself (if you happen to be near Cookstown, County Tyrone) at Tullaghoge Fort. 

I've been working as an interpretive designer now for nearly two years. It's been great. Revealing. I've learned all about Irish history and have some grasp of the whole Northern Irish 'situation', something that we can all have an opinion on but can't understand, in a fair and balanced way, unless we have some insight into its origins. Tullaghoge played no small role in Ireland's story – a fascinating story of intrigue, general sneakiness and skulduggery – the stuff of legends.

If there's an overriding thing I've learned over the last two years it's how certain forgotten, hidden or just carelessly misplaced episodes in our collective past can hold their own against the most thrilling works of fiction. In many ways, the job of the interpretive designer is to present these episodes as such – as thrilling works. That's how we approached the Tullaghoge story; a story of conflict, conquest, betrayal and, well, more conflict.

Enter the fabulous work of Will Freeborn. When we looked for an illustrator to help us tell the Tullaghoge story, we didn't want to commission technically accurate historic reconstructions, we wanted to capture a sense of drama…that sense of legend…a ghostly dream-like peek into a sensory past. The illustrations Wil gave us are mean, moody and messy.

The project involves much more than these illustration. It's a whole outdoor visitor experience with landscape architecture and sculptural interventions. Our hope is that it'll feel like a story book brought to life. Not 'Disney-fied' though, it's gritty and, probably, quite mudding – this is, after all, Northern Ireland. By the spring, it should all be finished and I can show you the whole thing.

I bumped into Alan Fletcher in Cortona…

Thirteen years ago we honeymooned near to Cortona, in the Italian province of Arezzo. We were staying near the top of an adjacent hill and most evenings would drive down from our love nest and up into the birth place of Futurist artist Gino Severini. Cortona was also the setting for Frances Mayes' 1998 International Best Seller Under The Tuscan Sun which was adapted into the damn awful film of the same same. Mayes must have been raging. I didn't read the book but I did eat the peach tart that Karen made from Mayes' recipe and it was excellent.

About four weeks ago we went back.

Cortona was and still is a beautiful hill top Tuscan town. It's busier than it was thirteen years ago, maybe a little more highfalutin, café prices a little higher. The main street has a few new shops including a fascinating den of objet d'art and ephemera. Mostly way out of our price range but I did fork out a handful of euros for two maps, neither of which featured Cortona but nevertheless held cartographic delights amongst their folds.

Both from the Touring Club Italiano, I can't find a print date on the older sheet but the younger espresso-stained sheet is from 1967 and comes complete with a pre-Pentagram Alan Fletcher designed Pirelli ad on the back. The ad was first seen in 1962 when Fletcher brought his tyre company client back to the UK as he joined up with Forbes and Gill.

I was checking out my facts when I stumbled across the Alan Fletcher Archive. Well worth a few hours of your time. For me it all brought back memories of that other trip.

About a Buoy

For the last lots of months I’ve been immersed in the wild and wind-sweaped world of the Irish lighthouse. It’s been a challenging project, to say the least, and has involved many varied interesting things and not much time.

During the research period, I got my hands of a copy of Brown’s Signal Reminder – essential seafaring documentation. Now I can semaphore, code like a Morse, run alphabetical flags up my rigging whenever I feel like it and, crucially, harmonize my system of buoyage.

Found Type Friday #104

Well, it's Friday so why not – the last FTF was way back in January 2014. As Ms. Fili knows much better than I, Italia is awash with typographic joy. If you follow me on Instagram you'll have seen these and more, but I think they're worthy of another showing.

Cross

In Umbria €3, after a little accidental haggling, gets you a Nurse/Nun's vintage Red Cross ID card at the local flee-sized flee market that you accidentally pass on your way to buy your hungry family breakfast. Printed interestingness aside, the photo adds a whole other dimension to the ephemeric provocation: Who was this Nun/Nurse/Nurse-Nun? I don't know. But I do know my family is hungry so I'd better get a move on before they twig I'm taking too long.

Colosseo

This time last week it was the day after we'd caught the train from Trevi, in Umbria, to Rome. The 6:42 to be precise. It's no small thing, getting up so early when you're on holiday and generally haven't awoken from your vocational slumber until after eight but we did it and by that precise time we were settling into a poorly air-conditioned carriage. I'd packed books for everyone and breakfast that no one liked so we were sorted for the two hour, nine minute journey.

Upon our arrival we wisely decided to flout all advice and ignored the tourist buses, there to carry you around the ancient city in comfort whilst on the streets the extreme heat cruelly beat down on the over-heated pedestrians, in favour of being pedestrians.

The advantage of our strategy was that we got to see things you don't get to see from the bus; the back street stuff which in a city like Rome is not your run-of-the-mill back street stuff. We also got very sore feet.

For our first destination, after arriving at Roma Termini, we high-tailed it over to The Coliseum (or is it Colosseum?), Rome's most obvious and top old spot. I assume that most people that have been to Rome have been to The Coliseum. I've been in the city before but that time didn't get off my hire-scooter. The Coliseum is old. OLD. And big. There's lots of old stuff around nowadays, and there's older stuff than The Coliseum that you can go see, but maybe not that many things that are both as old and as big.

Before, during and after our visit I read up, which really helped. And I was struck, as we strolled through the ancient archways and that, by how this thing had survived nearly two thousand years. It's heyday was quite short-lived really. Conceived about half way through the first century AD and developed over a number of decade, by sometime around 523 AD, the great amphitheatre was no longer the stage for death and glory it was originally conceived for. Largely because Rome had become Christian and battling savage beasts was just not very…well…Christian.

After that the building was repurposed and pilfered – at times looking more like a building site or quarry. Materials were removed to be used for other constructions and artefacts were snatched.

But somehow The Coliseum prevailed so we can explore it's millennia-old corners and crevices today. 

We were quite fortunate in that we found ourselves at one point standing next to another tourist who had either done some serious homework or was an academic of such matters and we followed him, stalked him really, listening in to his insightful descriptions of the bloody and/or theatrical spectacles performed when The Coliseum was in its prime. Yes, there were all those gladiatorial shenanigans going on but the space was also used to present more narrative-based performances, with elaborate sets, such as mock hunts with exotic beasts shipped in as unfortunate and unwitting prey. Or so our unknowing teacher informed us, as we shadowed him.

I've thought about The Coliseum a lot since last week. We walked down corridors that were there nearly two thousand years ago – that's practically biblical. I've had similar feelings in the less developed corners of Greek islands, where time feels like it's stood still, but The Coliseum is different because it's an intricately and intelligently designed space in the heart of a sprawling metropolis.

I bought this book in the gift shop. It's really nice. Spaciously designed with just enough content for the novice to consume and enjoy. Just €10.

Mortices and Markings

I've got this side project on at the moment; a writing project. It's taking me flippin' ages to be honest but it's bringing me into contact with some really interesting people. People I have to interview, about their jobs. So far, I've met a few people in the film industry, a basket maker, a theatre lighting technician, a set designer and last Friday, a joiner working on restoration projects for the National Trust. We met in his workshop. His workshop made of wood, that smells of wood and is full of tools…and wood.

Now you may remember, I have carpentry in my blood. Sawdust runs through my veins. The sight of a vintage Spear & Jackson saw or a handsome flat blade wood plane is enough to make me reach for my beechwood mortice and marking gauge. It's THAT exciting.

Designers, writers, coders; we're all making stuff. We all manipulate materials – either physical or metaphysical – chiselling away at things, dovetailing seperates into connecteds. Sawing things into sections before shaving away layers. Drilling into the undrilled. Finely sanding before waxing and polishing.

Whether it's words, pictures or commands, it's not that different to wood. Not really. It's just less natural, less grown. Manufactured material instead of harvested material. A few more steps away from the natural order of things.

I think the reason why woodwork has prevailing appeal, to me at least, is because of its proximity to nature and our more instinctive side. It's hunter gatherer stuff and once we've grown weary of the glossy mass produced world, the hand made and downright wonky, if I have anything to do with it, tuggs at our hearts.

Postcards from the Hedge

There I was, minding my own business, searching the outer reaches of the digital realm for post-1922/pre-now images of Dublin's O'Connell Bridge and where should I find myself? Only on John Hinde's really quite marvellous postcard archive, that's where.

Interpretive design is a great field of work for a graphic designer. By it's nature you're more than likely to be delving into the printed past for artefacts, references or relics. There's almost always some moment in the past (or for that matter, the present) that leads you to some interesting image, design or whatchamacallit.

I'm all over Dublin at the moment: either fighting the damned oppressive British or annoying the intolerant Irish; ousting uncooperative tennents or trembling at the might of those inconsiderate and really quite rude Vikings.

And, as I've mentioned before, it's hard not to get distracted by the other stuff you pass or trip over along the way.

The Past

I think (think) that's me at the top. It's definitely my brother and my Gran. It could be a cousin but it makes sense that it's me. My brother again below, parking the van, just after my Dad jumped out, "Park the van son" (Dad couldn't drive).

I have a feeling that's my Gran and Grandad in the Herald coming off the ferry. Have no idea where they were going to or coming from. Partly because I wasn't born when these photos were taken and partly because even if I had been, I'd have been too young to remember.

I doubt you really want to hear any of this…But for the record, below you'll see my Mum, Dad and brother with Dad's Uncle Cyril and Aunty Vi – clearly before I was born again. Cyril and Vi were lovely; I have really warm, if somewhat distant, memories of visiting them in Sherborne St John, near Basingstoke (once I got being born out of the way). There was nothing in Sherborne St John except a Post Office. I think (once I'd got a bit of growing done) I was allowed to buy a Topic from there. The main thing I remember though is Great Aunty Vi; she had this amazing Hampshire accent.

I am very proud of the fact that I introduced her to the beef burger.

The inside track

…Like I said, it's all about the inside really.

Field Trip

Last Friday saw me leaving Thought Collective, almost exactly three years after joining. It's been a good three years but the call of the wild has been growing strong within my soul. Friday 17th January 2014 saw me embarking on an eleven month odyssey to independent practice via a temporary position with Interpretive Design experts Tandem Design.

That day also saw me taking a long overdue excursion to see Titanic Belfast – Tandem were heavily involved in the visitor attraction so this was an R&D field trip. I could and probably should gush about it, it's a suitably immersive (pardon the pun) and moving experience, helped somewhat by me seeing it on my own (without the distraction of children).

These photos give nothing away. Although it's a stunning exterior it's the inside, the experience, that's the real star. If you can go, go.

Library Rules

The new library in Birmingham opened in September. It looks pretty good. Loads of photos here. And there's a thing from BBC Radio 4 here featuring the architect. The old one (pictured here) was famously described by Prince Charles as looking more like a place to burn books than read them. I can remember loving that place. It felt special. It felt important. There's talk of tearing it down now but not everyone sees the necessity; there are other people that love that brutal building. A lot of them can be found hanging around here or on Twitter at @keeptheziggurat.

If you're a fan of architectural brutalism show your support.

Larging it in the lowlands

Easter Weekend and we found ourselves on a sightseeing bus in Glasgow. It's been a while since I've been to a city I haven't visited before and even though one or two people had rained on the parade we were about to embark on, by dissing Scotlands largest city, we soon came to realise they were wrong and Anne was right: Glasgow's ace!

Lots to see. From the bus, it was largely the large stuff we took it.

Gurnard

You don't want to know what we did at the weekend do you? It's probably only really interesting to us. You might want to switch over to the other channel; there's bound to be something better on.

It was lashing down on Saturday, so we drove down the peninsula to Portaferry; to the Northern Ireland Aquarium, Exploris. We hadn't been for a while and it's in a great location on the edge of Strangford Lough. The boys love the aquarium, although to be honest, it's looking a little tired. They could do a lot more with the place. But it's still a brilliant day out and the aquatic life forms are well cared for and fascinating. 

The gurnards were my favourites. They're a dour fish and kind of loaf about the sea bed, sucking up the plankton or whatever it is they live on, but I like them. They look a lot like me. They're also very obliging and sat very still for me so I could snap some lo-fi portraits.

The gurnards are lovable miseries but the highlight for all of us was the seals. They look after sick seals at Exploris which means it's pretty hit and miss what guests they have staying with them. In fact, I can't remember ever seeing seals in the pool. Right now though they've got three. And they were pretty friendly, giving us some top notch semi-aquatic mammal near-the-glass action. When they're taking it easy, further into the water, they're kind of ghostly.

Ian and Michael's Secret Emporium of Vintage Delights

Last week I finished my stint guest blogging for Herb Lester. It was fun. I wrote a set of entries on peculiar corners of Belfast (and a little beyond). The last post was about the shop over the road from our studio. If you want to head down there, it's opposite Portview on the Lower Newtownards Road.

Folk

Me and the boys went down to the Ulster Folk and Transport Museum last weekend. So, of course, we slipped into the print shop. It could be so much more than it is. Right now, it's an exhibit; just that. What it really needs is a massive injection of enthusiasm then who knows what it could become. 

Beachy

Hands up who doesn't love a beach?

Thought so. Everyone loves a beach. Even in inclement weather there's much to entertain you on a beach. Karen is facinated by rock pools and we can spend hours poking around for trapped sea life: hermit crabs, shrimps, the occassional blood sucker, a sea snail here and there. Unidentifiable fish. Once, on the north coast of Ireland, we cornered an enormous jelly fish in a particularly deep and still pool, to study from a safe distance, until we set it free (being careful to avoid contact of course).

I like to comb. For small, pilferable natural phenomena.

We travelled across many miles

We've just come back from our summer holiday. Did I say "holiday"? I should have said "odyssey". To us it was an epic journey of unfeasible length. A journey through lands foreign to us (Scotland, England and Kent). By car, we travelled across many miles. By ferry, we journeyed across a vast expanse of ocean. By car, we travelled across many miles (again). In my Mum's house we had dinner, slept a bit and ate many wine gums. Then by car, we travelled across many miles (again, again). Until finally, FINALLY we reached the next stage of our journey.

And it's at this point our journey became so very strange, the account of it sounds more akin to an extract from a Jules Verne novel than a true report of an actual, real occurance. Get this: We travelled in our car, on a train, through a an enormous tube, under the very bed of the sea. And when we emerged from our subterranian experience, at the distant end of the mega-pipe, we were in…another country. A country known by some as "France".

Finally, FI-NA-LLY! France. Finally, we had reached…the next stage of our journey.

By car, we travelled across "beaucoup de milles".

 

Safe

I'm sure you're on the edge of your seat but I'm afraid that blog post I promised last week - you know, the one about us catching some fish; then cooking some fish; then eating some fish. That one. Well, it's taking a bit longer than expected. So here's a photo of a lifeboat to keep you entertained. Did we need it? You'll just have to wait for the full story to find out.

Titanic Again

We went back today, this time with the boys. The weather wasn't so good which meant the building was kind of monochrome. Looking good, whatever the weather.

Titanic

The boys were at their Gran's for tea so me and Karen jumped on our bikes and peddled on down to the Titanic Quarter this afternoon; just to have a snoop about a bit. If you don't know, the new Titanic Building opened today. I think we're going to take a look inside over the Easter holidays but from the outside at least, it all looks ace.

They got a fantastic day for the opening and there's an expansive (and I have to say, cycle-friendly) outside area so we spent a good while checking it out. The exterior IS stunning.

The Library

I didn't think about it until we got there but it's been years. Blimey. Could be ten?…No, more like twenty, since I was in an old library. Our local is reasonably modern. There's an amazing one in Bangor a few miles further on; all internet and lime green vinyl flooring. 

Linen Hall Library, in Belfast's city centre is not like that. We were there for the launch of a book we'd designed (more about that another time) but as soon as we'd stepped inside, well, I think all three of us were struck by the beautiful. It's from another time. Actually, I'll backtrack a bit. We went in through the modern side entrance, which is a narrow but bright space that leads into a three or four story stairwell. Look up and it's all modern materials and framed prints of party political advertising. But the stairs are there to give you access; you're soon in the original library. And that feels like something out of another century. Bookish (obviously) and still; it reminded me of Tinker Tailor. I could imagine Smiley, sitting in the corner, waiting for a clandestine liaison. Or searching for a microdot in some obscure volume.

The Library couldn't be more central in the city which is why it felt like a secret place. I've passed the outside many times, carried along by the crowd. We stood outside one Christmas, regretting our misguided decision to come into town to watch the lights being switched on. Never, NEVER again.

I had no idea what was just inside those doors.

The Paths Less Travelled

From the physics defying Electric Brae to the World's Biggest Hedge at Meikleour; from the almost-nothing-there Forsinard Flows to Europe's Oldest Tree in Fortingall; if it's hardly ever been seen, the chances are, Anne's sought it out. The mish-mash homes of Footdee, the no-introduction-needed-unless-you've-never-heard-of-it Pineapple Foley near Falkirk, the drive-too-fast-and-you'll-miss-it World's Shortest Street in Wick and the hold-on-to-your-knickers Clootie Well, just west of Munlochy, on the A832 between Muir of Ord and Fortrose. All tracked down, like dogs, and snared in a net that looks very like a tidy little book. £6.99.

If you find yourself roaming around the High and Low lands, tired of the clichéd tourist traps, sick of the shortbread and the skirted bagpipe wrestlers, then this is the book for you. Swerve straight past Aberdeen and roll on down to Storybook Glen. Take the kids. If they're anything like our's, it could totally freak them out. Wonky effigies of lovable cartoon characters will haunt their darkest nightmares for decades to come.

Glasgow bound? Don't bother. Go to Uddingston instead. Everyone in the car will love you dearly when you pull up outside, let's face it, Scotland's finest biscuitery: the legendary actually-really-does-need-no-introduction Tunnock's Factory.

If Edinburgh is your final destination check out the tubas at St Cecilia's Hall and Reid Concert Hall Museum of Instruments. Spread across two locations it is, of course, not all windstruments. They've got everything: hurdy-gurdies, quinticlaves, harpsiwhatsits, dulcithingies, sousaflimflams; the lot.

Even if you're nowhere near The Land of The Scots Nothing To See Here is a riotous tour of weirdness and wonder. Brilliant stuff and a worthy testament to Anne's explorative endeavours.

Grim Up North

This time last weekend we were up on the north coast. For those not from around here, it's only an hour and a half away (unless you take the long cut like I usually do…by accident). And even if the weather's a bit rough (grim) it's amazing. That's the Giant's Causeway above. Bleak but dramatic.

 

The Icing on the Cake

Spent Sunday morning in City Picnic, Belfast's (probably) newest city centre lunch bar on Castle Street. And we had a great time. They've just started a cup cake baking thing for kids, to encourage people in at what is, I guess, a reasonably quiet time. We really enjoyed it, so thanks to Arthur for hosting and Mark for baking. Would definitely do it again; it's a great way to lose a couple of hours with the kids.

Hat's off to my old stable HBD for the naming/branding. And to Soon for the interior. It's all really nicely done.

And look, as if Instagram's photo-fakery wasn't enough for me, I've discovered Analog (via a Frank tweet). Putting aside the uncanney similarity between its branding and that of the other Analog (who've been around for some time…I'm not saying anything) now that I've shelved my purist sensibilities it's another pile of app (this time Mac) fun. I might even suggest it does the pseudo-vintage thing a little better with effects varying each time a specific filter is applied.

Northern Rock

We got a week on the North Coast just before the kids went back to school. It was epic. Somehow, even though we've been in NI for seven years, we haven't really spent any time up there. It's probably the most impressive part of the province. So we did all the obvious but dead exciting things: The Causeway, the Rope Bridge, White Park Bay was amazing. Nick from The Apprentice interupted our picnic at Ballintoy Harbour and we spotted basking sharks from the ferry to Rathlin.

And, predictably, I looked at rocks.

Staring at the ground

As previously suggested, I spend a little too much time looking down. Last weekend we were camping at Castleward. Not adventurous camping. No. Cozy, easy-to-bail-out camping just an hour's drive away. OK, it was cold at night and we were in our own tent. I mean, we weren't glamping. But still, not exactly living in the wilds; Bacon and egg every morning and organic burgers for tea. A pot of espresso on the stove and a bottle of red to keep our strength up.

When we weren't huddling together for warmth, frying up a car crash breakfast or searching for the puncture in one of the air beds, we were on our bikes, heading pier-wards for a spot of crabbing. Armed with rinds for the pinchers and a picnic for us.

Beautifully textured, ancient piers.