rainy sunday afternoon

zip up

Photo by Georgina Miller

british racing green

Immigration is about more than moving to another country, isn't it? It's also about acclimatizing to another culture, realizing how much of your personality is based on your culture and how you can learn from the perspective of another. Though i have spectacularly failed to learn how the English breakfast is something you can eat in the morning, or fish'n'chips is something you can eat at all, i have been learning about the word 'innit' (fantastic), the sociological status of 'slags' and 'chavs' (confusing, i keep calling them 'skavs'), how drinking tea without milk is considered 'european' (and 'gay'), and about driving on the wrong side of the road (very confusing, especially on roundabouts).

It is this driving that has helped me with a new understanding, namely that of British Racing Green.

I used to not be able to associate racing with the color green. Green is too subdued a color, to mellow, too relaxed -especially that dark type green they call racing green. But then we went for a drive through the country side this week, and where the Dutch green is mostly horizontal and at ground level, the British green is everywhere

and with a spirited driver, it whooshes past in vibrant patterns and colors, wavy and yes, speedy

or misty

or like a tree of racing green light

So i might never understand blood sausage for breakfast, or why you would weigh in stones, or having two separate taps for hot and cold water, but i've learned to love the contradiction of being rude in an extremely civilized way, of having enormous glasses of beer on any occasion, and this week, i think i got the spirit of British Racing Green

an observation on the evolution of cyclist to motorcyclist

Within 10 minutes of each other yesterday:

olympic torch in Tooting with Jordan Dalrymple

After a visit from a fiery fuzzball from Greece this weekend, today we got a visit from some other Greek flame: the torch went by right near our house.



Carrier of the torch was a man with a beautiful name and an even better smile, Jordan Dalrymple



the flame was passed to him by Peter Crammer -and about a zillion bodyguards



but the passing of the flame was very sweet and no body needed guarding





the police was obviously present



but they seemed to be enjoying the event too -here they are asking Tim Henman for a picture





but really, it was far too nice a day to be running with a flame. These people had the right idea and took their bicycles instead

safety freediver course

Stavros Kastrinakis, Liv Philip and i organized a safety freediver course this weekend in London. It is a new course, based on our experience as safety divers, and this was its first outing. It was a great success, in that we had a nice group of people (and Gary)



we managed to convey some technical aspects, like a good grip on an athlete (or how to shut up Liv)





let the students perform tons of rescues









did rescue breaths -some professional



some less so



but what was most impressive was that i was repeatedly rescued by a girl half my size (literally) -while i was wearing 5 kilos of lead and fully exhaled. Massive respect for Becky, who has only been diving for a very short time.



She proves that being a safety diver expands your freediving -it shows you how much more you're capable of.

Plus, also the mark of success, we had fun



and we had beauty



PS if i seemed harsh on Gary earlier, it's only cos i is well jealous he is so pretty, innit



he also took some of the pics here. Surprising, for this is what usually happens when you give him a camera

alley portraits

Why are alleys always dark in movies? I was in quite a light one today. Though i did meet some interestingly alley-cliché characters. There was a man with hose



a hot chick



and a dodgy character who reassured me grass boas were going to be 'the next thing'



By the way -alleyway- being the dodgiest character in an alley made me feel a little like being the oldest in a room -not sure if it's a good thing. 

lovely little shit

I think i get ornithologists -though i need spell check to get their name right- but when it comes to birds, i do have distinct preferences/prejudices. For example, no matter what my friend Cara says, pigeons are assholes. Crows, on the other hand, are at least 11 different kinds of awesome. Somehow eagles are fuckers, but falcons rule. Don't get me started on the stupidity of owls, yet there's one that lives on the ground that is fantastic. And though a blackbird's song is probably the animal equivalent of a news broadcast and very funny, they're nasty beasts, whereas sparrows are so hip they hop.

And then there's the Robin, which is like a sparrow, but proudly orange. Every time i work in someone's garden and one of these little guys drops in, it makes me smile. Not afraid at all, come sit right on your spade while you're digging. But usually they're too fast for me to get out the little camera. Today, however, one was so bold, he posed for me sideways



gave me a cheeky little over-the-shoulder



an intimate 3 quarter



and even did a Roger Moore



Then he shat on George. Twice. Brilliant bird, that was.

the Riddick moth

So yes, i came across that alien from that Vin Diesel movie today, what's it called again, where he plays a strong-but-silent type? Wait, that doesn't narrow it down... He's an ex-convict? Still doesn't narrow it down, does it. Ehm, so, yes, alien, he kicks ass, has funky goggles, plays a dude called Riddick? Nah, not the chronicles one, the one that's less pretentious, more full-on unashamed B-movie. Featuring this monster:




So i was all meeting it head-on, like in the movie, cos he can't see right in front of him with the big wide head thing



turns out he ain't aggressive at all -kinda like a hammerhead, only then even more alien (go figure)



Somebody needs to tell Vin about this. What was that movie called again?

Polly and Molly

It was not a good week for dogs. Last friday my parents had to put their dog, Pollux aka Pollonia the low pony, to sleep. She was my favorite wimp, nervous but sweet



fastest dog we ever had



and also a real beauty when she relaxed a little



plus we were close - we both have legs always sticking out



she petted me much as i did her



and then earlier this week my girl's parents had to put Molly, my favorite blonde, to sleep. She was golden in the literal sense of the word



and older than gold -she was a still sprightly 14 when i met her



and we instantly became friends -perhaps not as close as she was with Pipin



but still, she was kind enough to tolerate my teasing, and even my singing



as you can see, she became more and more fond of (and less and less distinguishable from) the carpet in her old age



until in my last portrait of her, at age 16, she'd almost merged with it



Polly and Molly, two very different, very distinguished, very beautiful souls.