Sunday, August 08, 2010

Above and Beyond

The picture below was an attempt at one of those Ansel Adams efforts that us budding –but less talented and more time drained- amateur snappers try to emulate in our own worlds.  Miles above the Afan Valleys in bleak wind-hewn plateaux unchanged since the days that God started shaving.
Sitting hypnotically in our warm car seats lapping at the runny taste-free ice cream from a rusting pink van.  We can forget about the vastness out there: mountains as far as the eye dares to squint; precipitous crags stabbing down violently upon the civilisation at their feet; glacial bleakness carved in the stealth of time winds.  The far distant peaks beckon our curiosities, gazing at us from a remote place that they know we’ll never dare cover on foot.  It might as well be the moon, such is its barren vista.  It is alluring, beautiful, silent and frightening in equal measure.
All this appears to be lost on the TWOC-fed junkie car thieves from Treorchy and Cymmer, who in their priceless idiocy steal a vehicle, strip it, set it aflame & roll it down the steep banks where it will reside as a smouldering mangled pile in an automobile graveyard.  They then have to walk home.

Sunday, August 01, 2010

Crimson Tide

I was sitting on Exmouth Beach, largely surrounded by corpulent women in polyester shorts framing their sun-ravage cellulitis, and men in sleeveless tops emblazoned with a ‘wacky’ seaside thematic.  I was watching the cheap pleasure cruisers cutting swathes of estuary when I noticed a solitary red safety flag flapping despondently in the Devonshire zephyr.  Nobody seemed to notice it as they plunged into dangerous undertow from precipitous sandbanks.
I thought I’d give it a sense of purpose again.  Framing it against the clouds it almost looks like a standard for a communist ancien regime or a last tribute to a fallen revolutionary (life)guard.  All those years acting as a protective sentinel for dimwitted surf paddlers, and now for a momentary shutter second it became an emblem for a new world order.  Bless its scarlet heart beating under layers of wind-torn cotton.  It should be proud.