Tag Archives: nature photographer

Two Cats, 300 Miles & A Very Good Idea

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What’s the most spontaneous thing you’ve ever done?

Packing two cats and what was left of my house into a car and driving nearly 300 miles to go and live with someone I’d only known for a few months.

Completely sensible behaviour.

Obviously.

In hindsight, I suppose there were a few warning signs.

For starters, I was leaving behind pretty much everything I knew.

Home.

Friends.

Familiar places.

The life I’d built.

And replacing it with a car full of belongings, two probably very confused cats, and a woman I’d known for a few months.

What could possibly go wrong?

To be fair, the cats probably had the biggest adjustment.

They hadn’t exactly been consulted on the matter.

I imagine their conversation went something like:

“Why are we in the car?”

“Where are we going?”

“Why has he packed the litter tray?”

“IS THIS A VET?”

And then several hours of feline outrage.

Meanwhile, I was driving nearly 300 miles towards an entirely new chapter of my life.

I’d met Mrs Bob only a few months earlier.

And somehow, somewhere between those early conversations and whatever bizarre sequence of events brought us to that particular day, I’d reached the point where I thought:

“Yeah.

This seems like a good idea.”

So I loaded up the car.

Cats.

Stuff.

Whatever possessions had survived the previous chapter.

And off I went.

Towards Narnia.

Which, for those who don’t know, is what I affectionately call this part of the world.

Although technically it’s twinned with Totnes.

Which is probably about as close to Narnia as Devon is going to get.

There’s something slightly terrifying about starting again.

We tend to imagine big life changes as these carefully planned things.

You know the sort of thing.

Step one:

Make a five-year plan.

Step two:

Research everything.

Step three:

Make a spreadsheet.

Step four:

Have another meeting about the spreadsheet.

Step five:

Eventually do something.

I apparently skipped steps one through four.

I just got in the bloody car.

And yet…

It turned out to be the best decision I’ve ever made.

The following year, we got married.

And somehow that spontaneous decision turned into more than a decade together.

A marriage.

A family.

A home.

A completely different life.

And eventually, a new career.

There have been ups and downs, obviously.

Life isn’t a Disney film.

There are bills.

There are arguments.

There are days when you wonder why you’ve spent twenty minutes trying to explain to a cat that the cardboard box isn’t actually a suitable substitute for the perfectly good cat bed sitting six inches away.

But that’s life.

It’s messy.

It’s unpredictable.

And occasionally it involves putting everything you own into a car and driving 300 miles because you have a feeling that maybe, just maybe, you’re heading in the right direction.

Looking back now, I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I’d stayed where I was.

What if I’d talked myself out of it?

What if I’d decided it was too risky?

What if I’d waited until everything was perfect?

I probably wouldn’t be sitting here now.

I wouldn’t have Mrs Bob.

I wouldn’t have this life.

I wouldn’t be wandering around Devon with a camera, photographing birds, beaches, cats and whatever else happens to catch my eye.

I wouldn’t have written all the poetry.

I wouldn’t have met all the people I’ve met.

And I certainly wouldn’t be sitting here calling this place Narnia.

Sometimes we spend so much time worrying about making the right decision that we forget something rather important.

There isn’t always a right decision.

Sometimes you just have to make a decision.

Take the leap.

See what happens.

And occasionally, against all odds, it works out rather bloody brilliantly.

So, what’s the most spontaneous thing I’ve ever done?

I packed two cats and what was left of my house into a car.

I drove nearly 300 miles.

I went to live with a woman I’d known for a few months.

And I started a completely new life.

Spoiler alert:

We got married the following year.

And after more than a decade together, I can honestly say that moving in with Mrs Bob and starting that new life and career in Narnia was the best decision I’ve ever made.

Sometimes the biggest adventures don’t begin with a plan.

Sometimes they begin with a full boot, two pissed-off cats and a very questionable sat-nav route.

And maybe that’s okay.

Because if I’d waited for certainty…

I might never have found home.

Stay safe,

BC

The Maintenance Light is On

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How do you make time for self-care?

I think the answer is that I’ve finally realised I have to.

We’re usually pretty good at looking after our physical health.

We eat better.

We try to exercise.

We go to the doctor when something hurts.

We know that our bodies need looking after.

But our minds?

That can be a different story.

For me, I’ve learned that I need to make time for my mental health in exactly the same way.

Not when I’ve completely run myself into the ground.

Not when everything has become too much.

Before that.

Because self-care isn’t about being selfish.

It’s about maintenance.

Much like putting fuel in the car before the warning light comes on.

For me, that maintenance comes in a few different forms.

Sometimes it’s a coffee with friends in the market.

Nothing particularly complicated.

Just sitting down, having a coffee, chatting, laughing, putting the world to rights and generally not rushing off somewhere.

There’s something incredibly therapeutic about good company and a decent cup of coffee.

Then there’s my shed.

My little escape from the world.

There’s something about closing the door, sitting down and having some quality downtime that just works for me. Sometimes I’ll write. Sometimes I’ll tinker. Sometimes I’ll do absolutely nothing.

And sometimes doing absolutely nothing is exactly what you need.

Then there’s Sunday.

Beach day.

Mrs Bob and me, heading down to the sea and switching off from the week.

There’s something about the beach that resets me.

The sound of the waves.

The wind.

The smell of the sea.

Just being there.

Not worrying about what needs doing tomorrow.

Not replaying what happened yesterday.

Just being present for a little while.

And, of course, there’s the camera.

I love going out with my camera.

It gives me an excuse to slow down and actually look at the world around me.

A bird.

A tree.

A strange bit of light.

Something that most people might walk straight past.

Photography makes me stop.

Look.

Notice.

And sometimes that’s self-care too.

Then there’s meditation.

Taking a little time to sit quietly, breathe and simply be.

I’m not going to pretend I’ve suddenly achieved some state of perfect enlightenment.

I’m still me.

I still overthink things.

Probably more than I should.

But those quiet moments help me step back from the noise.

And perhaps that’s what all of these things have in common.

They give me space.

Space to breathe.

Space to think.

Space not to think.

Space to be Bob.

I don’t think self-care has to involve expensive retreats, complicated routines or seventeen different types of herbal tea.

Sometimes it’s a coffee with a mate.

Sometimes it’s sitting in a shed.

Sometimes it’s standing in the sea with Mrs Bob.

Sometimes it’s going out with a camera and looking for something beautiful.

Sometimes it’s simply sitting quietly and breathing.

The important thing, for me, is recognising that these things matter.

They aren’t luxuries.

They’re part of maintaining the balance.

Because life can be bloody noisy.

There’s always something that needs doing.

Someone who needs something.

Another email.

Another job.

Another problem to solve.

And if we’re not careful, we can spend all our time looking after everything and everyone else…

…and forget to look after ourselves.

So I make time.

Not because I have loads of spare time.

I don’t.

I make time because I know I need it.

Because my mental health matters just as much as my physical health.

And because I’ve learned that sometimes the best way to keep moving forward…

…is to stop for a while.

Stay safe,

BC

The Glasses I Don’t Need

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I have a pair of glasses.

My glasses

Proper glasses.

You know the sort. You go to the opticians, sit in the chair while someone shines various bits of machinery into your eyes, reads out letters that get progressively smaller, and eventually tells you that your eyesight is apparently not quite as good as you thought it was.

Except…

Mine are a little bit different.

One lens is Plano.

In other words, completely plain. No prescription. Nothing.

The other one had a very, very small prescription in it.

And I mean tiny.

So tiny, in fact, that I’ve now outgrown the prescription altogether.

Technically, I don’t need the glasses anymore.

But I still wear them.

Why?

Because they are my Clarke Kent glasses.

Yes.

Really.

Those of you who know me will already know that I’m a massive comic book nerd, so perhaps this shouldn’t come as much of a surprise.

But there’s actually a bit more to it than that.

You see, glasses can create a little physical barrier between me and the world.

Not a huge one.

Nobody looking at me would think, “Blimey, that bloke has constructed a defensive perimeter around himself.”

But they do something.

Much like sunglasses do.

For years, I’ve found sunglasses useful in social situations because they make eye contact easier. They create that tiny bit of separation between me and the person I’m talking to.

I can still see them.

I can still listen.

I can still have the conversation.

But somehow, having something between their eyes and mine makes me feel a little less exposed.

A little less vulnerable.

And that can make a surprisingly big difference.

The problem with sunglasses, of course, is that they’re not exactly practical all the time.

At night?

Not really.

In a dark room?

Probably not.

When it’s raining and the sky looks like it’s personally offended by the existence of daylight?

Definitely not.

And wearing sunglasses indoors can occasionally result in people wondering whether I’m about to perform at a nightclub rather than attend a perfectly ordinary meeting.

So these glasses fill the gap.

They look like normal glasses.

Because, well, they are.

Nobody needs to know that one lens is doing absolutely nothing and the other one is basically on permanent holiday.

They give me that little barrier without making the world around me darker.

And when I’m nervous, particularly if I’m standing on a stage or speaking in front of people, they help.

Stage fright is an odd thing.

You can know exactly what you want to say.

You can have prepared.

You can know that the people in front of you aren’t actually waiting for you to fail.

And yet your brain can still decide:

“Excellent. This is the moment we panic.”

Having my glasses on gives me something.

A tiny bit of confidence.

A little shield.

Perhaps even a psychological costume.

Which brings me back to Clarke Kent.

Because Superman has always fascinated me.

Not simply because he can fly, lift cars and apparently survive being thrown through buildings.

It’s the idea of the alter ego.

Clark Kent puts on a pair of glasses and suddenly he’s just an ordinary bloke.

Nobody looks twice.

Nobody expects him to save the world.

And while I’m certainly not claiming that my glasses give me superpowers

They help me feel like I’m wearing my social armour.

They give me a little bit of distance.

A little bit of protection.

And sometimes, that’s all you need.

I think we all have things like that.

Little routines.

Objects.

Clothes.

Jewellery.

Music.

Something we carry with us that makes the difficult things feel slightly easier.

They might look completely insignificant to somebody else.

But they aren’t insignificant to us.

For me, apparently, it’s a pair of slightly ridiculous glasses with one lens that doesn’t need a prescription and another that doesn’t need one anymore.

To everyone else, they’re just glasses.

To me?

They’re my Clarke Kent glasses.

And sometimes, even when you don’t need a prescription, you still need the glasses.

Stay safe,

BC

Productive-ish

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Today was one of those mornings where work didn’t really feel like work.

I headed into town to have a wander around and look at potential locations for an upcoming photography gig for Totnes Pride.

There’s something about photographing an event that makes you look at familiar places slightly differently. Suddenly you’re not just seeing streets, buildings and corners of town, you’re looking for light, angles, backgrounds and those little spots where a photograph might just come together.

Of course, I took the camera with me.

Because apparently I’m incapable of going anywhere without looking at things through a lens these days.

Once the location scouting was done, it was time for the important stuff.

Coffee.

A slow, relaxing coffee morning in the market, with some good friends, and friends I’d just met, absolutely no rushing about and nowhere particularly urgent to be.

And then, as if The Universe hadn’t already delivered enough, a calico cat wandered down the stairs.

Obviously, I had to say hello.

The cat seemed perfectly happy to accept some fuss, so who was I to argue?

Photography locations sorted.

Coffee enjoyed.

Cat fussed.

All in all, not a bad morning.

Sometimes the best days are the ones where you manage to get a little bit of work done…

…and still find time to stop and enjoy the small stuff.

Stay safe,

BC

The lady in question

Sunday snaps

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This week I’ve been practicing my macro photography, and it’s been mainly Bees. Firstly is a type of wasp (I think) called a YellowJacket.The Bumblebee pics are from the lavender in the garden, it’s a popular spot.

Yellowjacket
Bumblebee
Bumblebee