It’s all about the Green

Maybe a month or two ago, we were landed with four tomato plants to go into our vegetable plot in the back garden. I say veg plot, what I actually mean is patio slabs dotted about in some gravel that we could sit some plant pots and grow bags on.

Since buying a house and now with a baby on the way, there seems to be no better plan for us to be a touch healthier, more environmentally friendly and more frugal by growing and consuming our own fruit and vegetables, or just tomatoes at this point. One step at a time.

I’ve never been particularly green fingered, other than when I clean the freshly cut grass from the mower. I thought I was ready to take on this challenge of tending to a living thing, pruning it, feeding it. While my girlfriend carries our child, I will tend to my babies. The edible, tasty, delicious babies. There’s another thing to add to my list of time consuming, possibly expensive hobbies.

Having not read up on the process of growing these fruit – yes a tomato is a fruit, not a vegetable – and only receive a tiny bit of advice on growing them, I was amazed to see the plants grow and the fruit blossom. The only trouble I’m having is that they are still green. I want red tomatoes. That’s what I’m used to. I’m hoping that they ripen soon and then we can enjoy the fruits of my labour until next season, I guess?

Early Morning Wake Up Call

What I thought was the biggest downside of taking my mum to the airport for a 6:30am flight actually turned out to be a positive.

My mum hates to be late. For anything! She just doesn’t deal with it well, and the old saying “better late than never” doesn’t seem to comprehend. Family holidays usually started with my mother being slightly more than a little bit stressed out as my brother and I were always quite happy plodding along, leaving important tasks to the last minute. We didn’t do it on purpose. It’s just how we worked, even when we tried.

Now my mum gets to go away by herself but I’m relied upon as a taxi service. It’s one way to repay her for the numerous times that she taxi’d me. This meant setting an alarm for 3:15 to give me enough time to get to her house for half past and get her to the airport which is about an hour away.

The sky was already starting to get lighter and in a sleepy haze I managed to check the sunrise time. I had time. I grabbed the camera with the intention of dropping her off and heading somewhere to catch the sun slide above the horizon.

The car journey involved a mostly one sided conversation. not that I don’t like talking to my mum, but I was concentrating hard on staying awake alongside avoiding the early morning HGV drivers who were likely to be pepped up on coffee and Red Bull.

The short stay car park allowed me up to 20 minutes for the unreasonable sum of £1. But rather than just kicking my France bound passenger out, I walked her into the terminal. I took full advantage of my allotted time limit, with a possible gamble of paying the next rate on the extortionate parking scale.

With all that over with. The sky was light, but there was still no sign of the sun. Brilliant. I ate a banana for some early morning energy and headed down to the riverside.

I’d only ever been on the banks of the Severn on the Welsh side. In this instance, that’s really where I should have been. As I looked at the river, stood between the two Severn Crossings, the sun was rising over my right shoulder. Not reflecting on the water, and with minimal clouds I was starting to think I should have just gone home back to bed.

A bright red glow emanated from the horizon. None of the photo opportunities that I had in my head presented them selves so I had to make do with what I had to work with.

Abstract or artistic photographs presented themselves to me. A fallen branch of a tree that had washed up on the shore had been stood up in the rocks. Providing a vivid silhouette, it drew a lot of my attention.

There was also the grass. I’ve taken sunrise photos once before that stick in my mind. I took shallow depth of field, artistic grass shots then too.

The serenity and silence of the riverside was fading as early risers began to appear on bicycles and with dogs. Time to pack up and head home where, despite my best efforts, I had to resort to going back to bed for an hour or three.

 

The Red Weed

Next day, the dawn was a brilliant, fiery red and I wandered through the weird and lurid landscape of another planet, for the vegetation which gives Mars its red appearance had taken root on Earth. As man had succumbed to the Martians, so our land now succumbed to the red weed.

It might look like the vibrant oranges of an early sunrise, but it was in fact pitch black shortly after a thunder storm had passed on a foggy hillside. Focusing was mostly a mystery, and the scared sheep weren’t so sure of me, but as soon as this image appeared on my camera’s screen, I knew instantly what it reminded me of. The Red Weed from Jeff Wayne’s War of the Worlds, which I’m listening to now as I write this.

There’s not much else of a story to go with this. Sorry about that. I just really liked the end result, possibly more so because of the above. If you haven’t listened to War of the Worlds, do it. Great, futuristic sounding (for 1978) music added with the narrative of Richard Burton, who wouldn’t want that?

Getting High

The older I get, the more I seem to fear things, and my fear of heights seems to grow in waves but is generally overcome fairly easily. Once I’ve plucked the courage to look down, it passes and I’m fine.

Looking down from the roof of Newport’s Kingsway car park got the blood pumping, or I should say, kept the blood pumping after the walk up the stairs. It’s not that high, I lost count after 4 flights of stairs, but while it’s far from the highest building in Newport, it almost provides a nice view of the city and it’s the most accessible. It was really nice to chill out up there.

It’s views like this that fuel my passion for getting higher. I love seeing photos of towns and cities from up high, from rooftops, or tower cranes, but I lack the knowledge or bravery to do it.

I remember a few years back, I was passing through Swansea while the Meridian Quay tower was close to its 29 story completion. I must have driven and walked past the building no less than 10 times, looking for an entrance that would take me up to no doubt spectacular views. A broken chain link fence was peeled back slightly from the post, just enough for me to slide through. I was in the confines of the building site. This was risky and my heart was racing. Luckily, this was a few years ago, I was slightly fitter and the stairs were less of a problem. Unfinished concrete stairwells didn’t give off the luxury feel just yet. I carried on cautiously up the stairs, listening to every little noise. The crunching of grit under my shoes, the echoes of each footstep. I think It was floor 6 I got to. CLICK. Then a beeping sounding every few seconds, the kind of beep I instantly associated with an alarm. Had I triggered something? Would I get to the top floor, capture the views over this “pretty, shi**y city” and head back down in time before the hounds were released? It was doubtful. I headed back down the stairs double time. Back out of my chain link hole and casually back onto the street. I kick myself to this day. I don’t think there was security on site, very unlikely that there were hounds or killer bees to catch me and I just know that the views at the top would have been stunning. Trespassing in the UK is not a criminal offence to my knowledge, but with the amount of people around who are out to steal metal or tools, how can you prove that you’re not just out to do that? It beat me.

One day I will get really high.