Searching for Stubnitz
I am at Gallions Reach, in another London, following signs, searching for Stubnitz…
or Bass for your face, Paddock Wood.
The countryside is the strangest place. It’s flat and windy and full of cars. The people there have a problem with bass, which is a problem, when you are playing reggae at a festival with Mixmaster Morris. We have 12-5, daytime, maximum chillout vibes in a reggae style, with a few side tracks, hour on, hour off. It’s one of those afternoons that just flows, no pressure, just good company, sunshine and great music. At ten to five Babylon pulls the plug on the tent, apparently the bass is drowning out the sound of traffic on the A228, or perhaps the peace of man’s barbecue is being disturbed down there in Paddock Wood. Because it’s a reggae festival, I kind of wish I had played less reggae. Because I am me it bugs me that when someone else plays the same tune it sounds better than when I play it. But these are just the usual doubts. What with Morris and Saxon and Channel One, it turns out to be an inspiring day out in the sunshine. One Love. Now all sing… Jamaica have one and two and three, Jamaica have one and two and three…
You Are Here
Here is shadow, fading, brightness, heat, intensity. Here is me, in a boat, with a camera, here is colour, dreaming, reflection.
Grown up sports day
Some alternative images from the Olympic site. By the way, the 100m needs no analysis. It just goes like this: marks… set… bang… aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!. Adrenalin.