As a resident of St Giles, I have a love-hate relationship with the fair. There’s something undeniably magnificently bonkers about the whole idea. The fair being blessed by the priests of St Giles church is extraordinary. The clean, empty street on Wednesday morning, devoid of any signs of what’s been going on for the past few days, is nothing short of miraculous. I (sort of) love all the garish lights and colours and enjoy the smell of donuts and spit roast and hot dogs and the sight of people carrying oversized stuffed animals around. But the fair is also noisy and disruptive to all normal life, bringing sleepless nights and forcing residents away. The fair also photographs very poorly – the fast moving people and the bright, flashing lights just don’t make a good combination. The rides move fast for someone who is has problems with continuous focus. Someone will be photobombing your carefully framed portraits, or the people move out of the frame. And the light on their faces will always, always be terrible.
As a city dweller (first floor, with a view of traffic lights and a cemetery), I dream of the time when I can have my own garden – berries and apples, rhubarbs under bells, neat rows of vegetables and beets and herbs, sweet peas (which smell like heaven and don’t photograph at all well) and autumn dahlias. One day.
I have always wanted to photograph a lavender field – there’s something glorious about the colour, the straight lines of the bushes, the overwhelming scale of purple stretching from horizon to horizon. We got to Hitching Lavender Farm on a hot early August Sunday; the fields were full of visitors like us, and so I didn’t quite get the wide-angle shot I had hoped for. The scent was ripe and heavy, the flowers full of bees, the air buzzing with them as they flew around, drunk on the nectar. It was a good day.
All photos have been scaled to 25% from original size with a batch processing software. Click images to see full size for best quality.