Whimsical Musings of a Loon

Photography is one of my passions, and today whilst on a long walk with the dog up Caerphilly Mountain, I stopped at a style that overlooked Cardiff and wished I could master capturing the view. For years I have tried, and I have never quite achieved to replicate the oddly part-picturesque-part-M4-induced-city-scape exactly how I wanted. I will continue to try every time I trample past, but it did make me ponder over what was my actual favourite image of all time. Growing up, it was press images of sporting moments that captured beautifully split-second action, that got me fascinated photography. The images, perhaps, of Wales scoring a try in a rare victory - they were such exciting photographs -  the excitement in the players' eyes, the mud, the emotion, the faces of the crowds; you could sit and pour over the image and live it for much longer than you could watching the replay endlessly on TV. As I studied photography more, I saw the power this medium had for letting us conce

I love running. No, I LOVE running. When people hear this or see how enthusiastic I get about running long distances, clocking up the miles early morning, or struggling up a Caerphilly mountain training run, some respond in sheer recoiled horror. I may as well have admitted I enjoy eating puppies for dinner before washing them down with a mug of vinegar once owned by Hitler. But I genuinely love it. And I wasn't always sure why; until I read Murakami's 'What I Talk About When I Talk About Running' short book; his philosophy on his love of the pursuit. What he writes is essentially this: running is part of what he is. Like an artist's art, or musician's music. Just because it is an exercise (a sport!) makes it no less valuable or trivial to study and philosophise about. I had always liked sport as a kid. I spent the first 10 years of my life kicking a football against the garage door, winning Wimbledon against the side of the house, and using my mum's h

When You Tube was in its relative infancy, I stumbled upon a video that made me laugh so much I spilt tea on my keyboard. The late 90s and early years of the new millennium was the beginning of the Internet video cult phenomenon, a time when footage would slip easily through copyrighted nets and the for-father to the iplayer age. I'd already discovered the power of the internet's time wasting capabilities - hours spent entertaining myself as a student building websites on geocities-  on Bargain Hunt's leathery badger haired David Dickinson; aging ex tennis players and their similarities to various zoo animals (of course my sites were hilarious [sic] and satire witticisms and not just er [sic]). I spent whole evenings looking up 'celebrity morgue.com' with my flatmates; finding out when I would die on deathclock.com; and conspiracy theories pages with flashing GIFs (the animated GIF - the comic sans of early internet elements - which naturally made any 'fact

When it comes to literature, I am not usually particularly keen on spin-off books or novels based on classic characters. When I first read Jane Austen as an 11 year old, I was so captivated by the sparkling characters in Pride & Prejudice , so desperate to be part of their lives and learn more, I read a 'sequel' written by a modern writer. It was based on Elizabeth Bennett's married life with Darcy. It was one of the worst pieces of writing I had ever read, even worse than the deliciously awful Point Horror books I use to devour as a sort of pot noodle literature alongside the gourmet Austen. It was like a bad Hollywood sequel where the actors couldn't act, the director couldn't direct and script was was written with invisible ink on thin air. So it was with trepidation that I began reading ' Wide Sargasso Sea' . Recommended by a good friend of similar tastes and with whom I trusted with my cultural life, I took it up with the sort of enthusiasm of

At a late night post-rugby celebrational conversation on Saturday night mulling over "what is your favourite symphony", it occurred to me that chosing favourites when it comes to music, film, literature, art and culture is indeed, a troublesome task that can cause a lot of in-house conflict. Deciding on our favourites, our lists of what we consider the best or most enjoyable, seems for so many to define who we are. Author Nick Hornby wrote a book dealing with this very theme; High Fidelity , a tale of man's obsession with lists and favourites. Essentially, it is trivial. Who cares if we rank Neighbours above Emmerdale , or Quincy above Columbo (even if it is true...) but at the same time, it is always enjoyable sifting through the options. For me, it is akin to solving a crossword puzzle - works the brain, the outcome isn't important, but if you love these things, it is deliciously satisfying to complete. One area I often ponder is on the subject of music and

Sudden vast beasts wall the scape, Gone are greens, now reds do drape; Moist air so still, yet majestic, proud, Rocky streams gush force and loud. Bony trees, clawed and long, Mountain King Peacock struts and strong, Artery dry stones reach so high, They pathway up beyond the sky. The mist above clouds darkened dream, Crystal water so pure, barely seen, O now understanding why Eryri gave blame, Resplendent dramatics inspired Ray of Light, his name. I wish I was the mist that swirls the air, I wish I was the peak that towers to dare, I wish I was the force of beauty that all can see; I wish I was the feeling of so meant to be.