Apples

"...Shake me, as hard as you like.
Only apples will fall.
Apples and apples and apples".

Adrian Mitchell, Pacifist Poet and DogFather, d. 2008

I once had the honour of performing my poetry as the support act when Adrian M. performed in Stroud, back in 2002. He was a charming man; very funny, and we both sold out of our books afterwards. At the last moment, our venue had been switched, and we ended up in Stroud's largest, most prestigious venue. I was comforted to see that Adrian still suffered from pre-performance nerves, too, so we nipped into the offy opposite for a half bottle of brandy to calm them. Despite the brandy and my poor mic technique, it is a night I will remember for all time: my fifteen minutes of fame!

Apples have been in short supply this year, but I have missed cooking with them. So today I got out the peeler and made apple -and -allspice flapjack with any eating apples that were lying around: a mixture of shapes, textures, and colours. First, though, I photographed them on the scales and in this bowl, made of wood from Westonbirt arboretum, which was given to me when I left the Stroud Bookshop in 2005 ( I don't mean I was the annoying customer they couldn't get rid of; I did work there for years!)

Why black and white? I don't know. Before I came to today's shot for blip I had been editing shots I took yesterday of the Tv screen while I was watching Rebecca, the Hitchcock movie. So maybe that's why. Or maybe it's because I've finally caught up with comments and other subscribed people's journals (for now) and quite possibly I have learned from them...