Popshot Popshot

Poorly designed poetry journals are fast becoming an endangered species (even if you're unimpressed with my efforts on Fuselit, we are but one). Enter editor Jacob Denno, who brings a bona fide design student's sensibility to the poetry mag, not to mention a raft of talented illustrators who are paired up with the poems and set to work on complementing the words with a range of delightful images. The result is called Popshot and it looks like this:

I ran into Denno when he was pitching his creation to an art bookshop just off Curtain Road and immediately asked to have a look at it. It really is lovely. Smooth black matt pages, bold red title lettering and crisp, clear images. Quite a nice smell too.

It comes out biannually, has been getting plenty of attention in major magazines, and is available to order from the Popshot website for a very fair £6. If you, like me, have resolved to spend at least a tenner on poetry every month (hardly a demand on the pocket), then that still leaves you with enough for a Happenstance or tall-lighthouse pamphlet before February. Perfecto.

Tall-lighthouse

Tall-lighthouse, the popular London-based poetry publisher, began its Pilot scheme in April 2007 with the aim of publishing pamphlets by a number of promising poets under the age of 30. This enables young writers to hone and show off their material, for the most part prior to releasing full collections, giving readers a taster of their style and what's potentially still to come.

Roddy Lumsden, editor of the series, takes a very hands-on approach to the poetry, which makes all the difference. But then Roddy has always taken an interest in promoting new writing and helping young poets to get the best from their work, be it through critique, his regular Broadcast events or the workshops he organises through the Poetry School. The end result for the Pilot pamphlets consists of tight, quick-witted snapshots that give an excellent cross-section of emerging poetic talent.

Let's have a peep at the pamphlets themselves. Striking and more than a little corporal in red, white and black, they're quite minimalist too. The format is the same for each - a clean snowy background, a splash of red and a small b/w image on red that is unique to that pamphlet. Abi Curtis's 'humbug' sports a patterned snail's shell, while Ben Wilkinson's 'the sparks' features lightning striking the ground beside a ragged tree. It's definitely an interesting approach to maintaining a coherent and recognisable look to the series without sacrificing the individuality of the content in each case. I do, however, wish that you could see the full cover of each on the t-l site, instead of just the unique image for that collection - it's a good look for the site, but you lose that exciting something about buying a book when you can imagine how it looks as a whole and practically feel it in your hand.

The Pilot pamphlets have come in for high praise: Jay Bernard and Kate Potts have been awarded Poetry Book Society Recommendations for 'your sign is cuckoo, girl' and 'whichever music', respectively, and Potts was also shortlisted for the inaugral Michael Marks Award. Sadly, thsi excellent scheme can't survive on praise alone, even with some support from the Arts Council, so do investigate the site and stop by the shop. At £4 a pop, getting into the Pilot pamphlets is a pretty pocket-friendly venture.

The full chronological list of the Pilot pamphlets is as follows:

Abi Curtis - humbug
Adam O'Riordan - queen of the cotton cities
Camellia Stafford - another pretty colour, another break for air
Gareth Jones - weekend millionnaires
Jay Bernard - your sign is cuckoo, girl
Miriam Gamble - this man's town
John McCullough - the lives of ghosts
Retta Bowen - the ornamental world
Kate Potts - whichever music
Vidyan Ravinthiran - at home or nowhere
Ben Wilkinson - the sparks
Emily Berry - stingray fevers
Amy Key - instead of stars
Sarah Howe - a certain chinese encyclopedia
Charlotte Runcie - seventeen horse skeletons
Richard O'Brien - your own devices
NEW Ailbhe Darcy - a fictional dress
NEW Simon Pomery - the stream

Treat yourself!

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Tall-lighthouse calls www.tall-lighthouse.co.uk home.
Our review of Charlotte Runcie's 'Seventeen Horse Skeletons' can be found here.

Photo Shoot with Liam Davenport

Liam Davenport contacted Jon a few months back. He was creating a set of images of London poets, and had recently shot tall-lighthouse poet Amy Key (in the *click*, rather than the *pow* sense). Amy had subsequently suggested to Liam that Jon model at some point, and maybe me too. We were definitely up for it. Find me a poet that wouldn't want their photo taken by a proper photographer - flattering and quite exciting.

A writer himself, Davenport works entirely in film and uses his fiction skills to construct narratives through his visual work. He specialises in fashion, portraiture, bands and gigs, theatre, urban scenes, and landscapes.

The idea for this project was that each poet should choose their favourite spot in London as their setting. Some people went for their own homes, or pubs. Jon snagged the prime photographic real estate of Regent's Park, a place we visited often during the year we lived in Maida Vale, and the most beautiful park I've seen in London. He really enjoyed his shoot, reporting back that he lost track of time because he found himself just chatting as Liam took the photos.

Today I went for my session. It was tough to choose a place. I don't actually love that many places in London besides my own bed. All the beautiful spots are overrun or expensive and I didn't want to copy Jon and pick a park. I thought of ZSL London Zoo, but that would be tricky both in terms of cost and clearance. So Jon suggested Gray's Inn.

To the uninitiated, Gray's Inn is one of the four inns of court. Basically, you have to belong to one to qualify as a barrister in England and Wales. I worked full-time at the Inn library for a year and can remember showing up for the interview and being really impressed by the architecture. Here's the library (that's Francis Bacon in the middle there):

Unfortunately, the Walks were locked. That's the beautiful gardens area where lawyers lie on the grass in summer and forget all their arbitrations. Well here, here's a picture:


Nevertheless, we found plenty of spots around the Inn that would work for this purpose, with a lot of reliance on Liam's photographic eye (in the future I will actually invent a photographic eye Copyright Kirsten Irving 2010 patent pending 4eva). Nooks of the buildings, in front of the accursed locked gates to the Walks, in the squares. There were a lot of options.

Overall, I really enjoyed meeting Liam and the whole surreal experience of modelling. I wish I'd been a bit more relaxed, is all. The general look he was after was relaxed and natural, after all - you just suddenly freeze up when the lens points at you. Unless you're Tyra Banks, in which case when the camera's on you, you morph into a drunk, apoplectic French drag queen. Still, hopefully there's some pictures in there where I'm not gurning too much.

Following his final two shoots, Liam is planning to host an exhibition of the photos; other subjects include Heather Phillipson and Chris McCabe. It's going to be fantastic and really interesting to see how familiar people and strangers alike translate onto film. Will keep you posted!

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To sample Liam's photographic and literary work, have a peek at www.liamdavenport.co.uk.

Days of Roses - Tuesday 26th January

Next week is the first Days of Roses of the decade. The night, run by Declan Ryan, takes place this month at the 3 Blind Mice, a cosy downstairs venue at 5 Ravey St, EC2A 4QW, and starts at 7.00. Here's the facebook link.

Readings include Rowyda Amin, one of the poets featured in our Coin Opera micro-anthology and a writer of quietly atmospheric and visceral faery tale-inspired poetry, and Sophie Mayer, who has the kind of writing CV that leads you to think she must be at least four or five clones all working together, like Michael Keaton in that movie where there's four of him. I've never met Sophie, but I did publish an article of hers back when I was the poetry editor of the roundtable review, and since then I keep seeing her name cropping up. She's written articles for my two favourite film magazines, Little White Lies and Sight & Sound, is an editor on two other high profile magazines and has just pubished a book on the films of Sally Potter. Oh, and she writes poetry too, with two books under her belt and another coming out from Salt this year.

Then there's Andre Naffis, music from Rich Tow, and me.

I'm planning to read some translations of dirty Russian folk-poems, a piece about Stanley Spencer's mistress and at least one 'canto' of my (fictional) epic poem about the life and songs of Belinda Carlisle. Straight up.

February at the Poetry Cafe - K rambles!

Hello! If you're in the reach of Covent Garden/Leicester Square on Thursday 4 February at, oh, say 8pm, stop by the Rock 'n' Sole Plaice (for triple - possibly more! - pun action, as well as the fish and chips).

But THEN, bloated and waddly from your tea, stumble over to the Poetry Cafe for a February bonanza of excellent poetry by Wayne Holloway-Smith, whose poem about the Nue featured in the Sidekick Books anthology Obakarama, Camellia Stafford, whose debut pamphlet "another pretty colour, another break for air" was released as part of tall-lightouse's Pilot scheme, and Tim Wells, whose latest collection, Rougher Yet, was released by Donut Press last year. Oh yes, and me. Most likely my set will involve the Amiga 600 game Lemmings (by way of preview for Coin Opera 2), Twin Peaks, some Faulknerish type milling round the kitchen trying to resurrect a man they knew and a degree of filth.

Click here to view the event! Then click Attend! It is the one that does not say Not Attending or Maybe Attending!

Why, Cut Out & Keep - is that a new haircut?

I said I'd give the old girl a lick of paint in the new year. Feast your eyes on my efforts. I feel like a clueless DIY mechanic emerging from under the bonnet of a vehicle with oil on my hands. I can proudly demonstrate that the engine starts OK and the doors shut nice and tight, but any professional looking into the engine will immediately spot the paperclips holding the wires together and conclude that I've constructed an unroadworthy death trap.

Still, it was an enjoyable diversion. Not coincidentally, tinkering is also the part of writing poetry that I enjoy the most. As a machine, a poem isn't a factory conveyor belt for moving plot or developing character, like a novel or a film; it's more like a watch. You have to make sure all the little cogs fit together properly to make it work. Unlike a watch though, you can't be sure of its exact function, so it's more like shifting the cogs around inside a small alien device, not knowing exactly what will happen when they all line up. It's very involving, slightly secretive, a little anxiety-inducing, and something that has to be pored over while in a particular state of mind. And as is the case with other small objects I pore over - including origami and my Nintendo DS - it can get incredibly frustrating as well.

DISCLAIMER:
I'm not a watchmaker. I don't know anything about cars or heavy factory equipment. I apologise for the crapness of these metaphors.

I'm not the revolution. I'm just your boyfriend!

Or, "Will you slap me with your bitch's glove?"

I want to talk about Electric Six, you see. I was assured that this journal had mutated from purely Fuselit, craft and poetry-related things to more of a mountain from which we are given carte blanche to yodel about things that interest us in a broader sense. And Electric Six interest me.

Unlike nigh-on every review of the band's work since 2002, I don't want to linger on the Song-That-Dare-Not-Speak-Its-Name. Instead, I want to talk about lyrics, and take as my text a cluster of tracks from the supremely titled album I Shall Exterminate Everything Around Me That Restricts Me from Being the Master.

The genius of Electric Six is partly in their knack for catchy tunes - it's almost ludicrous that at least as many people as listen to Scissor Sisters aren't putting on E6 lps on a daily basis, then immediately springing up and dancing till their feet bleed - but it's the lyrics that nail me. See, ideally, I like my music to be either touching and honest or big and fun and camp. I like Fox In The Snow and I like Party Hard.

Electric Six manage both. You'd assume the big, camp side from That Song, and indeed, songs on I Shall Exterminate... grab you with openers like "She was the queen of an evil galaxy" and "angels and demons holding hands and whistling dixie", barked without apology by the magnificently weird cad-a-like Dick Valentine. Totally shallow, throwaway stuff, fun for a short spell and then ultimately meaningless...right?

Carry on listening. Suddenly the angels and demons give way to a sort of weary Americana, as Valentine sings about waiting "in longer lines than the Russians ever did." Suddenly the comedy shagathons become hopeless relationships in which the singer is not so much a cartoonish lothario as a maltreated boyfriend (see Kukuxumushu, from which the title of this post is also taken) staring confusedly at a complete mess of a romance. The comic, yet legally wise misspelling in Down At McDonnelzzz, and the daft, infectious rap chorus about being "down with Ronnell McDonell (sic)" frame a pretty miserable scenario - a lone fast food joint worker getting ready for closing time ("the gift to the night shift"), before being jumped by a gang and forced to keep the joint open just so they have somewhere to hang out. It's a fist in the air for the blue-collared and bullied. And so what if Dick Valentine is a slightly ropey centaur in the video? Some things you don't question - you just enjoy.

Then there's the paranoia of Broken Machine, and one simple image - your girlfriend's robot (of course) slowly observing, mimicking and adapting to your behaviour in order to ultimately outthink and replace you. The arrangement of the song is both cute (blippy synthesisers and robotic sounds) and pretty sinister, softly creeping along behind lines like "It wants to know everything that turns me on./And what turns me on is you/so now that's what turns it on too." The kick-in of the chorus, in which guitars roar and the tormented boyfriend wails "It should be thrown away!" before conceding that "Broken Machine is here to stay" is pretty damned passionate for a song about a robot. While I'm never going to say the lyrics to this song can stand as poetry on their own, it's a great metaphor for fear, inadequacy and the threat of losing something you care about.

And that's what I love about Electric Six. Husky, wry concerns over politics ("Every problem can be solved by burning books") and resigned admissions, such as "I'm just a fuck solution/until the world ends" are invested with exactly the same gravity and thrust as the maddening satire of being "stuck in corner listening to some guy TALK about his screenplay" and the spat-out disgust of "Fabulous people/making all their money from the dirty little people". And of course, the million-dollar questions: "Did I make a mistake/when I sang this song?/Were my vox too sexy?/Were my vox too strong?"

There's no snobbery. It's what pop should be - unafraid to muck about with tone, silly and serious all at once, do press-ups on stage, criticise anybody, act utterly inappropriately in order to honestly discuss loss and pain. In one breath we get mutiny and nuclear war, in the next, Satan's fictional airline.

A lot more than just flashing crotches and Abraham Lincoln in a rubber thong, then. That said, Electric Six do sometimes just purely indulge the Andrew WK in all of us, and you know what? That's OK too. I'll leave you with these lines, from the song Lenny Kravitz:

"And girl, what do you say?
You can dress me up like JFK,
hide in the grassy knoll
and blow me away!"


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Electric Six Official Site
My favourite Dick Valentine group on fb

Your free, semi-portable Tilt update

We said we've have Tilt out in January and we may still yet. The flat is now littered with prototypes because we're trying a radical new binding method that looks fresh and exciting and also solves a problem we've been having for a while with uneven borders (due to the trimming you have to do on saddle-stitched booklets).

Things I can tell you about this revolutionary new process for producing Fuselits:
1) The word 'stab' is involved.
2) The stabbing motion is actually performed multiple times on each issue.
3) I have bought a sewing awl from the chandlers on Shaftesbury Avenue.
4) I have also bought an 'Extra Heavy Duty Leather Punch'. This hasn't arrived yet.
5) Ribbon will replace thread, all being well.
6) Bright orange ribbon!
7) It all began when I watched a Youtube video in two parts.

Bear with us because we've also been having some printer trouble. Not to mention the devil of a time I've had with Tilt's cover - cutting out umpteen circular holes and getting them to line up with letters on another sheet below it.

But by gum, it is on its way!

And cake for all

As anyone who's just shapeshifted their way through a bundle of Marvel characters - including Rogue and Ben Grimm - while running through a Macbethish landcape full of moors and castles from an unknown but terrifying assailant, before waking up slightly confused at midday, can confirm, overindulgence is a danger at Christmas. So while we all hole up and pray for Harry Hill, here's a few virtual food-based Rennies to ease the pain of those seven extra tatties from yesterday:

W. N. Herbert, a favourite at the Fuselit den, has written this awesome festive poem about the forgotten martyr of the season - the noble chicken.

The Nativity Chicken

Below the trembling udder-thuribles
of carolling kine, beneath
the suddenly-loquacious ass

lo, the nativity chicken, roaming
between the shifting pillars
of their leggy temple

to be plucked out on the morn
and executed, though innocent of envy
to provide a nourishing broth
for both mother and boy
(Joseph's speciality for the journey)

let her severed head be set among the stars
to guide all poultry home
to the great after-egg of release
from pucking and pecking
from straining and laying

let her startled beak announce peace
for all those who labour but do not know it
who serve with no sense of duty
and sacrifice without grasp of regret

let her blessings descend upon us like feathers

For more Herbertage, why not explore these realms?

On a poultry theme, check out artist Matthew Meyer's awesome Chickens of the World sequence.

and to drink?

Dark Roasted Blend, who find the weirdest and most intriguing artwork and objects in their "on-going quest for wisdom and beauty, for all things cool and wonderful in our world, and beyond - in the spiritual realm. " have featured a gorgeous array of robot art here. Check out their steampunk page too.

Right-o. I'm off downstairs to ignore all warnings against a surfeit of food and sample some of my future sister-in-law's stunning cakes. Please don't let me Hulk out tonight, body.

I forgot to say ...

We'll be giving the blog a makeover too. Frankly, I think it looks bum and I want to be doing the best impression possible of a professional organisation, even if we aren't one. It would also be helpful, I'm sure, if readers knew who was writing a post at the beginning of it, rather than right at the end!

All Systems Go at Sidekick Books

The second micro-anthology, Obakarama, is out, which means Dr Fulminare and Sidekick Books are steaming into the new decade with both produce and plans for the future. Just to recap, here is what the micro-anthologies look like:


That's Obakarama, and here's Coin Opera:


Both are £5 (plus p&p) and can be ordered from the Sidekick Books site. They're pocket-sized and between 40 and 50 pages each, packed with poetry and (in the case of Obakarama) full-colour illustrations. The contributors are a combination of poets we admire and have approached, poets who we have discovered purely through Fuselit and ones we have encountered through the thriving London poetry scene. Although there's a bias towards the capital, there are also contributors from India, Scotland, the US and Finland. We've got a nice gender balance too, with 12 female poets and illustrators to 13 male.

We're very pleased with these books - they may not be handmade in the same way Fuselit is but every bit as much love and attention has gone into making them. The print quality is excellent (thanks to the chaps at Good News Press) and everybody involved has been both enthusiastic and hard-working. I feel like this sort of approach to publishing poetry is genuinely different, taking the emphasis off the individual as demi-popstar and removing the need to slap over-the-top praise and commendation on every interesting new poet in order to get people to read their work. Instead, the focus is on poetry as a way of engaging in an entertaining way with our past and our future, with other cultures and our own. The common theme gives readers an entry point to an individual's work and also operates as a way of getting people outside the usual circles interested in what poets are doing.

At least, that's the theory! And on that basis, we're planning more collections in the new year, aiming for an even broader range of poets and still more fresh and exciting subject matter, as well as continuing the sort of collaborative formal experiments we started with Chimerium and Telemorphics. It will also, I hope, give us a little breathing space with Fuselit - that is, to continue in the tradition we've established of publishing a unique, lovingly put together literary magazine based on the connotations of a single word, but without the pressure to use it as a vehicle for all our new ideas. With any luck, that means we'll be able to settle into a more regular cycle, and our aim is to get three issues out in 2010, starting with Tilt in January, followed by Jack in May and then ... well, the next word will be announced soon - I've already got the CD design done for it, and a plan for the cover.

Anyway, what's left to say is Merry Christmas to everyone out there, and have a fantastic New Year, from all of us at Fuselit!

Showing your workings

I've just been to see The Paper Cinema's The Night Flyer at the Battersea Arts Centre tonight, a story of a young man's heroic endeavour to save his beloved from fiendish top-hatted rail travel enthusiasts.

The set up was as follows: a video camera is set up in the centre of the room, which is linked up to a projector. The animation is then created in real time, using a series of beautiful paper cut outs which are moved in front of the camera by the two animators/puppeteers.

It struck me that there was an enjoyable tension created by having the mechanisms of the animation laid bare in this way - you could see a pictorial cut out being readied, wonder how it was going to be used and then see it realised on the screen. It didn't distance you from what was taking place within the story, but the two inalienably connected spectacles of creating and creation resonated with one another strangely. You could never actually see the act of creating an effect or movement and the effect or movement itself, but you could infer perfectly between the two (a kind of aesthetic 'knowingness' perhaps?) Against this was a semi-improvised musical accompaniment which in part acted as a glue for the visual experience, allowing you to become immersed in its tensions - or despite them, if you should so choose. But the music must have been more than this, because what was happening visually was of course a parallel of the music, but made clear in a way that we wouldn't normally hear or see in music. Or perhaps it was there all the time, and I'm just not sensitive enough to it.

Phew. I hope that made some kind of sense - I may have been reading too much aesthetics. After the performance, we were showed sketches and talked through what The Paper Cinema presently had in the works - a retelling of the Odyssey. Interspersed with this was further music - some of it the planned score for the new work. It was a pleasure to see a project in its early stages, and it was good to be given an opportunity to input into it - though I question the use of standard BAC forms as a means of accomplishing this. It seemed slightly undiscursive, and the questions didn't quite fit with what we'd seen and been shown. In fairness though, we were all perfectly free to ask questions, and food was offered in an attempt to create a more congenial atmosphere. As with so much, it was what you made of it. For my part, it has got me to consider carefully how you can expose artistic processes to generate more than just critical distance, and what kind of strategies you can employ to encourage people to engage in what you're doing.

Wordplay: Devilry at the Good Ship

Something to kick off the new year - both Kirsty and I will be reading at wordPLAY on Tuesday 5th January in the new year. It's at The Good Ship, 289 Kilburn High Road, £4.50 (£3.50 for concessions) from 7pm. Really neat venue - the readings take place in a sort of sunken pit area with rows of leather sits within it and extra chairs around the edge, so that lots of people can get a clear view of the stage - good job as Facebook claims that 80+ people are planning on turning up.

Other readers include Chris Horton - who has a splendid poem in Fuselit: Mars and whose work turns up more and more regularly in the big national poetry competitions - and Joshua Idehen. I saw Idehen perform at the Fling festival this year and he actually - I'm not even joking or exaggerating - seemed to magnetically draw people towards the poetry tent. He got up on stage and people started to flood in from all directions, beyond the range of the speaker system. He is undoubtedly responsible for most of those 80 who've already put the date in their diaries. Is it just that he's astonishingly tall? Is it the easy-going charisma he exudes? I dunno. But if it means more people are coming to see poetry events, that must be a good thing.

There's also going to be some stories and music, keeping things nice n' eclectic. And I'm going to bring a CD with some music from Sonic 2 in it, which I am going to incorporate into my set. Also some Caligula poems. In fact, I'm going to be mostly doing Caligula poems.

Need an Emergency Christmas Present?

Pentone mugs. I've been meaning to mention these for a while now. Nick and Sue Asbury, a writer/designer team, have come up with Pentone (geddit?), a system for organising voice into different tones.

The Pentone website has tones ranging from 'Hallmark' to 'Palin', 'Boring' to 'Daily Mail'. The mugs, which can be ordered individually or in a set, are 'Yorkshire', 'Sympathetic', 'Stirring' and 'Mug'. You get a swatch sheet featuring the full range with every order though.

Asbury & Asbury are also responsible for the book Corpoetics, which myself and others reviewed for Happenstance here. It's a rather clever little book made up entirely of poems collaged from corporate mission statements.

Back to Pentone, and my current favourite is probably 'Dithering':

Christmas with Audrey II

(Being a quick recap of our day out at all-day poetry bash The Christmas We Get We Deserve)

Sunday was fun. It really didn't feel like eight or so hours in the same joint, although there's no doubting that a hell of a lot of entertainment was packed in, and the Fuselit gang were very happy to join in. The event was co-hosted by Broadcast, Rising magazine and Donut Press, aka Roddy Lumsden, Tim Wells and Andy Ching.

The festivities kicked off in the afternoon, with a series of short readings by Ashna Sarkar, Sabrina Mahfouz, Suzanne Andrade and Sophia Blackwell, compered fantastically by the latter. I hadn't seen Suzanne before, but particularly loved her set of mimed-to-backing-track tales - eerie and as darkly deadpan as a Blue Jam sketch.

Then it was Team Fuselit with the readers from Coin Opera and Obakarama. Roddy Lumsden, Simon Barraclough, Chrissy Williams, Ross Sutherland, Rowyda Amin, David Floyd, Cliff Hammett, Amy Key, Adham Smart and me and Jon compering, reading from Coin Opera and Obakarama, all introduced to a soundtrack of classic game themes. We were over the moon with the readings, and it made us all the more excited about the books, which sold well!



15 to 1 saw a veritable conga line of poets, including Jon, answer questions from Roddy's magazine of quizzery, the winner being the mighty Rowyda Amin.

Then we saw sets by the authors of some of the year's best poetry collections, including Penned in the Margins head honcho Tom Chivers, Luke Kennard and the wounded-but-game Kate Kilalea.

Penultimately, we had the fantastic Donut poet Tim Turnbull. If you haven't seen him and you have the chance, you probably should. Especially when he rounds off his set with a chorus by acapella group the La Di Dahs to accompany him.


The immaculately-coiffed La Di Dahs rounded the reveleries off with Andrews sisters-esque renditions of Creep, Lose Yourself and Earth Song, before the wartime classic Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy.

And that was that - the day slid so easily by. The Betsey, as usual, proved a grand venue (with top mulled wine), the spirit was decidedly festive and there were even presents. Here's hoping it's repeated next year.

PS: oh yeah - the Audrey II mention is in reference to the huge pot plant that you can see in the Tim Turnbull picture above, which thwarted most of my other photos. Ah, I'm fooling nobody. I blighted the shots by being supremely rubbish at photography. But enthusiasm? I got that.