joanbyrnesnaps

Raising a laugh

2012-01-22T10:13:00.000-08:00

‘Don’t pull that string!’ warned the Bun House publican (see entry below). I didn’t. Then along came one of the guys who works there and he pulled it. The regulars must have seen this trick hundreds of times, but it seemed no less amusing to them than it did to me. The monk’s days of dangling over a mahogany bar are numbered: Friday, 27 January is the Bun House’s closing party after 114 years of pulling pints for Peckham punters.

The Bun House and the Fat Boy of Peckham

2012-01-17T11:26:00.000-08:00

It’s an old Peckham boozer, soon to be an ex-boozer as financial interests have moved in. ‘Switzerland’ is whispered but is left unexplained… contracts ensuring silence have been signed… and the landlord mutters the ‘pub game is dead’ and he may be right. This kind of pub, anyway, is past its best. Although, the Bun House has not just been a dingy pub; it has been adopted by art students wanting unconventional exhibition spaces and for the past several years the place has been enlivened by modern art and modern artists. The banner in front of the pub, designed by Rachael House, draws attention to the shared birthdays of the Fat Boy of Peckham (an entertainer) and the Bun House. They were both born in1898. The pub will close its doors next week: no more Quavers, boiled green sweets, jammy biscuits or Brazil nuts -- fare which the publican provided for his clientele -- will ever be eaten there again.

Despite all

2012-01-08T11:04:00.000-08:00

Phew! We made it through 2011. Through the madness of collapsing systems, institutions and hope. And, yet, we’re still here and so is hope. It regenerates like new skin on old wounds. So, what will 2012 bring? Well, there’s the promise that nurses will speak with patients; that the grammar school system will be revived for them as can afford private tuition for their children; that the financial world will be regulated sometime quite soon (honest!); that fat bonuses will be, ahem, poked a bit, and that, according to Polly Toynbee, half a million families in Britain with children under 5 will fall into absolute (not relative) poverty. Ah, hope. And charity? Where she?

Photo shows a part of the Berlin Wall which stands outside the Imperial War Museum. The museum has a stunning exhibition of Don McCullin‘s photography: Shaped By War. You may, like me, be amazed by the number of wars there have been since the end of World War II: the war to end all wars. http://www.iwm.org.uk/exhibitions/shaped-by-war-photographs-by-don-mccullin

Loopy lips

2011-12-20T08:35:00.000-08:00

Lips: without which we could not smile, eat, pout, speak or kiss. So, hoping you’ll forgive the distortion of the language, Merry Kissmas. xx

Seize the Time

2011-12-15T09:25:00.000-08:00

I took this photo in London’s West End. If it doesn’t sound too pretentious (moi?) I think it’s an illustration of Cartier-Bresson’s ‘Significant Moment’. I was on my way into a shop when I spotted the scene, so I detoured and whipped out my camera. By the time I left the shop, ten minutes later, the character had disappeared, possibly into the garbage.

Large man, small car

2011-12-04T04:51:00.000-08:00

This image posted in the window of a Chinese herbal medicine shop in Brixton made me chortle. The man should definitely lose weight and/or buy a bigger car, but firstly he should shave off that chest-hugging beard, although… come to think about it he does rather resemble a certain seasonal character. Perhaps, keep the beard, ditch the glasses?

The 6:17

2011-11-27T04:33:00.000-08:00

I wrote the poem last autumn. It’s inspired by a sight on the Rye. Since I don't have a photo of scuds of leaves, here's one of a maple tree caught in a last blaze of colour.

The 6:17

under a lemony sky

a litter of leaves lay

on the green

till a sudden breeze

raised them from their

recumbency

to send them rushing

like commuters racing for

the 6:17

Shock! Smoking doesn't kill!

2011-11-15T11:09:00.000-08:00

I can imagine the scenario. Lying in her sickbed, the woman lights up her favourite brand of cigarette, a John Player Special, inhales, turns to the family and says: ‘You better put on my grave that it wasn’t smoking that killed me.’ The family take her at her word. I wish to thank her and them for giving us a laugh, albeit a rueful one. And for leaving us with a puzzle. What was it that killed her?

Bagging some happiness

2011-11-13T10:06:00.000-08:00

You won’t find them in Waitrose or Morrison’s, but you can buy them at Khan’s Supermarket in Peckham: cheery tomatoes. Just seeing the creative spelling is enough to make me cheerful.

Buttons and Cinderella

2011-11-03T09:59:00.000-07:00

At five pence each, these buttons are a bargain for any Cinderella out there wanting to jazz up an outfit before her fairy godmother arrives with a complete ball-gown revamp, which, in turn will nab her a Prince Charming and then, since he’ll take care of her for the rest of her regal life, the cost of buttons will no longer be a concern.

Wherever I lay my towel is my home

2011-10-27T12:57:00.000-07:00

The towels draped on the bollards belong to one of the many hairdressing salons in Peckham. It was a sunny day, so this is a reasonable way to dry them. What I hadn’t counted on was the action stage left.

Art's riposte to financial gloom

2011-10-23T03:50:00.000-07:00

Look how threatening the Occupy the London Stock Exchange protesters are. This young woman is painting a bright new floral dawn on her tent. Makes you shiver with fear, doesn't it?

Winter of our discontent

2011-10-22T06:40:00.000-07:00

The anti-bankers’ demonstration close to St Paul’s Cathedral looked fine to me when I visited yesterday. The tents are one- or two-person size and are contained in a couple of small areas, a sign requests that no more people join in. The food tent is well stocked, there’s an information tent, a media tent, facilities for First Aid, and rubbish is recycled. I saw a circle of demonstrators just finishing an outdoor meeting: democracy in practice. And the message of anger on behalf of the 99% of us who have been shafted is delivered with a great big dose of Dadaism. Accessibility to the cathedral certainly didn’t appear to be a problem since many people were coming and going. The police were low-key, although one looked bemused when a frantic woman asked: ‘Do you know where the nearest Next is?’

Go to work on a Rothko

2011-10-17T08:50:00.000-07:00

I used to work in an office close to Tate Modern. I know, we all used to work… reminds me of a postcard from the 80s: ‘Daddy, what did you do when there were jobs?’ asks a young girl of her father sunken into an armchair. At the time (back to the 80s) the building which is now Tate Modern was up for demolition. Yes, it was about to be razed, probably to make room for snazzy apartments. In my lunch-hour I would sometimes come and pay respect to the building. I didn’t just mourn its imminent destruction, I would will it into life. And like all good fairy stories, it ended happily ever after. So happily, that one woman is able to immerse herself in a Rothko painting in Tate Modern to the exclusion of all else.

Has bin

2011-09-27T07:19:00.000-07:00

I was waiting for the bus when I took this photo. I don’t know what the crow was waiting for. (It perched on the bin for a long time.) Possibly its dinner: discarded KFC or McDonald’s, perhaps. Crows are adept at getting their food needs met. They will use their feet and beak to secure and open a bag of crisps, for instance. And, they’ll wade in to any gathering of lesser-sized birds to grab the goods. I like the way they walk, a little pigeon-toed, a little wide-of-the-mark, as if they’ve just got off a horse. They levitate like helicopters when setting off to fly. As to the cawing, it’s distinctive and that’s the best you can say about it.

The incomparable Vivian Maier

2011-09-22T12:59:00.000-07:00

Anyone yet to come across Vivian Maier’s street photography is in for a treat. She began photographing in the 1950s, mostly in New York and Chicago. Her photos combine aesthetics with humour and pathos. In her lifetime Vivian was unknown as a photographer. It was only when a cache of thousands of negatives and hundreds of prints turned up at an auction house that her work was discovered as a treasure trove of images. This is one of her hats worn when she was out photographing on the mean streets. It travelled 3,000+ miles to Brixton’s Photofusion gallery which held an exhibition of her work. A woman with a hat on is regarded, I like to think, in a kindly way. I, too, often wear one when snapping our mean streets. www.vivianmaier.com/

On high

2011-09-12T13:16:00.000-07:00

These days in the arcades of Brixton market you can eat pizza topped with buffalo mozzarella, order a flat white coffee or drink organic wine… but trek a little further and you’ll discover a wilder side.

Despite appearances, this scene has nothing to do with bondage -- at least I don’t think so. The stall-holder is simply using what’s around him to show off his wares. He stands beneath the display selling, when I was there, a cotton flower-print nightdress.

A pleasant fate

2011-09-04T11:24:00.001-07:00

Punch and Judy. Home-made marmalade. Dog show. Cake tent. Book stall. Crocheted tea cosies. Sack race. A coconut shy. Beer and Pimms. The Peckham Rye Fete, held yesterday, managed, as it always does, to suspend time and place. And this year it was hot, enhancing the feeling that we weren’t quite in 21^st Century inner London in September.

A pleasant fate

2011-09-04T11:23:00.000-07:00

A pyramid of highlights

2011-09-02T09:11:00.000-07:00

Seated in an alcove of a hairdressing salon that opened out onto the street, she presented too good a photo opportunity to ignore. I felt guilty taking the shot. Of course, I did. But, that’s the dilemma that street or documentary photographers face. I try always to veer on the side of respecting my subjects. I wouldn’t say the lady was happy with my intrusion, but all I can say is sorry. And, hooray because it’s a photo that pleases my sense of the absurd.

Murdoch and Jeremy Hunt

2011-08-19T13:51:00.000-07:00

In Islington I spotted a poster depicting Rupert Murdoch with a band -- like a wide plaster -- stretched across his mouth. On it were these words: ‘What a Jeremy Hunt’. To which I should like to add, ‘Bliss was it in that dawn to have been alive’ when this exquisite example of rhyming slang was inadvertently -- but happily -- created on the Today programme. And, now to see it put to such good use.

This way to the Kingdom

2011-08-19T03:35:00.000-07:00

Peckham is blessed with places of worship including one for Jehovah’s Witnesses. A family on my street are Jehovah’s Witnesses. The son told me that in his religion birthdays are not celebrated. He looked sad about this, and I must say not celebrating the day when you have struggled from the womb to the world is mean-spirited. Come to think about it, you don’t often see a happy Jehovah’s Witness. This may be due to the way they are treated on the doorstep when they visit to recruit followers to their belief that better times will come… once we’re dead. Or, rather, once they're dead because I think they get a better deal in the Kingdom.

Give peace a chance

2011-08-14T04:11:00.000-07:00

The boards comprising Peckham’s peace wall (see earlier blog) continue to be covered with expressions of hope, sometimes despair. Meanwhile, the first three boards have been moved to Peckham Library where I photographed them. For some reason this corner of the building is bathed in a ghastly green light.

Here are some of the peace wall messages:

Life is too short! Let go!

Love Peckham. Educate.

It’s gone too far… where is the love?

We’re citizens first, consumers second.

My Home. Your Home. Our home.

I love Peckham for all the grannies and people.

Don’t blame the youths. Blame the Conservatives.

God is coming.

Peckham's Peace Wall

2011-08-12T09:14:00.000-07:00

We love Peckham

2011-08-12T09:00:00.000-07:00

My experience of Peckham’s riot was sonic: screaming sirens and helicopters noisily circling for two days and nights. A few days later and Rye Lane has returned to its usual bustle, although one shop stands as a blackened skeleton and others have boarded-up windows. Among them is Poundland. Boards covering its smashed windows have become a ‘peace wall’ of post-it notes, a spontaneous outlet for the community to counter the lunacy.

Barking!

2011-07-29T12:20:00.000-07:00

Why present roses in packaging that depicts an image of a dog bearing a close resemblance to a Rottweiler? It might even be frothing at the mouth! Photo taken at London’s Flower Market.

Frank's in Peckham

2011-07-18T10:47:00.000-07:00

Summer in downtown Peckham is marked by the opening of Frank’s Cafe (now in its fifth year). It’s in a car-park and is reached by heaving open an unmarked metal door and by persevering through dismal layers of concrete up to the top floor where the views and the smell of grilled sardines and the pink of Campari cocktails and the sight of sculptures that pirouette in the skyline will reward you.

Kittens?

2011-07-05T13:01:00.000-07:00

I took this photo just as he finished writing the sign. It was taken a few years ago when I was part of a group of artists documenting the changing face of the Elephant and Castle, a project organised by Tate Modern. Ever since I’ve wondered if ‘kittens’ was a code for something else… something more sinister than cute bundles of fur. On the other hand, he did work in a pet shop.

Almost, nearly, practically existentialist

2011-06-28T10:07:00.000-07:00

Can Major Chaos be far behind..?

Spiritual shopping in Brixton

2011-06-24T09:00:00.000-07:00

It claims to be ‘the real-true spiritual shop… your last spiritual shop’. On the door a notice welcomes you ‘to come in and seek help from a spiritual advisor’. Above the door a sign warns: ‘Holy Ghost Zone Devil Keep Off.’ All of this should be consoling, but it worries me. I mean, if the last spiritual shop can’t provide what you need, then what?

Discarded art

2011-06-17T04:28:00.000-07:00

This has a distinctly twisted nightmare thing going for it… clawed feet, a horned head, random bosoms, a tail, perhaps two, and all of it in a salacious pink. Perhaps it was inspired by Dali’s sofa, designed as an homage to Mae West’s lips. The artwork was abandoned in Peckham: heaven knows why.

Popcorn Peckham

2011-06-02T02:00:00.000-07:00

Friday evening and I was on a bus -- top deck -- when I took this photo in Peckham. Peckham and popcorn go together quite well. Frivolous and sticky and 50 pence only! I can imagine the woman reaching home, tipping the popcorn into a bowl and her kids enjoying it as they watch TV, a treat at the end of another week at school.

Mature but tasty

2011-05-26T09:25:00.000-07:00

A medium-sized OAP and a green salad, please. Mmm.

A man at rest and a man arrested

2011-05-19T13:21:00.000-07:00

At the Southbank I photographed a man who, after eating a sandwich, stretched out on a bench for 40 winks. Moments later I was in Tate Modern where I drank a coffee, looked at art and admired the view. Then I remembered Ai Weiwei currently detained at the Chinese government’s behest precisely because he is the sort of a man who might eat a sandwich and enjoy an unscheduled snooze (or whatever he fancied) and think to hell with it. I knew Tate Modern had put up a sign to promote Ai Weiwei’s release from imprisonment, but where was it? Finally I found it at the top of this iconic building. I can only add a small voice to the clamour for his freedom and that of others in China who are free spirits and have something to say for themselves.

Prize winner!

2011-05-01T11:01:00.000-07:00

I entered this photo to the Bicentenary Friends’ Exhibition at Dulwich Picture Gallery (England’s oldest public gallery, designed by the incomparable Sir John Soane) and it won a prize! The photo is of a gentleman called Hilroy, known to his friends as Honey. After the photo appeared on a website a few years ago, I was contacted by the family. I learned that Hilroy had died shortly after I photographed him. I also discovered what a fine man he was… artist, musician, carpenter and style icon. To read about the exhibition, click on:

http://dulwichonview.org.uk/2011/04/26/south-london-women-artists-win-lionesses’-share-of-the-prizes/

Sanity grows in parks

2011-04-29T07:53:00.000-07:00

I was in the library the other day when perfect strangers spoke about how awful it would be if our library closed. ‘Yes,’ said one woman, ‘it will be dreadful if the libraries go, but if they shut the parks… people will go mad.’ This photo shows a floral display (red, white and blue?) in Southwark Park. It’s my nod to the royal wedding. Of course, Kat and Will will never be without parks; we had better keep our parks, too, or else…

Double Happiness!

2011-04-14T06:31:00.000-07:00

Occasionally, the camera and I venture beyond Peckham. This is a young man employed in the kitchen of a restaurant or hotel near London’s Carnaby Street (an assumption based on his clothes). He’s taking a break and by squatting and shielding his face, he has created privacy out on the street. He reads a book… nearly at the end now. He's also holding a lighter and pack of Double Happiness cigarettes, a Chinese brand, for times when single happiness is not enough.

When Art met Music

2011-04-05T09:49:00.000-07:00

How else to paint Handel, if not with care? This is the packaging on an artist’s work soon to be unwrapped and hung -- with care -- at an exhibition space in Peckham.

Taking a shine to shoes

2011-03-14T11:33:00.000-07:00

Forget Paris. In Peckham the trend is for wearing a shoe upon the head. It promotes excellent posture and there’s one left over to walk in.

Miracles and Beans

2011-02-27T11:09:00.000-08:00

Anyone expecting the Big warm-hearted Society to spring from a land ravaged by cuts to every conceivable service that promotes societal well-being, must be wildly optimistic or believe in miracles.

No longer exceptional events, miracles have become commodities, like tinned food. Pop along to the Beneficial Veracious Christ Church Miracle Centre in Peckham and you’re practically guaranteed a miracle, if that’s what you want. Well, who doesn’t fancy a miracle? Oh, and look, two tins of beans for the price of one.

Puff Daddy and the Peckham Pigeon

2011-02-20T10:24:00.000-08:00

The Peckham pigeon

Doesn't strut

She's not that vain

Too busy dodging traffic

On one good leg

The other's lame

Arse in the air

Thick around the middle

A waddle

A flutter

Of feathers the colour of lead

But

It has to be said

To Puff Daddy she's the bee's knees

He fans his tail

Extends his chest

Coos his caress

To his one true love

His mate: the Peckham Pigeon

Dancing to his own tune

2011-02-13T10:23:00.000-08:00

It’s silly to have written about the Grand Prix Priest (see previous blog) and not to have included a photo of him. Here are two. Neither is a good snap, but they will give you the idea. He’s a great exponent of dancing, but having watched his jig several times, I am at a loss to describe it. Certainly, chutzpah comes into it. But, the Dancing Priest is on to something. He’s on to dancing!

Defrocked Nunhead Priest

2011-01-30T05:54:00.000-08:00

This gentleman (apologies for missing head) is a follower of the Grand Prix priest. If you don’t know who he is, Google will enlighten you. And if you need a good laugh, look at YouTube’s ‘The Dancing Priest’. Cornelius (known as Neil) Horan used to be a priest at the Catholic church in Nunhead… until he was defrocked. Apparently, he was defrocked because of his self-appointed mission to warn about the end of the world. Despite the loss of his priestly status, Horan has carried on with spreading his message through other means, notably running on to the track at Silverstone during the British Grand Prix as well as other attempts at the Olympics Marathon, the Derby and Football World Cup. When he’s not running, he’s dancing an Irish jig. He has performed the jig in various venues including Britain’s Got Talent, 2009. When he dances (and does his sensational running demos) he wears a kilt; it is very short and resembles a mini-skirt. That’s a defrocked priest, then, in a skirt.

Take a punt

2011-01-23T09:46:00.000-08:00

When times get tough, you can bet that gambling will step in to tempt us with better times ahead… if only my horse comes in first or my poker hand’s a winner. In Eire, Paddy Power has overtaken the Bank of Ireland to become the country’s eighth largest company. Gambling in the UK is a growing business, in particular online betting, never mind that it increases people’s isolation. But, whether gambling is done by bankers or punters, it amounts to the same thing. It’s gambling: only the size of the stake differs. For many, though, it ends in tears. Not that it’s always the people who do the betting who do the crying; most often it’s the poor bastard on the street who didn’t even have the pleasure of a flutter. It’s you and me.

BROKE

2011-01-12T04:27:00.000-08:00

Feeling broke

'Nough to choke

Feeling blue

Purple hue

In the dumps

Got the hump

Porridge pale

Not in sail

Perfect sod

Of a god

Awful time

What's my crime?

Gi's a dime.

Crocodile in Peckham!

2011-01-06T08:13:00.000-08:00

Is it safe to leave home? Is it safe to stay home? I’d put good money on there not being another neighbourhood in London where a crocodile could be found inhabiting a bath, although I do recall reading in the local press about a black panther that broke into a flat in Nunhead (a stone’s throw from Peckham). Yes, it can be wild around here, but not usually in a David Attenborough way.

Happy 2011

2010-12-31T10:23:00.000-08:00

The money’s run out, capitalism has imploded but hope springs infernal, and I just can’t resist a touch of optimism (like a temporary hair colour on greying hair). Panglossian? Yes, but right now that’s okay. If you can’t toast better times ahead on New Year’s Eve, when can you? Realism can wait. The photo is of a weed eking out a living by the side of Deptford canal.

Father Christmas sits on the fence

2010-12-22T10:11:00.000-08:00

It can no longer be ducked. Christmas is imminent. The geese have got fat. Hams are tender. Turkeys big breasted. Chestnuts are roasting. Pies are mincing. Puddings are plumy. Merry Christmas one and all.

Shocking news: more snow has fallen: we're British and we can't cope!

2010-12-18T09:29:00.000-08:00

The country has come to a halt. Transport has ceased. Hospitals are filling up with the injured (well, if you will go out, what do you expect?) Flu crisis pending. Politicians sharpening their knives to make more cuts. Shops running out of tinsel. What can one do? Why, make a snowman of course. Put that pent-up energy into making a thing of foolery.

Desmond's: TV star!

2010-12-08T02:57:00.000-08:00

Here’s a picture of a sink. Not my sink but one that I photographed in Desmond’s barber shop in Peckham. From the late 80’s to the mid 90’s there was a popular Channel Four TV sitcom called Desmond’s. It was the first sitcom to feature Caribbean people in a work situation. The series was actually filmed in this barbers. The other photo is of Lloyd tending to a client who has been coming to Desmond’s to get his hair cut by Lloyd since he was a boy. Sadly, after 30-plus years Desmond’s recently closed its doors for ever. For the next couple of weeks, the photo of Lloyd is exhibited at the Peckham Space gallery. A memory temporarily on a wall.

Peckham: love and loathing

2010-11-27T07:36:00.000-08:00

For some it inspires fear and loathing, but many of us love Peckham. We love its vibrancy. Its energy… craziness… diversity… humour. But, I confess that a stroll down Rye Lane is not always a walk in the park. It can be confrontational. So, if I’m feeling less than resilient, I go to one of the other nearby haunts: East Dulwich, Nunhead or Forest Hill where the pace is more sedate. And it’s rare to see a murder poster in a window with nets.

Let us give thanks

2010-11-24T10:10:00.000-08:00

It’s Thanksgiving tomorrow. Although an American celebration, it has infiltrated the English calendar of reasons to get together with friends to eat, drink and make merry. And what better way to mark it than with a delicious pumpkin pie. Yummy. These gorgeous pumpkins were arrayed on a stall in Borough Market. Happy Thanksgiving!

Let them eat cake

2010-11-18T07:08:00.000-08:00

I was walking down Rye Lane in Peckham when a bird winged past me and into a Caribbean bakery. I followed the bird in and photographed it as it helped itself to delicious ginger cake crumbs. The staff of the bakery were utterly unperturbed and just looked on. Once the bird had eaten its fill, it flew back to the street. Later I identified it as a Pied Wagtail (with one sore foot).

Mummy!

2010-11-11T08:38:00.000-08:00

It was dusk when I met this lady at the bus-stop on Rye Lane in Peckham. ‘Goodnight,’ she called to a young guy hurrying by. Then, she turned to me and said, ‘I’m his mummy. I’m mummy to them all.’ ‘All?’ I said. ‘One hundred and eight four of them.’ ‘One hundred and eight four?’ ‘Yes,’ she said 184 Afghan boys.’ She showed me her hand. ‘And they look after me!’ She flashed a gold ring. These ‘boys’ run stalls and shops in Peckham… a long way from home and mummy.

On London Underground, the saddest thing is the unrequited love

2010-11-10T10:31:00.000-08:00

opposing seats

she looked

he peeked

she gazed

he glanced

she dreamed of

a life

he dreamed of

a wife

the train pulled in

and

she got off

Message from an Anarchist in possession of red paint and a white surface

2010-11-06T10:12:00.000-07:00

Knocked off his pedestal

2010-10-28T08:57:00.000-07:00

This is a statue of an important man (I know not who). Once it would have stood on a pedestal but somehow it has been toppled and now it rests ingloriously on the earth, the head spattered with purple fruit. Is there a moral to this? Is it an allusion to the impermanence of life and the transience of worldly glory? Or just a snap of the bust of an armless man?

Taking It On The Chin

2010-10-21T08:18:00.000-07:00

Here in the west the economy is heading south. One casualty of our straitened times is a local menswear shop which has been forced to close down. Apart from flogging off its stock it is selling its ‘chins’ (that appears to be the name for these models). They’re a bargain and I regret I didn’t buy one. Too late now; the shop is shuttered.

off Brick Lane

2010-10-13T10:10:00.000-07:00

In markets, colours clash and hit your eyeballs. Smells assert themselves like boxers in a ring. Often, your body is crushed and squeezed. You stare at the produce trying to decide: is it a bargain or is it a con? This snap was taken in a side street off Brick Lane, a fabulously varied market, in the East End of London.

Close, yet not too close

2010-10-06T09:11:00.000-07:00

One thing… the only thing I have in common with the great photographer Robert Frank is that he took a series of photos from a bus (New York, 1950s) and I did the same in Peckham. His are better. But, I only discovered that he’d done it after I’d done it. Did we do it for the same reason? The appeal of safety when you take a photo from behind glass in a moving vehicle.

ART

2010-10-01T01:49:00.000-07:00

The Daimler was parked by Peckham Rye. It was awaiting the bride who was conventionally late. In the photograph you can just see, swimming in the shiny surface, a reflection of the Rye. Art, but is it?

Rear View

2010-09-30T10:42:00.000-07:00

No, I don’t know what’s going on either. I photographed this lady outside Southwark Cathedral. Visitors to this historic cathedral have much to marvel at including a life-size statue of Shakespeare reclining. He leans on one elbow, and in his hand there is always a small posy of fresh flowers. Who puts the flowers there?

Remotely Loved

2010-09-28T02:19:00.000-07:00

Here’s a little poem I wrote. It goes quite nicely with this photo taken on Saturday at Deptford market.

REMOTELY LOVED

When I enter the room

Mon ami

My TV

Lights up

For me

With news, views, quizzes,

Sick kiddies, swapped wives and

Sellebrities

Grinning

At me!

My TV

Oh!

Mon ami

Lights up

When I come into the room.

Shot on Peckham Rye

2010-09-21T02:01:00.001-07:00

Summer draws to a close with a last hurrah. The sunflower, which may the cheeriest of flowers, puts on a comical grin as autumn edges closer with its russet colours to warm us before winter holds sway.

Cuts! Cuts! Cuts!

2010-09-17T06:45:00.000-07:00

Why has no one abbreviated the Orwellian Big Society to BS? I’d like to start the trend. Let’s call it what it is.

Cuts, cuts, cuts. It seems to have replaced the thrill of sex, sex, sex. It’s repeated by government spokespersons like a mantra… with exclamation marks: Cuts! Cuts! Cuts! Roll up, roll up.

Cuts at the barbers? That makes sense.

A centre without a community, a community without a centre

2010-09-15T10:42:00.000-07:00

Here is a picture of a man who looks happy. Actually, he is sad. Beris Blake, a retired hospital porter, sculpts characters and creatures out of wood in his garden shed. He is standing outside Nunhead Community Centre which last weekend hosted the Nunhead Open. He really enjoyed exhibiting his work at the Open but, like the rest of us, he is saddened that after the show the community centre will be padlocked, its shutters pulled down. The same thing happened last year. Opened for a weekend and then closed for an entire year.

The council deems the building unfit for purpose, and it is. They promise to construct a new building but the community loves this one. Yes, it needs tlc: surely far cheaper than the cost of a new building which, at the rate things are going, resembles nothing so much as pie in the sky.

Fete of the Rye

2010-09-06T04:06:00.000-07:00

At the weekend I attended the Peckham Rye Fete. It’s quite extraordinary that such an urban environment as Peckham can host an event more commonly associated with villages. But there we were sipping Pimms or cups of tea. Enjoying one of the many home-made cakes and stocking up on piccalilli. Selecting books, old and new, from the excellent book stall. And most delightful of all, cheering on the wagging dog show.

The Rye hosts a variety of entertainments; here’s a photo taken when a travelling funfair pitched up.

Kick Some Ass

2010-08-30T11:32:00.000-07:00

It’s Bank Holiday Monday and the Notting Hill Carnival will be rattling the windows. I’m not there this year to shake my ass or to kick ass. But in the spirit of the occasion, here is a snap taken in Nunhead, a little-known corner of south London that boasts a village green, a butcher’s, a baker’s… and occasionally, people attired in silver, who parade on stilts. It’s all a lot quieter than Notting Hill but splendid, in its way.

Hope-less

2010-08-25T09:20:00.000-07:00

If you scroll down, you’ll see snaps of denizens of The Hope, a pub on Rye Lane. At least it was a pub. About a week ago, I visited because I’d promised to give the landlady copies of the photos I’d taken. But, instead of a pub I found a building site. The entire innards of the pub -- bar one light fixture -- gone. The walls plastered an eviscerated grey colour. The building’s new incarnation will be as a Paddy Power betting shop. Never again will people romp in there dressed in sailor suits and French maid’s outfits, and it’s a sorrier day for that.

Giving the finger

2010-08-11T02:55:00.000-07:00

Some of us are tempted to give the finger to the Big Society. I mean, what is it? As interpreted by some weasel-boys from the privileged environs of public schools (ooh, matron) it does not bode well. The noises from off-stage are ominous (milk snatching… snitching on benefits’ claimants, etc) but we must wait and see. Meanwhile, here’s an illustration of the dangers inherent when you give something the finger.

Where in the world?

2010-08-02T10:05:00.000-07:00

When you look at a photo taken in Peckham, you might think where in the world is that? Surely it’s not inner London… not Zone 2? Liberia, Lagos or the Lebanon perhaps…?

Bonhomie

2010-07-30T11:25:00.000-07:00

A street photographer need not stick to the street. It’s veracity we’re after. So, when I spotted a party on a recent Sunday afternoon at The Hope on Rye Lane, I ventured in. I’d read about this pub and how it was fighting closure and the fate of the building being turned into a Bet Fred. The party was to mobilise the regulars. I hope they succeed in their quest. The world doesn’t need another betting shop with its shady anonymity. Long live the bonhomie of the public house.

Church girls

2010-07-29T02:18:00.000-07:00

Here’s a photo I love and is featured in 20x20 Magazine (see below). My photography is in glaring colour: I think street photography works with colour, and particularly in a place like Peckham which is so vibrant. However the magazine chose to publish them in black/white, and I’m pleasantly surprised by the effect. Actually, I think b/w is the Prince Charming of photography and colour the Buttons. I’m sticking with Buttons.

Peckham in black and white

2010-07-27T03:14:00.000-07:00

20x20 magazine -- an art magazine for the cognoscenti -- has just published three of my Peckham photos and some copy I wrote when, for a year, I was unemployed and signing on at the Peckham Jobcentre. Out of that salutary and sometimes surreal experience came Dole Days which I wrote more or less as a journal. It is a book-size journal; so far publishers have praised but not published it. For one week only, the magazine is browsable at http://www.20x20magazine.com

Sweating saveloys

2010-07-26T02:18:00.001-07:00

This photo was taken around the time not of the recent world cup but the one held in 2006. The furore of flag flying brought on by international competitions is quite fantastic. This snap was taken in a local fish-and-chip shop. The fish-cake, battered sausage and saveloys sweat away, and don’t look appetising. Although, I can vouch for the chips.

A street of a different sort

2010-07-23T10:18:00.000-07:00

Since practically everyone takes photos, some of them excellent, how can anyone claim to be a photographer? I think one of the ways photographers distinguish themselves from the rest of the snapping public is by building collections of quality photos. They focus on whatever it is that turns them on and they do it again and again. Apart from street photography, one of my fascinations is with cemeteries. Perhaps they’re streets of a different sort. One day I hope my cemetery photos, taken over several years, will be exhibited. The show will be called ‘It Comes to Us All’.

Potty in Sheringham

2010-07-22T06:29:00.000-07:00

I was in Sheringham in Norfolk for the 17^th Potty Morris Festival. I think it speaks of a country where potty-ness combined with tradition is celebrated, and I’d like to thank the Morris men and women for their dedication in the face of occasional ridicule. I mean… who among us, in a pair of wooden clogs, could leap and skip?

The men with black faces are the Witchmen from Northants, aka the Hell’s Angels of Morris dancers. You wouldn’t want to mess with them.

Welcome!

2010-07-21T07:03:00.001-07:00

Hello and welcome to joanbyrnesnaps. I hope you will enjoy some of the snaps and the occasional verbal snapping that one can’t resist based on the premise that if you’re not pissed off, you’re not paying attention. A friend gave me a badge bearing that legend and I wear it proudly.

Here’s a photo taken on a sunny evening in July of a couple of guys on their way to play at the opening of the Hannah Barry Gallery atop a car park in Peckham. Many of my photos are taken on the rude streets of Peckham and south London. More to follow…