Carbuncles and silly names

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The right-most of the two new buildings in today's photograph was a 2015 nominee for the Carbuncle Cup,an architectural prize awarded by the UK's "Building Design" magazine to "the ugliest building in the United Kingdom completed in the last 12 months." It didn't win, and wasn't even short-listed, because last year it faced severe competition. The winner was, in my opinion, the ugliest building erected in the UK so far this century, and probably in the past fifty years - Rafael Vinoly's 20 Fenchurch Street, also known as "The Walkie Talkie".

If there was a prize for the silliest name for a building then the angular monstrosity shown in today's post would surely have won. It is a hotel in the Shoreditch/Hoxton area of London, near "silicon roundabout" and is called, M by Montcalm Hotel. Why do I dislike this building? Well, it defaces the area in which it stands by acknowledging nothing around it, not even the banal new block next door, an essay in what looks like 1930s Moderne-cum-very stripped classical, that matches it for height. The hotel's sharp points, sloping windows and decorative cladding all seem designed to grab the eye, provoke reaction, say "look at me", and nothing else. The absence of right angles in the elevations seems to be worn like a badge of pride, a feature designed to make passers-by feel that either they or the building is falling over. It's a cheap trick that lacks reason, one that quickly becomes tiresome and provokes a "so what" response.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo Title: M by Montcalm Hotel, Shoreditch, London
Camera: Olympus E-M10
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 22mm (44mm - 35mm equiv.) crop
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/640 sec
ISO:200
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Burne Jones and Biblical names

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As a child I attended a Church of England primary school, the only primary school in the place where I grew up. Consequently I came to know more Bible stories than if I had gone to a non-denominational school. Like many children I responded to these stories as a mixture of history and myth because some of the things that happened in them seemed highly unlikely. I also came to know the names of many Biblical characters and was fascinated by some of the more unusual names that I remember to this day.

The three men depicted in this stained glass by the Arts and Crafts artist, Edward Burne-Jones, have names that were odder than most. They are Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, characters in a story about the prophet Daniel, who were thrown into a fiery furnace on the orders of Nebuchadnezzar, King of Babylon and were saved by God, an act that much impressed the king. This glass, in the west window of the church at Middleton Cheney, Northamptonshire, is the best of a particularly fine suite of glass made by William Morris' firm for the building between 1864 and 1870. The contraposto stance of the figures, the faces, the deep, rich colours and the semi-abstract depiction of the flames are all characteristic of Burne Jones, and the quality of the glass is typical of the Morris firm at its best.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Olympus E-M10
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 16mm (32mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.4
Shutter Speed: 1/80 sec
ISO:1250
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Welland, Nene and Rolls Royce

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Long before I moved to Lincolnshire I was familiar with the names Welland and Nene. A teenage interest in aircraft taught me that the Rolls Royce aero engine company usually named its turboprop and jet engines after Britain's rivers. Consequently I came to know the Spey, Dart, Avon, Tyne, and many others, including the Welland and the Nene. I read that rivers were chosen for these engines' names because they emphasised the steady flow of power that is a requirement when powering an aircraft. If that's true it makes more sense than the naming conventions of house-builders when they come to name the streets that they create. Poets, castles, trees, birds, flowers, warships, aircraft, bishops, generals, towns, villages, and yes, rivers, are just some of the inspirations I've come across. I'm waiting for sponsored brand names to make an appearance - it can only be a matter of time.

I think I've mentioned before in this blog that river names are some of the oldest words to be found in our language. Because of the importance of rivers as sources of water, food, soil enrichment (through flooding), defence and as territorial boundaries, the original name, given who knows when, has often continued in use, unchanged, to the present day. Which is more than can be said for the River Welland itself. Today, for much of its course, it is embanked and flows in a channel that is above the level of the surrounding land. Sections of it have been straightened to speed its flow. It has always been one of the rivers that drained the hinterland of The Wash, and today it is carefully managed to do that as efficiently as possible.

None of this is evident in my photograph of the Welland that was taken near Crowland at the end of November towards the close of an afternoon. I deliberately under-exposed the shot to increase the contrast and make more of the sky's details, the shiny ribbon of water and the delicate branches of the leafless willows.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 10.4mm (28mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/250 sec
ISO: 2000
Exposure Compensation: -2.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Fruits, vegetables and names

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A shopping trip to Stamford found us in the market buying buying a couple of items. Whilst my wife made the purchases I headed over to a stall selling fruit and vegetables, attracted by the bright colours and the arrangement of the produce in stainless steel bowls.

As I looked at what was for sale I was somewhat envious of the flawless quality of each item. Though we have grown items of produce that equal the standard on display, we do end up with quite a few less than perfect pieces. I comforted myself with the thought that such perfection comes at a price, often in terms of taste, and commonly with regard to the environment. "Give me spots on my apples but leave me the birds and the bees, please", as Joni Mitchell put it. Moreover, the distorted and deformed examples that we grow and happily eat never make it to the market stall but are separated out to be used in sauces and prepared foods.

A further thought came to my mind as I looked at the peppers and aubergines (and potatoes) shown in the photograph. Though they are undoubtedly fruit, biologically speaking, they are often - at least in the UK - regarded as vegetables (and called such) because of the way they are used with savoury rather than sweet dishes. Moreover, we are somewhat confused in these islands by the English name(s) that we call the sweet Capsicum annuum. Most commonly they are peppers. However, that causes misunderstanding because chili peppers are often called by this name too. Capsicum was used more commonly in the past but seems to have fallen out of use. That name was specific and gave rise, as far as I know, to no misunderstanding. Sweet pepper is also commonly used, probably as a deliberate attempt to prevent the confusion with chili peppers noted above. It's not one of the most problematic linguistic quandaries, but precision in names is helpful and it would be convenient if we settled on one explicit name and used it to the exclusion of all others. However, in a country that perversely uses both the metric and the imperial system for measurement, I'm afraid there's absolutely no chance of that!

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 14.2mm (38mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5
Shutter Speed: 1/100 sec
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Catrigg Force, Stainforth

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"Deep down on your left is the partly wooded defile in which runs the turbulent beck that riots among the wild rocks and cliffs of Catterick. Follow the glen up along the top until there are signs of its disappearance among the tracts of heather. A little below this point you will come to the highest and grandest of the waterfalls, which, after a flood, makes a sublime sight, hardly to be matched in Yorkshire, and that is saying a great deal. The water comes down a lofty ravine, thickly clothed with trees and flowering shrubs, (amongst the latter the giant rose-bay, the finest of the willow-herbs, gives an effective colour), and falls in two magnificent leaps into a shadowy pool below, running then onward among immense boulders to fall again and again in lesser but still beautiful cascades."
from "The Craven and North-West Yorkshire Highlands" by Harry Speight (1892)

The description above, apart from the presence of summer flowers, is still a good description of Catrigg Force which we visited recently. When I was growing up in the area people called the waterfall both Catterick Force (or Foss) and Catrigg Force. Harry Speight uses the former. So does "Otley's Guide: Concise Description of the English Lakes" (1823), a Midland Railways poster of 1909 advertising Settle, and a postcard of the waterfall dated 1912. However, a map of 1896 prefers Catrigg Force, and so do subsequent Ordnance Survey maps. Interestingly the present day wooden finger post near the waterfall is marked Catrigg Foss. It's common to find "Force and Foss" used interchangeably for Dales waterfalls for reasons that I discussed in this post about Stainforth Force. However, it isn't common for the main name to differ in quite the way that happens in this instance. There is a suggestion that Catterick comes from "cataract", and yet Catrigg is the name of a nearby area of moorland from which Catrigg Barn and Catrigg Beck (the stream) take their names. The word "rigg" comes from the Scandinavian and means " a ridge or cultivated strip of ground",and that seems appropriate. It's a puzzle that I must look into a little more!

I'm not a great fan of massively blurred water of the sort that enthusiast photographers seem keen to use in their photographs of waterfalls. However, I did take a couple with some blur, of which this is one. I used a fairly slow shutter speed and put the camera on my monopod and wedged it in a crevice to the maintain sharpness of the trees and rocks.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11.3mm (30mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f11
Shutter Speed: 1/3 sec
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Love-in-a-Mist or Devil-in-the-Bush

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Can there be a garden plant with more contradictory common names than the annual flower, Nigella damascena? Love-in-a-Mist is delightfully evocative of the way the light, feathery foliage surrounds the modest but beautiful flowers. However, Devil-in-the-Bush paints quite a different picture and must surely refer to the seed pods, each wrapped in a net-like basket with multiple prongs, like a shroud of barbed wire. Other vernacular names are similarly inventive. Jack-in-Prison probably derives from theed pod and its surrounding entanglement. Love-Entangle may also be similarly inspired, though perhaps the "love" is the flower in the mass of lacy leaves. Hair-of-Venus must be based on the leaves too. A legend attaches to one of the names - Lady-in-the-Shade. The story goes that the Frederick I (1122-1190), Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, drowned when trying to catch an enticing, green-haired water sprite. Lady-in-the-Shade immediately sprang up by the water's edge, a reminder of the tresses of the temptress. As is often the case, the Latin name of the plant is simply descriptive. Nigella refers to the small, black seeds to be found in the pod, and damascena comes from Damascus.

In my macro photograph of the seed pod that I plucked from the garden I definitely set out to illustrate the Devil-in-the-Bush and Jack-in-Prison names. Concentrating on the base from where the "prison" originates I photographed it against a black background in highly directional light and converted the image to black and white.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 100mm macro
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/80 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Chandeliers, electroliers and names

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On a couple of occasions I've reflected on the way that words pass out of daily use and acquire the status of "archaic" in the dictionary. Today's photograph prompted me to wander down that path again.

I took the shot near the west door of the church of St Wulfram at Grantham, Lincolnshire. The faceted glass or perspex is the top of the new internal porch which, on the dull day of our visit had its light turned on. Above is the Victorian glass of the west window. Appearing to float in the darkness nearby, like a spaceship in Kubrick's "2001: A Space Odyssey", is a ... well, what shall I call it? Like many such examples of branched church lighting this one dates from the early 1800s and started life as a chandelier - a hanging ornamental light fitting that held candles. It would have been lit and replenished by someone standing on steps or by the whole light being lowered using a chain or rope. Both these methods of servicing this kind of light were inconvenient. Consequently it is no surprise that when electricity became widely available churches frequently converted their chandeliers from candles to light bulbs. The flick of a wall switch was much easier than struggling to light 18 or so candles with a flickering taper. But with this change-over came the problem of nomenclature.

The first "chandeliers" that were purposely made for electric light bulbs were named, quite sensibly, "electroliers" (the first instance of use cited in the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) is 1882). It was a good marketing tactic and it better described the new take on an old idea. Moreover, the gas versions that preceded them were called "gaseliers". But immediately a problem arose: what do you call an old chandelier that is converted from candles to electric light bulbs? Do you stick with the name that indicates what it was originally or do you use the newfangled "electrolier" to show how progressive you are and to more accurately describe the updated light? There was no great debate on this matter, usage alone determined the course of what happened. The newly made electric chandeliers, for a few decades, often (though not always) were described as electroliers. Conversions generally (though not always) stuck with chandelier. Then, over time, the use of the word electrolier declined and chandelier re-asserted itself to describe the electric versions, which had become the dominant type, as well as those versions continuing to use candles. Today the word "electrolier" is mainly restricted to describing the early "electric chandeliers" that would have had that name applied when they were first made. The OED doesn't yet describe "electrolier" as archaic, but it can only be a matter of time.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 50mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/20
ISO: 1250
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Renegades, Warriors and Barbarians

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We all have our failures in life; some great and others small. One of my relatively small failures was buying a car. Anyone who has read this blog with any sort of regularity may recall that for a long time I tried to stick with public transport and the bicycle, but I eventually succumbed to four wheels  following the birth of our second child and a couple of "difficult" experiences on the railways as Margaret Thatcher's government starved them of resources in the run-up to privatisation. However, despite my ownership of a modest vehicle I still believe, to adapt George Orwell's words in his novel, Animal Farm, "two wheels good, four wheels bad", and I still much prefer riding to driving.

I also retain fairly forthright views on cars and people's attitudes to them. For example, I consider sports cars and 4X4s to be anti-social vehicles. However, I also find a lot of humour in all vehicles powered by the infernal combustion engine. For instance, over the years I've watched with interest the increasing popularity of the four-seater pickup. You know the sort of thing - its a mixture of a car, 4X4 and old-style pickup van. I've also looked on with amazement as they've got bigger and bigger. But the thing about these vehicles that has most grabbed my attention is the silly names with which the manufacturers adorn them. In fact, I've been so fascinated by these that I keep a mental list of them that I try to update when a new example appears. So far I've recorded Renegade, Warrior, Wrangler, Outlaw, Animal, Gladiator, Trojan, Barbarian and Rodeo. There are probably more that I've forgotten, and I know that ever more ludicrous examples will appear (I suggest Vandal and Visigoth). Now I'm sure that there is a small group of people for whom such vehicles are entirely appropriate. But I'm equally sure that there's a large group of people (mainly but not exclusively men) for whom the size, the macho appearance, the "just in case" utility, and yes, those silly names, make them objects of great desire. Why have a bog-standard hatchback or saloon when you can be a rugged outlaw of the road that causes lesser vehicles to scatter at the very sight of your entirely superfluous bull-bars?

On a return journey from one of my regular but brief visits north of the River Humber we stopped off at the bridge that links Yorkshire with Lincolnshire. We trekked out to the middle of the enormous span and took in the view down to the city of Hull and upstream towards South Ferriby, Winteringham and beyond. As the traffic flashed by I took a few shots of the suspension cable anchors, looking to contrast the blurred vehicles with the sharpness of the bridge's structure. The best of the shots was this one with, yes,  an over-sized pickup with a rear take-off cover and bright yellow ladders strapped to the top.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/160
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

What's in a name?

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Names are rather like hairstyles: many people want to change the one they have. Parents who give their children more than one forename offer their offspring a choice, the opportunity to choose one of the alternatives if the given one isn't liked. But if you've been saddled with just one forename you tend to be stuck with it and can only shorten it or go to the trouble of making a legal change. The Linnean system of naming plants and animals seems to avoid these problems (not that plants and animals have strong opinions on their names). A country-specific name - in my case English - is accompanied by a Latin name that prevails everywhere regardless of the language(s) spoken in the country. I've written elsewhere about my preference for English names over Latin because of the history and beauty that they often display. However, it isn't always so.

In my garden there are a couple of plants with unfortunate names. The small, attractive blue, pink and purple flower with green spotted leaves that is called lungwort (Pulmonaria officinalis) seems lamentably named. Lungs, though vital, have never had the appealing associations of, say, the heart. So, we like the name heart's ease (Viola tricolor), for the small pansy-like flower, but lungs, well they conjure up images of dissection, disease and offal. The name arose for the way the spotted leaves recall diseased lungs. One might wish that a different association had been spotted!

Then there's the spurge (Euphorbia sp.). The very name sounds like an uncontrolled exhalation of something unpleasant. And in a way it is, the plant long being used as a purgative. The Latin name comes from the Greek physician, Euphorbus, who noted the plant as a laxative. It also has the unfortunate similarity - just one letter too many - to the word euphoria, a word that means well-being or feeling good. Not a quality that immediately comes to mind when you look at the plant or when the irritant sap gets on your skin. All that being said, I find myself photographing this plant quite a bit. I like the way some of the varieties grow, particularly how the rosettes of leaves present themselves with a slight twist. Today's plant was growing, not in my garden, but in a churchyard. I photographed it with my pocket camera and thought I'd try a black and white version to accentuate the shapes.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 12.8mm (60mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.8
Shutter Speed: 1/160
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Shard March update

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A couple of days in a cloudy, rain-swept London allowed me to have two walks into and through the city and the opportunity to gather a clutch of photographs including today's showing the current progress of The Shard. In December this building passed the height of 1 Canada Square in Canary Wharf, becoming the tallest in the UK and the European Union, and the second tallest free-standing structure in the UK (after the Emley Moor TV transmitter). It is currently near its projected maximum height of 1,012 feet (308.5 metres). Superlatives in the world of tall buildings are, of course, transitory, and The Shard will doubtless soon be removed from its current pinnacle.

Speaking of pinnacles, he said, segueing into the next topic like a radio DJ on autopilot, the next tall London tower to reach for the skies has made a strong appearance since I was last there in November. Bishopsgate Tower in Leadenhall, now to be called The Pinnacle, was to have been about the same height as the Shard, but after concerns from the Civil Aviation Authority it is losing just under twenty metres. This is another deliberately "different" shape for a city tower, resembling to my eye, a loosely coiled tube of paper. The very ugly concrete service core is already quite high, and when it gets its curved glass curtain walls that sweep up to its summit it will be another distinctive addition to the London skyline. At the moment I'm holding my judgement on whether the quality of being distinctive will be paired with being distinguished. It's certainly no Shard, but perhaps I'll warm to the real thing more than I do to the architect's illustration. Incidentally, it will be interesting to see if the more populist, "The Pinnacle", is adopted by Londoners or whether, as is their habit, they confer a more appropriate and less respectful soubriquet. Indeed, I wonder whether the new name was a calculated attempt to forestall such an eventuality!

Today's photograph, like a couple of others I've posted of The Shard, was taken by resting my camera on a balcony rail by the Thames in Rotherhithe, downstream from the City.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 168mm
F No: f5
Shutter Speed: 1/20 sec
ISO: 3200
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Gotobed East

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First names, often called Christian names, originated in a number of ways. Many are simply descriptive. For example, Charles comes from the Germanic for "man", Thomas is the Greek form of the Aramaic word meaning "twin", and Adam derives from the Hebrew for "man" which in turn comes from the word for "ruddy coloured" and links to "earth" (from which, according to the Bible Adam, the first man, came). Names such as Decimus, Septimus and Octavia usually describe the owners position in the family (tenth, seventh or eighth born). Other first names are linked to the circumstances of birth. Boys born over the period of Christmas are often called Noel, and girls are sometimes called Felicity or Prudence in the parents' hope that those qualities will attach to them throughout life. Then there are the invented names such as Pamela (from Samuel Richardson's 1740 novel of  that title) or Wendy, a name that makes its first appearance in J.M. Barrie's 1904 play, "Peter Pan". Some first names are created by pressing surnames into service for that purpose, for example Kingsley, Remington or Wilson. I suspect this may be the case with the very unusual first name featured on the memorial in today's photograph.

A Google search for Gotobed used as a first name turns up only a few references to this particular memorial and the person remembered in it. It looks like Gotobed East may have been unique in the possession of this first name. However, search for the same name as a surname and many sources can be found. Gotobed East's memorial can be found fixed to a wall at Ely Cathedral in Cambridgeshire. This location would only have been open to a wealthy and well-connected individual, and his memorial shows him to have been that as a gentleman and an officer of the Bedford Level drainage body. On his death he "left to the churchwardens of Holy Trinity parish 5 cottages in Newnham, to be occupied by 5 aged widows of the said parish", so he was clearly a benevolent person too.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Main Photo
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 32mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/13
ISO: 3200
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation:N/A

To get on, get a name

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It's well known that if you want to be a successful popular beat combo or even a solo artiste then you need to perform under a good name. Would The Beatles have made it as The Quarrymen? Could Cliff Richard have assaulted our ears for as long as he did as plain old Harry Rodger Webb? And would Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta have achieved popular success without her transmogrification into Lady Gaga? Or would the costumes alone have assured her superstardom? Memo to self: I must listen to one of her recordings sometime or other.

Of course, catchy names have been embraced by popular (and not so popular) music for more than a century. In the blues they are almost compulsory. My favourite blues guitarist is T-Bone Walker (Aaron Thibadeaux Walker), though I also have a liking for Lightnin' Hopkins (Sam John Hopkins). The self-styled father of Chicago blues, Muddy Waters was born McKinley Morganfield, and the early bluesman Huddie William Leadbetter found greater fame when he styled himself Lead Belly.

All this is well known and documented. It is less appreciated, however, that to get on in the world of church organ playing you also need a distinctive, indeed a memorable name. Or so it seems from my extremely exhaustive survey of the memorials to two organists that I came across recently. The first was in Peterborough Cathedral and recorded one Haydn Keeton who tickled the ivories, kicked the pedals and pulled out all the stops there for 51 years. A good innings, I thought. My next thought was, "What are the chances that his parents weren't music lovers?" With a Christian name like that it's a near certainty. Then, a couple of weeks later, at the church in Helpston, just to the north of Peterborough, the place where the poet John Clare was born and is buried, I came upon a more recent memorial to the wonderfully named Albert Snowball. Albert's time as a church organist eclipses the half century plus of Haydn, and amounted to a staggering seventy years! A truly remarkable period of service to his community.

Of course, both Haydn Keeton and Albert Snowball were fortunate to receive their wonderful names from their parents. Had they not been so blessed, and were they both budding musicians today they could do worse than use one of the Band Name Generators or advice pages on the internet. My favourite proposed band name from the link that I cite is "Squishy Fabulous"!

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 40mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/13
ISO: 3200
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: N/A

A kaleidoscope of beach huts

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"Beach huts have become something of a photographic cliche for UK-based snappers." Or so I said in April 2009 when I posted a photograph of these brightly painted seaside cabins at Wells-next-the-Sea, Norfolk. Mind you, when I wrote that sentence I'd already posted photographs of beach huts at Fleetwood, Lancashire, and Mablethorpe, Lincolnshire. And I subsequently posted one from Cromer, Norfolk, and a different shot from Wells-next-the-Sea. Today I've got three shots of beach huts from Southwold, so I guess you could say that if they are a photographic cliche then it's one I'm happy to indulge in.

As I walked past these immaculate daytime residences in Suffolk (there are 300) I idly wondered whether there is a collective noun for them. I can't find one so I suggest "a spectrum of beach huts", "a variegation of beach huts", or better still perhaps, a kaleidoscope of beach huts". We came upon these long lines on promenade and sand fairly early in the day, so people weren't very numerous. Moreover the sky was bluer than we had any right to expect in mid-September, and these two facts together made my photography easier.

As well as being painted in each owners' chosen colour scheme most of the beach huts have names. Often they are humorous (Pete's Palace, Aunty Bong Bong, Jabba the Hut, OOZUTIZIT, ShoreThing), frequently they have a touch of the idyllic (Shangri-La, Sunny Retreat), and some just make you wonder (why "Shepherdess Rest")? However, the rightmost part of the group that are shown in the top and bottom images (the same set taken from different angles) were unusual in having names that follow a theme. In these collective action had triumphed over the rampant individualism that usually characterises these small dwellings. Here are some of the names - can you work out the theme? Victoria, Albert, Elizabeth, Queenie, Margaret Rose. It wasn't difficult was it!?

photographs and text (c) T. Boughen

(Image 1)
Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 22mm (44mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/1000 seconds
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

New Guinea Busy Lizzie

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According to the Office for National Statistics seven of the 100 most popular names given to girls born in 2007 in the UK are derived from plants. They are (in order of popularity), Olivia, Lily, Holly, Daisy, Poppy, Jasmine and Rose. The number climbs to nine if we include Rosie and Hollie. In the equivalent boys' list there is only one plant-based name - Oliver. If we turn this idea round and consider how many plants are given non-scientific names that refer to male or female first names the pattern is the same: plenty of girls, but hardly any boys.

I was reflecting on this when we were buying some Black-Eyed Susan seeds, and it came to mind again when I was photographing the subject of today's image - a New Guinea Busy Lizzie. In the minds of many, for reasons that escape me, plants - particularly flowers - are seen as part of the feminine domain. Some men, perhaps those who are a little insecure in their masculinity, would no more be seen to have an interest in flowers than they would in embroidery or jam-making. As I pondered this theme I wondered if, one day in the future, there would arise a group of "male interest" boys' names equivalent to the plant names bestowed on girls. Can we look forward to parents calling across the park, "Be careful Turbo!", or "Time to go now Beer"? Will Poppy, Jasmine, Erica, and Hazel have brothers called Anfield, Beamer, Scrum, Torque or Camshaft? On further reflection one can only hope not.

The cold winter, followed by what is proving so far to be a cold spring, has set the garden flowers back a few weeks. Snowdrops and aconites are in fully out, but there's only a sprinkling of crocuses, daffodils and other spring flowers. Consequently I turned my attention to some of our indoor plants in my quest for colour. For today's photograph I laid the orange flower from one of our New Guinea Busy Lizzies on a mirror, the reflection of its underside giving the shape a symmetry of sorts. The cream background is a reflection of the nearby wall. As I studied the shot it reminded me of the sort of painted plant study that Victorian botanists would return home with having travelled the globe in search of new species.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro, (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/20
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: +1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: Off

The Stump

click photo to enlarge

In 1851 the Great Exhibition of the Works of Industry of All Nations opened in Hyde Park, London. It was housed in a large building called, unsurprisingly, the Great Exhibition Hall. The building's name didn't last very long because it was Joseph Paxton's revolutionary structure in cast iron and glass, and people immediately christened it "The Crystal Palace" - the name by which it subsequently became known.

This tradition of bestowing affectionate (or derogatory) names on buildings is one of fairly long standing, and it continues today. Norman Foster's curvaceously tapered office block at 30 St Mary Axe, London, built for an insurance company, is rarely referred to by either its address or its name, the Swiss Re Tower. "The Gherkin" is the name given to its distinctive shape by Londoners, and the soubriquet has well and truly stuck. A building doesn't even have to be built to acquire a nickname! Renzo Piano's proposed 66-storey London Bridge Tower is already widely known as "The Glass Shard" in recognition of its likeness to an upright tapering splinter.

When the people of Lincolnshire, in the 1400s, saw the tower of the church of St Botolph start to reach for the sky they must have been impressed by the sight. But as stage was built on successive stage, and no spire appeared they must have begun to wonder how high it would go. And, when it was topped by an open-work octagonal lantern they must have been lost for words. They were familiar with the towers and spires of nearby churches, but this was different from any of them. And it was so big! Perhaps it was the view of the 272 feet tall tower when seen from a few miles distant, across the flat Fenland landscape, that caused a local wit to liken it to a tree stump. However the name arose it stuck, and "The Stump" it has been ever since.

My photograph shows the classic view of this wonderful church tower, from the Town Bridge. I took it for the particularly good reflections on the tidal River Witham, seen to good effect in the morning light of a winter day.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 13mm (26mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: Off