Category: Writing

Why I’ve (sort of) quit street photography

The Guardian ran a piece this week on the absolutely delightful Tumblr site Women Who Eat on Tubes.

As the name suggests, it’s a site full of pictures of women eating on the Tube.

Given that there are blogs out there that carry highlights from spycams hidden in men and women’s…

Good bye David, hello Scott

For a while, now, a clutch of hardworking journalists have been playing a really neat trick.  Instead of getting wet by going out to a library and getting some statistics to support their piece, they’ve discovered that if you type vaguely relevant words…

Back to the credit crunch

Something a little more weighty than theatre photography…

Goldman Sachs has been charged — sort of — with fraud (it’s not a criminal fraud charge but a civil suit brought by the US Securities and Exchange Commission).  Even the BBC has come up with a borderline complex, leading story on the subject,…

Six Degrees of Separation

You can read my review of John Guare’s (not very good) play Six Degrees of Separation on the gaydarnation site, here.  The review is family-friendly.  The play isn’t.

2013 update: Actually, you can’t.  Because gaydarnation is no more.  But the review was quite scathing of the play, and much nicer…

Indiana Jones and the Isle of Oblivion

I’m going to tell you a story.

It’s a story about boundaries.

About the boundary at the end of an empire and the boundaries that turn waters into oceans. About the…

Guatemala Lite

Note: If you haven’t seen the film Apocalypto, intend to, and don’t want me to ruin it for you, don’t read this.

“Do you have any money? I wanna spend all your money…”

“Sleigh bells ring, are you listening…”

“I’m dreaming of a white Christmas…”

“Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow…”

Welcome to San Francisco a month before Christmas.

"Oh, Sam."

New Zealand’s a sensible sort of a place.

Walk in with foreign mud on your boots and they don’t fine you, lock you in jail or burn them from your…

Crabs, coconuts and cold-blooded murder

Imagine you were a crab.

You’d spend a lot of time scuttling sideways and waving your pincers around. You’d enjoy the odd dip in the sea and – if you were a hermit crab, at least – you’d sashay down to the mollusc graveyard to check out the latest styles.

And, every…

Tampons and dangly bits

My youth hostel in Melbourne had a sign for the men’s showers. A pictogram, it successfully spanned linguistic and cultural divides. No one could misunderstand the meaning of two…