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Sinful Sunday: Challenge Accepted!

I don’t have a catchphrase or a life motto; very few of the things in which I believe most deeply can be boiled down to a handful of words or a pithy aphorism. But if I had to pick one expression that summed up my attitude to sex, photography, my friends, adventure, and sure, life generally, it might just be the title of this post: challenge accepted!

I am game for most things (you may have noticed): the more ridiculous or extravagant, the better. So when Exposing 40 mentioned casually a while back that she was trying to take nudes in each of London’s Magnificent Seven cemeteries*, obviously I wanted to get involved. And that’s exactly what I’ve done! From the silliness of Highgate’s perfectly-located Vault of Cockshott to the muted colours and contrasts of Tower Hamlets, I helped with two of the six she ticked off over the last couple of years – leaving only one to go.

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Other photos Sinful Sunday

Sinful Sunday: One Year

It’s a year to the day since we moved to Croydon and bought this house. Clearly a lot has happened since then! Even beyond its direct victims and their friends/families, I don’t think any of us will emerge from the Covid pandemic completely unscarred (for every person beset by loneliness, there’ll be another trapped with people they hate; for every job loss, there’s a role changed beyond recognition by home working, etc etc), but I have no problem admitting that we’ve been luckier than most, and our living situation is a big part of that.

We have space here, space we never had in Brixton, and we also have a garden. Especially as parents of a very active toddler, both those things have been hugely beneficial where our mental health is concerned. To our surprise, we’ve also been helped massively on that front by Croydon itself.

Ah yes, unlovely Croydon. Much like unlovely Swindon, which I also came to feel a deep affection towards (in a way) during my two years there, our new home is an easy punchline for jokes about, well, shit places to live. And the resemblances don’t end there. In both cases, brutalist architecture, a moribund town centre, and a parochialism among sections of the population that’s easy to mock, are more than offset by qualities that the casual visitor may miss.

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