Life – Page 7 – Nige' Ollis

June 20, 2014June 20, 2014

England, My England

If you’re not English. If you’re not old enough. You might be forgiven for not knowing when England last won the World Cup. So, I’ll tell you… 1066. No, hang on… that was the Battle of Hastings. [We lost that, too, by the way.] Nope, it was 1666. [Pardon? Oh, the Great Fire of London, of course.] Then it must’ve been 1766.

Uh, at least that’s what it feels like! Actually, no! What am I saying with my chucklesome historical reference points… the fact that it was 1966, and I was 3½, means I have absolutely no recollection of that heady nationalistic home-of-the-game fervour. I vaguely recall the subsequent disappointment, aged a tender, yet football fever emotionally phlegmatic 7½-year-old, in the boiling Mexico heat of 1970 and a glorious defeat to the Pele inspired Brazil.

Since then England have served up a seemingly endless catalogue of temptation. That is, a glorious flattery to deceive… before the bitter reality bites home like chomping down on… not just a lemon. Oh, no. But an unripe lemon! World Cups, European Championships… endless, endless sweet cherries dangled before my eyes, then chomp… always the unripe lemon, er, painted a sweet cherry colour. So, not even just lemons, but a mouthful of paint! And most probably a lead-based paint! Which might account for much of subsequent emotional instability in the field of football. [Just don’t talk to me about penalties outside of a secure psychiatric unit.]

Until… this World Cup. Everything was calm; realistic; the lowest expectations ever. An England side essentially appearing vulnerable from the start, yet bristling with youngsters for the future. [Yeah, we’ve heard that before: the golden generation. One that subsequently delivered… lead-based painted lemons by the bucket-load!] So, what do they go and do in their first group match? Lose to Italy. But can they just lose and we all offer a hapless Bless ’em collective shrug. Oh, no. They play really well and lose. The worst kind of loss. Why? Because it raises expectations again. A very decent Italian side were considered fortunate to win, and we’ll breeze past Uruguay [after their lamentable first match performance] and Costa Rica… then who knows what worldly riches might lay just around the corner? [As the draw lines up, another glorious defeat by Brazil, probably! But that’s not the point!]

So, I sit – with my dear old dad [possibly for our last World Cup] – perched on the edge of promise. And what do we get… the sound of a large lorry reversing up the driveway, and on its side a mouthwatering image of luscious ripe cherries… which someone has roughly spray painted over with the word ‘lemons’. The bitterness never tasted so… er, sweetly predictable!

It feels genuinely lousy; like something of great anatomical importance has unexpectedly and alarmingly prolapsed. My dear old dad limps away into the night like a wounded, aged animal, muttering how he won’t be back for the entrails of Costa Rica. And I’m left watching the highlights… alone, knee deep in the detritus of shattered hopes and lemon peel.

So, some things never change. Or, apparently they do: it seems we’ve never enjoyed the particular misery of losing both our opening games in a World Cup before. Which must mean I now have the full England Football Misery set. [Panini take note – a special edition in the waiting.]

On a final serious note… [I’m used to hiding my misery well with gallows humour! 😉]

I was genuinely astounded to hear, having taken the eminent sports psychologist, Steve Peters – the man credited with underpinning the incredibly successful British cycling achievements of recent times – as the game kicked off last night we were informed that Steve Gerrard and Frank Lampard [the epitome of the lemon deliverymen of the aforementioned golden generation] had given a pre-match speech on the wretched misery of losing. So, these youngsters, untainted by failure, as a lift[?!], were schooled in the fear of failure before what was probably the biggest match of their careers, so far. How can that be a psychologically positive thing to do? It’s not exactly steeped in accentuating and visualising the positive, eh?! And maybe it wasn’t just coincidence that the team appeared almost collectively crippled by fear in that first half, and the opening minutes of the second period, too. Too late.

As for Uruguayan brilliant irritant Luis Suarez, half fit, with one good leg, the only thing missing from his armoury was a helmet from the Norman conquests; although he pretty much fired an arrow into Roy Hodgson’s eye.

May 29, 2014

Publicly Speaking : The Fear

For the love of sponge! I possess an almost pathological fear of public speaking. I’d rather plunge my face into a hive a bees – who are known to adopt a rabid stinging frenzy at the merest hint of the smell of jam – while wearing a face-mask … made entirely from jam!

So, when I was approached last summer by the steeped in history* Bath Photographic Society asking if I would consider giving a talk during their up and coming season of lectures, why exactly did I say yes? I know why… it was in part down to me going through a phase of accepting every opportunity, while also subconsciously safe in the knowledge that 27th May 2014 was not only forever away, but would most probably never come. Clearly, there was at least one serious flaw in my logic: that of the inexorable march of time.

* Bath Photographic Society shares the same birthday as Kodak Eastman in 1888; a year before the invention of the first flexible photographic roll film!

Essentially, I’m an observer, not a talker. [Although my closer friend’s might doubt that assertion when I’m talking all over them! The fear has always been associated with public speaking. I have inevitably had a couple of brief experiences feeding the pathology; predominantly recalling levels of hyperventilation in danger of sucking the entire audience from the room!] And now I’d committed myself to talk to a roomful of people for a mind-boggling hour and a half! So, how did this curious alignment even occur?

During the previous season of lectures my ex-friend Dave Lewis-Baker gave a talk on the History of Street Photography. “You’ll be fine,” he assured me. That’s … early retired Professor of Politics at Warwick University David Lewis-Baker: the professional lecturer! Since first meeting Dave about 5 years ago he’s been very supportive of my photography; and slipped two of my images into his own talk amongst the historical great and the good. It was in the aftermath he persuaded their secretary, Liz Bugg, to approach me.

Still, at least I had 9 months to prepare, right? Ah. See, there’s another flaw in the logic associated with hoping time stands still: fear induced procrastination. So it was probably less than 9 days before the talk when I finally began to select images and order a brown paper bag** from Amazon; which isn’t necessarily as crazy as it might sound, as I generally respond well to deadlines. But things did get a little hectic in the last couple of days, with the format only decided upon the preceding day – a hastily borrowed laptop [Thanks again, Dave – well, it was all your fault!]; realising the planned use of PowerPoint was completely impractical; writing onto cue cards; mysteriously losing an entire batch of images only hours before; a late morning timed run-through that hinted I might overrun – but with tweaks still to make; a subsequent timed run-through that hinted I wouldn’t overrun so long as I didn’t breathe, waffle and nobody so much as looked at me. It was too late to change anything now. I was halfway up the stairs to shower and make myself beautiful when I suddenly turned on my heels, returned to the slide-show and took out 20% of the images! A few minutes later I sat under the shower and wondered … at this late stage, would faking my own death be seen as an overreaction?

** One of the best concise pieces of advice had appeared on my Instagram feed from a virtual stranger no longer than 24 hours earlier: “Let your work do the heavy lifting. Know what you want to say, but approach the whole ordeal with a relaxed, devil-may-care attitude. Mind the speed of your speech, and pause and breathe often. What’s the worse that could happen?” I did reply “The worst? .. I forget to breathe often enough.” Scott quickly retorted “Alright, so you pass out. Just make sure there’s a great image on the screen… no one will notice.” I pondered the eventuality and thought of a backup plan: maybe, like the bus in the film Speed, if the images drop below a certain rate, the slide-show switches to auto… and the remainder of the speech is written on the souls of my shoes. Simple. What could possibly go wrong?

Street Photography. Following the gut feeling last moment 20% untested reduction in images the talk runs for... almost an hour to the minute! — You get the point: Street Photography. Following the gut feeling, last moment 20% untested reduction in images the talk runs for… almost an hour to the minute. Gasp!

Seascapes : The ethereal use of light in my coastal images. [Don’t give up the day job, Rob! 😉 ]

In the cool, relaxed light of reflection… it was a lifetime pathological fear duly exfoliated. I may well have forgotten to breathe in the first few minutes, but the warmth of the reception carried me through. And the subsequent feedback [anonymously requested], so far, has been truly humbling, as it is equally encouraging … now where did I put the jam?!

Feedback from past day or so:

Me attempting to get my head around new technology with the ever resourceful and helpful Chris. Dave Lewis-Baker looks on. — Me attempting to get my head around new technology with the ever resourceful and helpful Chris.

“…we saw a very personal exploration and a piece of your soul. You were articulate, thoughtful and thought-provoking.”

“It was wonderful to hear the how-where-when-why, for each shot, from the horse’s mouth – it made such a difference to my appreciation of what you have achieved.”

“Overall, the evening was excellent and ranks among the best that we have seen this year.”

It's getting serious now! [Dave Lewis-Baker looks on.] — It’s getting serious now! [Dave Lewis-Baker looks on.]

“While you are not familiar with public speaking, you clearly prepared very well and this delivered a top-notch presentation.”

“A very enjoyable and informative evening, up there with the best of them.”

“… well-balanced great presentation …considering it was you first talk your passion came through…”

“You were funny, very open and informative.”

“Excellent evening. I think your imagination and creativity are very original.”

“One of the most interesting evenings we have had.”

“A very inspiring and entertaining talk.”

Taken towards the end of the break. They seem happy enough?! And still awake! [I also had prints, books, etc at the rear of the room.] — Taken towards the end of the break. They seem happy enough?! And still awake! [I also had prints, books, etc. at the rear of the room.]

“… your knowledge of and passion for your subjects [made for] an amazing first ever presentation.”

“For me, you should have no qualms at all about your ability to talk publicly. Your knowledge and sincere enthusiasm with excellent images speaks volumes!”

The calming presence of BPS president, Geoff Wood.

“The photography was brilliantly original, esp. the street photography. I know of no photographer who can spot visual puns like Nigel… [the] street photography is a very personal development of Cartier Bresson’s concentration on people in their own environment, and can be viewed in the same context. He has the very rare ability to photograph people unexpectedly without causing offence.”

I’m indebted to… Dave Lewis-Baker for the initial shove and subsequent support; my great friend Rob Jordan, who filled the car journey to Bath with distracting laughter, helped setup and took a few photos as evidence; my wife, Sue, for agreeing not to come [maybe next time!]; and all at Bath Photographic Society for the opportunity [especially Liz Bugg for my exponentially frazzled emails and texts!].

And… breathe…

April 12, 2014

Man Ponders Potential Of Own Vagina

It’s the kind of headline that would grab anyone’s interest. Well, it especially peaked my interest for a great many scientific and sociological reasons. And also as I’ve had a great deal of accidental, erm, exposure in this niche area of the blogosphere.

Doctor's Implant Lab-Grown Vagina — Doctor’s Implant Lab-Grown Vagina

If I’m honest, my immediate thought was… I want one! Just imagine… I’d be able to have full sex with myself. Whenever I wanted. And in the afterglow, I could whisper breathlessly to myself ‘How was it for me?’. Not to mention what a great comeback it would now be for the person that shouted at me the other day when I criticised their shoddy parking ability with a cultured “Ahhh, go f*ck yourself!” Oh, yeah? Well… I might just go do that… uh, and enjoy it… so the joke’s on you buddy!

You may notice the Related Stories link at the bottom of the screenshot here:

And I couldn’t help but imagine a future where men simply disappeared from sight in our allegedly advanced society.

Because, let’s face it, any man in this technologically enlightened future that found himself with the possibility of having his very own lab-grown vagina, breast implants and four hands… well, frankly, they’d never get out of the house in the morning.

And I know what you’re saying, this is all quite amusing, but where’s your hard evidence that man doesn’t simply sit in front of a computer all day utilising broadband to its full natural potential. And it’s simply wrong to characterise this brave new world in such a way. Sadly, the evidence is right here, on this very website…

Those of you who know me well – and are perhaps now looking at me with mildly disconcerted sideways glances – will know my passion for photography; and also my occasionally distracted written musings, with a soupçon of humour. [He is joking, isn’t he? Please tell me he’s joking! Or, more importantly, please tell me this isn’t purely autobiographical writing today?!] The reality is, my truly treasured followers and friends, that my website is almost never found for any of those things.

I once wrote a blog called The Man With Two Penises. Most of you who read it, doubtlessly chuckled at my discomfort. But I now feel I must apologise for all those people who stumble across my website with what I feel must be entirely different agendas. Here is a list of statistics of All Time search terms for discovering my site:

Stop laughing at the back!

And this isn’t an exhaustive list, this is just the top end of search returns. It’s almost reassuring to see my name actually nestling in at No.3 – albeit well down in the percentiles from the preceding man with two penises / man with two penis! And equally nice to see nige ollis photography sitting underneath skinless penis.

The list on these subtle variations is almost endless. And I’m now beginning to wonder just how many disappointed faces, quite possibly typing with one hand [who admittedly might now be cheered by the latest health news that more hands might become available in the future!], actually curse the accidental discovery of my photography.

As I say, the above list isn’t exhaustive, and the further down the returns you go the search terms that send you stumbling into my room become increasingly entertaining. My personal favourites, in descending order of returns are:

man with two pennis : Not sure if they’re dyslexic perverts or coin collectors?
man with two fully working penises : Well, if you’ve got a second one, I guess it should earn its keep, right?
mouldy penis : I’m slightly bemused by that one, both in search reason and returning my site!
dog barbed penis : Your guess is as good as mine!
my friend’s hot mom catch me in bathroom masterbating : Uh, I think both searcher and myself might want a word with Google about that one!

And finally, the people who used these two search terms must’ve been incredibly disappointed: one man have two penises huge and dual penis and nurse.

Of course, hopefully, those of you reading and chuckling almost as much as when you read of my unfortunate operation will also now realise that this blog is purely a commercial sell out to get more hits. I mean, there must be enough keyword returns in here to send my server into virtual meltdown! Oh, and to anyone who might actually be interested in my photography, it’s over there —–> [pointlessly points]. Yeah, like they read down this far, eh?

July 24, 2013

From Tate Britain To A Toilet in Clifton

Or… Where did it all go right?

Here we are in the balmy heat and humidity of midsummer England … and for the first time since the summer of 2006 the yellow blinding thingy shines hotly for more than the occasional morning or otherwise seasonally confused October afternoon. I’ve even released my biggest fan from its shackles inside the dusty box shoved to the back of the wardrobe! [I should probably clarify: that’s not a significant fan of my photography who came to visit me and inadvertently ended up being shoved inside a cardboard box and hidden in my wardrobe for 7 years, it’s the big blowy, air movement kind. Clearly I wouldn’t keep people in the back of my wardrobe. Not after last time, anyway.]

Well, as you can see the heat is affecting my mind quite badly, but on the plus side my first solo exhibition at Rubicon was so well received, it’s run was extended for two weeks and has now been moved to Rubicon Too for a further month.

Rubicon Too is the latest tastiest eatery to be opened by Umut [my biggest fan – uh, not that one!] and I was delighted to move my work there just over a week ago. The layout is a little different, so the show doesn’t hang together quite as well as it did at Rubicon. And four of the images are consigned to the basement on the way to the toilet… uh, but it’s a nice toilet. Either way, the contrast from having an image in Tate Modern and Tate Britain in the balmy [less] summer of 2008 is a shift of prestige not entirely lost on me: from Tate Britain to a toilet in Clifton in five short years. Where did it all go right, indeed? Ha!

The Wildlife Cameraman Cometh

And finally, for this overdue blog update, here’s a smile-inducing slice of summer from my own back garden filmed this very morning. Maybe there’s a future for me as a wildlife cameraman, yet? [Oh, and don’t worry, although of questionable quality it’s very short – mainly thanks to my deeply inadequate equipment. Uh, please stop making your own jokes at the back!]

Consumed by summer heat, deep in the ivy something stirs…

Note: I’m available for voice-over work for Farmers’ Weekly and other West Country agricultural language bias; walk on parts with minimal lines [due to poor memory retention] will be strongly considered for all major television or film dramas requiring a yokel; and, with Rubicon Too being just a stone’s throw from the world renowned BBC Natural History Unit, quite possibly a shoe-in as the replacement for David Attenborough.

May 31, 2013June 3, 2013

First Solo Exhibition and The Anatomy Of A Stroke [One Year Plus]

First up: I’ve been organizing my first solo photography exhibition. And I hadn’t quite realised, when supplying everything but the walls, everything can be quite a lot of work! I just about made it – hanging the ten images last night. Time to breathe. Hopefully you’ll all now be booking flights from the four corners of the world for this must see event. Ahem.

Anyhoo… If any of you good [local] folk should head this way, feel free to give me the heads up, and I’ll do my utmost to meet you there. Coffees* are on you! Uh, call it your entrance fee and having the sheer pleasure of my company. Think of me as your photographic pim… uh, escort.

* Oh, yeah, that’s the bonus. Rubicon is a lounge café and chocolatiers. So you can easily be distracted from both my company and images with even more delicious distractible culinary treats.

The Anatomy Of A Stroke [One Year Plus]

Remarkably… we were both clean shaven for the occasion!

When I began the project documenting my father’s battle with his stroke, clearly I had no idea where fate and circumstance might lead us. In my opening public comments I essentially concluded my introduction of the documentary with “…and for what I ultimately truly hope will be an uplifting journey to recovery.” Even when I wrote those words, I wasn’t fully aware, having survived the initial dramatic stroke, how the odds were stacked against him.

Happily, for those who followed the unfolding story, you’ll know that my father was lucky to fall into the third of people having such an event who subsequently go on to make a good recovery.

Once again, thanks for all your support through this difficult period in my/our family’s life. I had mixed feelings about making this public, but I was genuinely overwhelmed by those who took the time to write and offer their support and prayers, etc.

And special thanks to John, Alison, Claudio, Tracie, Louise, Kyre, Chris, Sharon, Hameed, Alex, Robert, Dawn, Jen and Giuliana for taking the time to ask some really quite probing questions, and allowing this to have an ideal completion.

The full Q&A interview can now be read on The Anatomy Of A Stroke website.