Pink Sauce

Last Sunday, flickr suspended my (PRO) account , saying that it included "a large amount of content marked with the incorrect safety level."  Although I try to moderate my images, I have had messages in the past from flickr telling some of them were wrongly labelled. A list was usually included and the system automatically changed the moderation. Not this time.  When I asked support why that was the case, how I was supposed to physically review nearly 80,000 images(!), and why I couldn't be given a list, I repeatedly received boilerplate responses copy/pasted from some script that didn't answer my questions at all.  The representative dealing with my case specifically quoted those two sections of the flickr's Guide to Safety Levels (nothing else): - Sexually suggestive poses and attire intended to arouse the viewer or that would generally be unacceptable to a general, public audience;  - Full frontal nudity (exposed or visible genitalia, anus, etc…);  Some of th...

I could carry on tinkering with it until Christmas and beyond, I'm sure, but I think the time as come to stop and let my short story go and live its stunted life in the big out there.  Plenty of Time For James, this grey morning of July 2005 is like any other, as he wakes up, gets ready and walks to the tube station to catch his train to work. Until he makes a mistake.   It is 3,400 words long and should take about 30min to read.  To mark the occasion I've created  a webpage  that includes my previous effort (and hopefully, soon, future ones). All in one place, now! This also has a feedback form, which I invite you to use should you kindly grant me time to read my work. The feedback can be given anonymously, so no excuse!  Enjoy!  Health warning: The language I use in this story (quite different from that of the other one) is not going to be to most people's taste. Readers of English tend to prefer simple language. This isn't simple. It's full of adje...

I spent Christmas Day 2017 at a friend's place. After indulging in all sorts of delicious foods he had prepared, we lay in a mild torpor on his sofa, half watching television. One of the programmes unfolding before our bleary eyes happened to be the festive Dr Who episode, which included a scene in the trenches of the First World War during that infamous football match in 1914. This was, of course, in reference to the celebrations of the centenary of the war. In any case, this somehow imprinted itself into my subconscious and within the next few days, a story presented itself to my mind. Over the following months, I endeavoured to commit it to electronic paper. This is my first completed attempt at writing fiction. I am grateful to my first readers, Eddie, Sue, Richard, Russell and Andrew, who were kind enough to say positive things about the story, and also provided input and feedback. It is, I think, now time to release it unto the unsuspecting world, 104 years to the day a...

A couple of weeks ago, I received an email from a free lance journalist working for BBC Three. He explained he was working on an article about the resurgence of the use of the term "androphile" among right-wing men as a way to distance themselves from the supposed lefty connotations of the word "gay". Something that was news to me. The journalist wanted to conduct a phone interview with me because somehow he'd found out that when I first created this blog (in 2004), I used the word "androphile" to describe myself.  I should have known better, having been interviewed before, but I agreed to talk to him. When you read the result of an interview you find that the gist of what you said is indeed there but because of the need for pithyness and, possibly, a chinese-whispers effect, your words are also stripped of at least some of their nuance, and somehow not fully representative of what you meant. Hence this post, I suppose.  You can read the resul...

Impressions. My pictures of Brussels can be found on flickr  here . Due to a some problem when coming back from a trip to Paris on the Eurostar, I had been given 50% off on another trip and rather than returning to Paris, I thought I would use it to go to Brussels where I had never been. I had been warned that Brussels is not a particularly pretty city. My expectations were therefore not very high, further dampened by the forecast of rain. Thankfully that rain never materialised and I was lucky to have very sunny, unseasonably hot, weather. It seems however true that Bruxelles is not the best looking of cities. The commentary on the bus tours I took extolled the merits of the city as the once capital of the second richest empire on earth, now the modern international centre of the economic and political union of over 500 million people. But, with the exceptions of a few pockets dispersed throughout the city centre, it lacks the grandeur you would expect from such a p...

I managed to get a press pass for Pride London again this year. This gave me access to a loo in a nearby hotel at the end of the parade(!) but more importantly to the pit at the front of the main stage where my arms got thoroughly burned by an unusual appearance from the sun. The dwindling number of fundamentalists protesting the parade (there weren't even 20 of them this year!) would probably remind me that that's one gets from pride: the burns of hellfire... I'm glad to report that no debacle like that of last year with Boy George took place this year and that the artistes with whom I shared my images on Twitter have been very gracious about it. Some have even asked for permission to use the images. On Sunday, to finish a gay old week-end in style, I was at Tate Britain for Queer Britannia , a mellow and relaxing tour of the newly hung galleries, highlighting some of the gay-friendly pieces on display. Again pictures were taken... ( full flickr set ) Full Pride se...

Saturday marks the opening of an exhibition organised by Foyles and the Gay Photographers Network. It will showcase the works of some of the GPN's members around the themes of Literary London, Travel, Love and Marriage and Mind, Body and Soul. I'm very proud to be among those whose images will be featured. As I also have an image in a show celebrating the 30th anniversary of the Pink Singers , this marks the fourth exhibition in which my work has been displayed. And I have more plans for later in the year... So if you find yourselves in Charing Cross Road in the next five weeks, drag yourselves to the gallery on the 3rd floor and (hopefully) enjoy our works. On your way down, you can stop at the cafe for a nice sit down and a cuppa and enjoy a few more works from some of our members. Beyond Words Gallery at Foyles, Charing Cross Road 29 June to 03 August Admission free more info: here and here .

Gaydar's new Find Him feature Apps for smart phones have become all the rage, we all know that. You can get one for just about anything. And while they are an effective tool to reach customers for any brand wanting to appear modern, they do present a big problem for developers and to a point for users: The need to comply with whatever rules the owner of the shop/OS carrying your app decides to impose on content and format. There are also fears that apps could lead to a ghettoisation of the Web, where it is no longer possible to move easily from one platform to another. From a gay user's perspective, perhaps the most obvious manifestation of those restrictions on content, are the policies on levels of nudity allowed in geolocated "dating" apps; policies, the implementation of which has been known to be patchy and inconsistant, not to mention, for the developer, (no doubt) costly to enforce and police. It is therefore interesting and perhaps not altogether surp...

VPT. Very Personal Trainer. That's how they call personal trainers at Gymbox, a slightly pretentious chain gyms, a branch of which I joined in October after an office move. They are not cheap and boast inspiration from the club culture for the decoration (they even have resident DJs) but they were the closest to the new office and the equipments are quite good, I have to admit. I must have been going to gyms for close to 20 years now (with mixed results, as we know) but I've never had a PT, let alone a VPT. I had never really felt the need. Recently however, with my body apparently finally willing to show signs of reacting to what I was doing to it in the weight room, I started to feel the need for some help to get better results faster. As luck would have it, two weeks ago, a new contingent of VPTs was unleashed on the unsuspecting members of my gym, all smiles and bulging pecs, hungry to build a client list. Within a week, I attracted the attentions of not one but two p...

At the beginning of December, I learned via Twitter that the owners of the Shard , the EU's tallest building which has recently being completed, had donated 4000 tickets to access The View from the Shard , the viewing galleries on the 68th and 72nd floors of the giant to Southwark residents. All we had to do was go to our local library with proof of residence and collect our tickets. I did and this Saturday, a week before the viewing galleries open to the public, I got to admire the views over London. Luckily, after a week of snow, the weather had turn to a more sunny disposition and we were treated to the extra spectacle of window cleaners abseiling the southern side of the building and playing to the gallery. As can be expected the views over London are unparalleled and my worry, based on the pictures I had seen so far, that we may end up being too high and therefore at the wrong angle were unfounded. From the entrance on Joiner Street, we queued to have our bags scanned a...

Last night, The news that Instagram has decided to assume ownership of the content generated by its users with the view of possibly selling it on and make money from it spread through Facebook and Twitter like wild fire. The change to the terms of use of the popular instant photography app took place very discreetly (if one excepts the online backlash already brewing). As a user I wasn't even aware that any change had occurred. And there is no option to opt out other than by deleting your account . We have kindly been given a month's notice to decide. Instagram, which is now owned by Facebook, implementing a strategy familiar to its new parent company, is, it seems, already backpedaling, telling the BBC that "the updated policy will not change how it handles photo ownership or who is able to see a user's pictures". It's apparently all to do with better Facebook integration. As far as I am concerned the damage is done, though, and I have decided to leave ...

This afternoon, thanks to a friend's generosity, I went to see the William Klein + Daido Moriyama exhibition currently being shown at Tate Modern. As the photographer I am striving to become, I found what I saw very thought provoking.  I was totally ignorant of either artist before entering the rooms of the exhibition and I only recognised one image of all those that where on display, yet I didn't find myself in totally unfamiliar territory. Perhaps due to the influence that those two photographers have had on our modern visual landscape, I found myself pointing out the Instagram-like qualities of several decade-old pictures. I was also pleasantly surprised to look at images, the sisters of which, by virtue of their subjects and compositions, adorn my flickr photostream . I am currently at a point where, trying to take a more serious approach to photography, I am strongly questioning the quality of my output. A few of my pictures are reasonably good but I feel that ...

I have been asked by one of my contacts, who is a journalist, to answer a few questions as a French gay in London for an idea he wants to pitch to an editor. Some of these I found difficult to answer, as will be obvious by the brevity of my answers. I have no idea if and where it's going to be used, so I thought I would share it here anyway, in case anyone is interested. Update: A version of this interview has now been published on Têtu's blog . 1) How was growing up in Dijon? Although I was born and later I went to uni there, I didn't actually grow up in Dijon but in a big village some 50km away. My childhood was fairly uneventful if somewhat untypical for a country kid. Fairly early it became apparent that I was different and although the other kids weren't nasty about it they weren't all that welcoming either.  Soon as I learnt to read, I took refuge in books, reading more or less any novel that came my way. I only really looked up when I got to Uni, over...

I spent most of Saturday taking pictures of Pride London - World Pride, having been commisstioned to do so by VisitBritain. They had arranged a press pass for me, which gave me access to the press pit at the front of the crowds on Trafalgar Square, just next to the main stage. At first all was going pretty well, though I had to fight with the light that was forever changing, but when the turn of Boy George to get on stage arrived, we (the assembled togs) were asked to sit down by a member of the security team. This was in my view unjustified and unpractical. This also meant we had to shoot the artists at difficult angles. After spending many hours sorting out the results of my day of shooting and editing a selection of the 1000 or so images I had taken, I posted some on flickr as I usually do and tweeted some of them. One of my tweets was about the pictures of Boy George I had taken and included his tweeter name. Not long after, I received a response from him. And not a posit...

Like the gates of an earthly paradise, an Eden made flesh, ajar, carelessly,  one night,  he tempted me into a bewitching dance.  For a few undeserved hours the luscious fruits of his body were mine to feast upon,  our limbs writhing together, our breaths melded into one. Hopes awakened. But soon the cruel dawn sundered and cast us apart. The pearly gates slammed shut. Ever since, fallen, I lie bereft, more alone than before; an errant ghost, an empty shell. Hopes fatally awakened to be more thoroughly crushed. Returned to a new banality, I long and pine for what wasn't; what could have been; will never be.

This morning's Monday blues comes with added misery. The realisation that my social ineptitude is taking roots ever more deeply. Since last night, Facebook has been awash with pictures, videos and comments about the Chorus's retreat which as taking place this week-end. This is awakening ugly feelings of envy and fear in me. I didn't go the retreat partly because of the presence of The Young Man I mentioned in this post , but mostly because of my experience during the trip to Belfast with the Chorus (a lonely affair for me) and my general dismal track record with groups of people who know each other. Judging by Facebook, everybody seemed to have a great time. Although I guess, only those who did have a great time would be posting. Thinking a bit more about this and examining my feeling further, I am as I said envious. Envious that those people can actually find themselves into a group of other people they variously know, if at all, and look forward to it. Envious tha...

At the end of January this year, I had a one night stand. It happened, quite publicly at a party organised by the choir I am a member of. There were several remarkable and highly unusual elements about this, but perhaps nothing more so than the fact that it happened at all. The other party, a young(er) and most comely member of the contingent of "fresh flesh" just delivered by that season's new intake of chorines, did all the chasing, thus popping my 10-year-old Chorus cherry. In the morning we parted on amicable terms and electronic correspondence ensued in the following days. However, it very quickly transpired that, to use and paraphrase images of the song that gave part of its title to this post, his pulse didn't quicken like mine, his wishes were not the same as mine and that I was clearly alone in this. "This", being a desire to explore the connection further and see where it could lead us. Since then, due to circumstances, there has been scant ...

  Last night, the Gay Photographers Network, which I joined a few month ago, was holding one of it monthly events. In addition to being a social occasion, there is also a more didactic element to the meetings.  Last night's event offered me the opportunity to take part in my first studio shoot with models. Accomplished members of the group had been invited to bring and introduce models they work with. Also most seem to be content to simply mingle, we managed to coerce four brave souls to pose for those interested.  The lighting had been set up for us and it pretty much stayed the same all the time. This was very much a free for all with half a dozen people shooting at the same time. Not ideal for optimal results but a good taster for me nontheless and a fun evening, indeed.  The results of my efforts can be seen in this set on my flickr account. Enjoy!  (model: Jonathan Hall)

Today I popped in the National Portrait Gallery to view the paintings shortlisted for the BP Portrait Award 2011. This year was mostly underwhelming, I have to say, with many examples of a trend in modern portraiture that I find particularly annoying: the photo look. Paintings with the slick, smooth, slightly-soft-focused look of a photography. I do like hyper-realism but for some reason I can't abide that look in portraiture. The overall winner , by Wim Heldens, just about escapes my ire in that respect. Although I rather like it, it is also not part of my favourites. You can find them below in bad iPhone pictures I took myself (the links provide more info about the paintings and the artists): George O'Dowd by Layla Lyons, oil on canvas on wooden stretcher, 1800 x 1400 mm Abi , by Nathan Ford, oil on canvas, 280 x 200 mm and just because I like Maxi: Maxi Jazz by Joe Simpson, oil on canvas, 600 x 600 mm There was another one I liked, which I didn't photograph and doesn...

I have just returned from a week exploring the sunny streets of Prague, capital of the Czech Republic. Much walking was involved and just as much photographing (I shot over 1000 images if I include the duds that weren't worth keeping). A selection of those pictures (a mere 436 of them!) is available on flickr here . It was an interesting experience for me to observe my images evolve as the days went along. On the first couple of days, I found it impossible or quite hard to take original pictures, ie images that were not your bog standard tourist shot and that ultimately present little interest. As the days went on, however, I started to move away from those; starting to notice details and oddities, as if the city came into focus, and I hope that my images gained in interest as a result. I also went to some places on the outskirts of Prague that not many tourist can have visited, such as the eastern terminus of the tram line 22 or a street in what could be a village if it wasn'...