Exhibitionist

I must admit that I've never really been a huge fan of photographic competitions. The whole concept that one lovely picture can be adjudged better than another lovely picture is a bit daft when you think about it. It's a very subjective process and it's really down to what particular image resonates with you as an individual. I've seen what I would describe as some pretty ropey photos winning prizes, whilst excellent ones fall by the wayside.

Even so, I have entered some of my own photos in competitions this year. If it's free to enter and there's a chance of winning a new camera or some vouchers, it would seem a bit silly not to have a go. But I've learned not get my hopes up too much - there are lots of people who enter with some really great images. It's really just a bit of fun and win or lose, it isn't a genuine indication of one's photographic ability.

At least that's what I thought until this afternoon when I had an email telling me one of my pictures which I had entered in a competition run by Pentax, was going to be exhibited at the Design Museum in London.

Suddenly competitions are brilliant things and I'm a fucking amazing photographer *struts round living room*.

Okay, obviously I'm deliberately being a bit over the top about it all. But I am genuinely thrilled that one of my photographs is to be exhibited at a pretty cool location. Plus I get an invite to a private viewing of the exhibition that will also be attended by TV and radio presenter Reggie Yates and Girls Aloud girl and actress, Sarah Harding. Exciting and a bit surreal!

I'm pleased that the photograph to be displayed is one of favourites from this summer:


Although Michael Johnson is an Olympic and Athletics legend, the little girl holding the torch really was the star of that morning's London 2012 event. During the performances by her choir, she was doing funky dance moves and pulling faces, always playing up for the camera. There was such a lovely happy and unified atmosphere at the event and I came away with a handful of photos that I was really pleased with, as well as a beaming smile and warm heart.

The thing I most like about all of this is that the picture is of one of my genuinely treasured memories. So for it to be put on public display and hopefully also enjoyed by other people too, is really special.

Now all I have to do is arrange my plus one for the viewing. A pimp like myself really need a plus three or four though, such is my immense popularity and need of an entourage. Who do I take? Maybe I should arrange a series of trials to decide this. These will mainly involve cake baking and a massage of my sore shoulders.

Although in actuality, I'll probably have to scrabble around and pay someone by the hour to come with me.

Video killed the radio star (and nearly me as well).

Okay, so it turns out that beard aside, Steven Spielberg and I have very little in common. I have created a video that I'm more ashamed of than Paris Hilton's parents would have been of her infamous taped collection of private moments (and not just because it reminds me that the rest of the world hears not my voice, but that of a slow farmer on drugs).

In my defence, it was my very first time and I was plagued with technical difficulties, but my dreams of making it big in Hollywood (California, not the one in Worcestershire - I could probably still hit some heights there) are in tatters.

The reason I was messing around with a video in the first place was to try and establish a clear winner of my Mo Farah portrait. Rather than pick a name out of the hat or toss a coin, I thought it would be a marvellous idea to ask people who I meet throughout the day a simple question - Geraldine or Kevin? Whoever got the most votes would win!

So I collected around four minutes of footage that I thought I could stitch together and hopefully edit into an amusing montage that would probably become a massive viral hit on YouTube.

Now as we've discovered, I have no idea what I'm doing, but not for the first time in my life thought 'how hard can it be?'. Only to discover that actually, it's really effing hard. It didn't help that the people I was working with were clearly not professional actors. If they'd been a little bit more 'with it', perhaps I would have stood a better chance and I'd be eyeing up a little place in Beverly Hills by now. You know what? Now I’ve started blaming other people, everything is beginning to make more sense.

After spending several hours trying to find a way of transferring the videos from my Android phone to my iMac computer, I thought I was ready to polish this little collection of video turds into one slightly more glittery one. Clever editing would surely save the day!

But alas, despite working without problems on my phone, once transferred to my computer the audio had changed from people talking to the sound of a thousand howling bees. I started to attempt to find some answers on Google, only to find a nice residential course on bee keeping in Swansea and an article on the decline of the howler monkey.

So, any editing would have to be done in-phone. After pottering around the app store for a while (and downloading some updates to my strip-poker games) I discovered an app called 'Magisto'. This appeared to solve all my problems as it offered a fully automatic editing service. All you have to do is choose your videos and a soundtrack and their advanced Artificial Intelligence would do the rest! Perfect I thought!

The example video on their website turned a collection of snowboarding clips into an amazingly slick movie that guys with shoulder length blonde hair and goatee beards would have described as ‘totally rad’.

However in reality, it turned out that the ‘Artificial’ was a little more dominant than the ‘Intelligence’. Admittedly it was a ridiculously simple process to instigate. After giving it the film clips and music, it popped off for 20 minutes or so to do its thing. I was really hoping that it genuinely was happening automatically and hadn’t been emailed to a poor guy in a Korean sweat shop who was getting paid tuppence an hour to knock out a nicely edited result.

It was with great anticipation that I viewed the final result. If this had have been edited by the enslaved Korean guy, I would have wanted my tuppence back and him put on double shifts with half rations. It had handily managed to edit out all reference to Kevin or Geraldine. What’s left is jumbled nonsense which, whilst it probably reflects what’s going on in my head, doesn’t help answer the winner of the competition. To top it all off, I forget to put a question mark at the end of the title name which annoys me every time I see it.

Get the popcorn laced with cyanide and check it out yourself!

So, you’ll just have to trust me when I tell you that, thanks to Keira Husky from my earlier post changing her mind in dramatic fashion at the very last second, we have a draw! Yes I know I should have asked an odd number of people to make sure a draw wasn't possible, but honestly I’ve had it up to my tits now so that's not going to happen.

The easiest, most practical solution is to share the picture. So, if Geraldine and Kevin could just let me know your age, smoker status, lifestyle and any dangerous hobbies, I’ll have an actuary work out who should get the picture first and for how long.

Only joking of course - there's no way I’m going to put myself through the hell of talking to an actuary! Congratulations both - you’ll get a picture each. Just DM me your addresses on Twitter and I’ll get everything sorted next week.

And if anyone wants to tell me that, in hindsight, it would have been simpler to have just done that anyway, wow thanks! I never realised! Here’s my open wound and over there is a bag of salt - you know what to do.

Having said that, I’ll probably have forgotten this in a few days and will try to make another crazy film, so please rub that salt in really hard.

MOmentous

So, as you’ve probably already seen on Twitter and Facebook, today I finished the picture of my very favourite, most inspirational moment of the London 2012 Olympic games.

There were so many highlights to choose from. Each day seemed to bring a clutch of new and remarkable success stories. But for two Saturday evenings running (<----do you see that clever use of a word there, my blog reading buddies? This isn’t even supposed to be a ‘funny’ post and yet without even trying a joke has appeared. What’s that? Just say ‘pardon the pun’ and move on? Okay then.), Mo Farrah had me dancing around my front room with delight.

Unfortunately, tonight of all nights, Blogger isn't letting me upload the picture to this site, so here's a link to the image if you haven't seen it yet...http://twitpic.com/apabow

Distance running is a funny old event. Unlike the 100m final which is over more quickly than the time it takes me to think of an example of something really quick, the ebb and flow of the five or ten thousand metres has you on the edge of the seat wondering exactly how things will pan out. Has he left it too late? Has he gone too soon? Has he been blocked-in, jostled and had nasty names shouted at him by a gangly Ethiopian?

The gently paced monotony of the early laps work up into a frenzied last 800m or so. As I watched Mo head to the front, kick on and then hold off the charge of his competitors, I was on my feet, jumping up and down as if that would somehow speed him along. During that final bend, my arms were pumping and I was shouting “Come on Mo!” until I was hoarse. I’m almost certain that I was more in need of a sit down than he was once the race was over.

Never before have I wanted a sportsman to win quite like I did Mo in those two races. Usually I’m far more detached - even about sports that I follow regularly. For some reason, I had a genuine sense of desperation for this person who I don’t really know and have very little in common with, to succeed and achieve the pinnacle in his races. The relief I felt when he did so was immense.

I’m still trying to work out exactly why my emotions told me that Mo’s victories were a matter of life and death importance to the world. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to answer that, but it is how deeply I felt about it.

No surprise then that I just had to draw Mo as my favourite Olympian. I already felt like I had a bond with him and inevitably that grows when you spend many hours staring at and interpreting someone for a portrait. Although he doesn’t and most likely never will know it, at some deep and meaningful level, Mo and I are good mates.

So, onto the competition! Thanks so much to everyone who entered. There were a broad range of possible subjects suggested that really reflected the breadth of the British success in the games.

Several people thought I was likely to paint one of Team GB’s pretty girls, which was a good effort and may happen at some point. But as much as I love Mo, the only time I would describe him as “pretty” is when used next to the word “amazing”.

In the end, two of my buddies from Twitter - Kev Bedford and Geraldine Banks both correctly guessed that it would be Mo that I was drawing. This is unless I’ve forgotten a correct entry from someone else - in which case, unlucky.

I’m currently trying to devise a tiebreak to decide the ultimate winner. If everything goes to plan, I’m actually going to video this, so Kev and Geraldine - you’ll both have to wait just a little longer. Don’t worry about that though because the anticipation is probably better than the prize itself.

To everyone else who is interested, I’m going to get a print run done of some postcard sized pictures. These will measure 6” x 4” and cost £5 including postage. All profits will go to Mo’s charity - the Mo Farah Foundation - who help provide life saving aid to people who face starvation and disease in East Africa.

I’ll be listing these on my Etsy shop in the next few days if you’d like to help a good cause in return for a small slice of Olympic joy.

Brown paper packages, tied up with strings (and containing cake)...

Thanks so much to everyone who has entered the competition to win a signed print of one of my heroes from the XXX Olympiad (full details from earlier post here).

I must admit that originally I thought the 'XXX Games' were something really quite different. But having seen the incredibly buff guys in the diving final all chilling out together in the jacuzzi and the extremely dodgy looking (greasy side-swept hair, big glasses) Chinese gymnastics coach hanging around very flexible young Chinese girls, I realised that they're actually much the same.

Anyway, I've had around a dozen entries so far. Usually I wouldn't be very tolerant of people who can't follow the original, clear instructions to leave an answer in the comments section of my original post. But to the simple folk who have tweeted, DM'd or emailed me your answers instead - don't worry, you're still in the running!

And the more entries the merrier too - anyone else who'd like to enter can still do so. And you can contact me with your answer via any method you like. Answers frosted on the top of cakes are especially welcome.

In fact it occurred to me that in order to help me with any tiebreak situation, it might be a good idea to list a few of my favourite things to help you influence my decision in your favour.

My favourite things:

1. Justin Bieber
2. Make up
3. Dressing up in my mum's clothes

Oh wait! I got muddled up and thought I was updating my fake 12 year-old girl blog there. Let's try again.

1. Cakes
2. Biscuits
3. Sweets (not liquorice)
4. Ice cream
5. More ice cream
6. A nice meal out
7. A nasty meal out e.g. McDonalds etc
8. Beer (but only smooth, non-fizzy stuff - e.g. Caffreys, Boddingtons, Guinness etc)
9. A nice shoulder rub / Indian head massage
10. Money (or book tokens if that's too vulgar for you)
11. Carex alco-rub hand gel (the green or creamy one preferably - I have a slight obsession with clean hands)
12. Nice hand cream to help with excess alco-rub use
13. A flash car
14. A chauffeur for a flash car (note, only get me this if you're also getting me 13.)
15. An au pair
16. General flattery (as in saying wide ranging nice things about me, not as in a highly ranked soldier named Flattery).

That should do for now. Feel free to also get me a surprise, but do make sure you keep the receipt.

There have been a couple of times this week when I've so nearly tweeted a progress update about the picture that would have given it away. But in broad terms, I wanted to mention how funny it is when you stare at someone intently for even a short period of time, that they start to change in appearance.

Ordinarily our brains seem to look at someone quite quickly and log a set of characteristics to help us remember what somebody looks like purely for recognition purposes. It helps us differentiate one person from another, but not see how they actually really look.

This is why it's so easy to miss noticing that a lady friend has had her hair done - your brain has recognised that this is Ms X, and then stopped the process of looking. One of art's great gifts to the artist or photographer etc, is a keen eye that really sees things as they are, going beyond our everyday, filtered view of the world.

So ladies, if your gentlemen friends don't notice your new hairstyle, don't be too harsh on them. It's not because it doesn't look nice. In fact, if it was awful, it's more likely to be noticeable and get a fake compliment (there we go guys - I've covered that one off for you - no need to thank me).
*brushes hands together to indicate completion of a good job*
*covers them in alco-rub*

Win win win! (nb: there may be three wins, but there's only one prize)

So, the final curtain has dropped on the Olympics. Let's hope it managed to avoid the dying embers of the flame because, with London 2012's closing ceremony budget clearly spent on Russell Brand's hairspray and gallons of Ovaltine for One Direction, I'm pretty sure it would have been made of very cheap fabric which would ignite in a flash.

I shall miss the games - they have dominated my life for the past couple of weeks. If the aim of the games was to "inspire a generation", let's hope Lord Coe meant that for children of the 1970's, this involved them being motivated to sit on their arses, glued to the tv whilst snacking. Without wishing to blow my own trumpet, these past 16 days have been a personal best for me on that front.

Although it has been the most amazing spectacle, it's actually a bit of a relief to get back to real life again. It's like having eaten a massive, delicious, yet very rich meal. I've thoroughly enjoyed it, but now it's time to sit quietly and digest everything.

For me, this will take the form of drawing a portrait of someone from the games that encapsulated the thrill and wonder of it all. I've not painted a picture for myself for ages, so it's really nice to feel this inspired to do so. I appreciate that in terms of exercise, this involves me moving from my sofa to my computer for the next few weeks, but at least I won't be snacking - baby steps (as in incremental progress, not as in tiny children performing a cover of 'Tragedy').

In order to help share the nice warm feeling of inspired celebration that's within me right now, I thought it would be nice to run a little competition. I'll be giving away a signed print of the portrait to one lucky person who correctly guesses who I intend to draw. Leave your answer in the comments box below - you don't need to be signed in to leave a comment, but please ensure you give a name so that I can uniquely identify you.

Terms and conditions apply - in summary these allow me to do what the hell I like with this competition, so don't get stroppy and stuff. Feel free to offer bribes to help increase your chances, although blackmail is strictly forbidden. And in the spirit of unity and equality, so is whitemail.

It'll take me a few weeks to complete this piece, so entries are open until either it's a) finished or b) I accidentally reveal who I'm drawing in another blog post or tweet and ruin the whole thing.

The only real rule is that it's one entry per person, although if you can be bothered to set up fake email addresses to get round this, good on you.

If there is more than one correct guess, I'll draw a winner at random (as in picking a name from a hat, not as in going into a state of trance and drawing the ethereal face I see hazily floating in front of me).

The only clue I'll give at this stage is that the person I'm drawing was a star of the games and is definitely either male or female - i.e. not one of those big shot putting or weightlifting people from China who look like they have both sets of tackle (and probably also a healthy dose of swine in their family tree).

So, best of luck if you want to take part. Feel free to ask me any questions, just so long as they don't turn this into a game of Olympic 'Guess Who?' with ones like, "does she wear a hat?", or "does he have a greasy comb-over that makes him look like he's overly fond of school children?". Cheers.

Down under the medals table

I've written somewhere in the region of a dozen blog posts now. I say 'written', but it's more a case of dictating some general thoughts to a young Filipino boy, as I relax on a chaise lounge sipping gin, who then collates my ideas into some kind of coherent script.

It's quite fascinating to see exactly how many people from each country have tuned in. The UK is of course where the bulk of you guys are from, but I also have many readers in the US, France, Germany, India and even one person from the Philippines, [probably your mum, Pedro].

But at the time of writing, I have yet to receive even an accidental view from anyone in Australia. I know my blog has, up until now been a bit light on wallabies and boomerangs, but the complete absence of an antipodean audience still surprises me a bit. Most of the traffic to here is from my twitter account, and I have quite a few followers from Down Under.

Not to worry though, because today's post has an Aussie flavour (as in content, not as in the peculiar aftertaste of washing witchetty grubs down with a tin of Fosters).

I've spent an inordinate amount of time checking the Olympics medal table this week. It fills me with pride, excitement and also a sense of bewilderment at just how well Team GB has done. Third place, behind the USA and China is truly astonishing. Realistically, no one else can compete with those two superpowers, so third is basically first of the other nations.

After checking how Great Britain is doing, I next find my eyes scanning down the table to find out where the Australians are. I must admit to feeling a sense smugness at just how far down my eyes need to gaze before I see them down there, in 10th place at the time of writing. I genuinely didn't know why I felt this way, so decided to have a few moments of introspection to see if I could get to the bottom of it.

Aside from former Australian cricket captain Ricky Ponting, who is one of the very few people in the world I just don't like (although even then, I can appreciate his skill as a superb batsman), I'm a big fan of Australian sportsmen. I alway cheer on Mark Webber in the Formula 1 (who seems like a genuinely decent bloke) and although I'm not a fan of his personal grooming, Shane Warne was always a phenomenal talent to watch.

I guess it's just a classic case of a country that has previously done exceptionally well at most sports (and made sure that the rest of the world was aware of this), gradually being brought down to earth.

I had a bit of banter with an Australian guy on twitter whose only riposte to the current state of Aussie sport was a particularly lame mention of their performance at previous games (Atlanta and Sydney if I remember correctly). Believe me mate, as a country Britain knows all about living on past glories, don't fall into that trap! The time is now, and right at this moment you're not (by your previous high standards that you've happily boasted about), so good.

Of course, all things go in cycles and I'm sure in future years, the inherent grit and determination in the Australian psyche will propel them back towards the pinnacle of sporting excellence. And it wouldn't surprise me if London 2012 was the greatest British sporting achievement in my lifetime and never again will we be in such a lofty position.

But I think that in Britain we are fairly used to the highs and lows across a range of sports that will serve us well moving forward. Although we've been envious of countries like Australia and are now thrilled to be where we are, I don't think we'll rely on this sporting achievement to define us in quite the same way.

I guess overall the key is to enjoy the success of the moment wholeheartedly, but do so in a dignified way. Then when the golden shine passes, at least people like me won't be waving at you languishing in the lower reaches of the medals table.