Slow going, but another landmark passed

With nearly 58,000 shots uploaded, I've just clocked up four million viewings on my Flickr site. 

Hurrah! 

But of course, this is four million since I began to upload photos to Flickr in February 2009. That rather cuts the achievement down to size. Even so, I anticipate my friends will be impressed, not realising perhaps that even four million viewings, spread over the years, is nothing compared to the astronomical statistics some people have generated in a much shorter time - not so much on Flickr, but on other picture-based websites like Instagram.  

Note especially that 'viewings' isn't the same as 'followers'. I think many people mix the two up, and might imagine, in relation to my case, that there are four million people out there who will scrutinise every shot I put online. Not so! 

Both 'viewings' and 'number of followers' are a measure of public attention and response, but they are not the same thing at all. 

A 'viewing' means somebody happened to see a picture - probably by scrolling rapidly through a batch, perhaps in some cases pausing to examine it more closely, and in rare instances troubling to make a comment. 

A 'follower' is somebody who likes what they see, and deliberately bookmarks the photographer, so that when they go into Flickr in the future the photographer's latest shots will be presented to them. It's very easy to become a follower, but the small effort involved is usually beyond the average person's capacity. Inertia is so hard to overcome! Still, a number of very popular photographers have each garnered a huge number of followers. I am definitely not one of them!

Even now I've got only 81 followers. That's not many, and some would say it's a pitifully small number after fourteen years of posting photographs on Flickr. 

So why do I do it? 

Well, I'm not after fame and fortune. Popularity is a two-edged sword. Along with the accolades might come some vicious swipes which would be hurtful. And I don't need another income. 

As a general proposition, I think it's good to share one's life through pictures. Certainly, I want people who used to know me to see that I'm doing fine, and have not fallen by the wayside. And I want those who currently know me to see where I go, and what I get up to. 

I don't show everything, not by any means. And some of it is very ordinary. But even that (a new device for my kitchen perhaps) seems to have some resonance for people who visit Flickr. 

I don't set out to wow other photographers with my technique or choice of subject-matter. Certainly not to confine my uploads to what is currently regarded as 'fine art photography'. I don't at all spurn the notion of artistic excellence, but it's hard to elevate everyday subjects into Art, or in any way make them sublime. Taking church interiors as an example - a very frequent subject for me - I want to capture the architecture, history, memorials, artworks, and social role of the building in clear detail, with a natural rendition. Light effects and mystical atmosphere come second, as does showing off the capabilities of my Leica camera. 

Getting back to the viewing statistics, what is the record so far? 

I got to the first million viewings in January 2016 (this was a photo of the laptop screen):

So if I started uploading shot in February 2009, it took nearly seven years to get this far! Sloooow.

I got to two million viewings in January 2018 (this, and following images, are screenshots on my laptop):

That's better. Only two years to add another million viewings. 

Three million viewings were attained in August 2020:

Hmm. Two and a half years to add another million viewings. Clearly my pictures had lost some of their appeal. Or was it down to Covid-19?

And now four million viewings in August 2023:

Oh dear! Three years to add another million viewings. I'm slowly becoming a faded has-been! An irrelevance!

Yes, Flickr as a platform for hosting pictures has been somewhat pushed aside by the faster rise of Instagram. Yes, the current craze to make video content for TikTok and the rest has dampened general enthusiasm for still photography. But I think the trend is unmistakable. I've lost my grip - such as it ever was - on the public. Shall I pack it up? 

No, of course not. I like posting things to Flickr, and although Flickr isn't a social media platform, it's a useful showcase. Perhaps it's a trifle egotistical to share 'my' pictures, when few of them are extra-special. But, like the Blog, it's a way of keeping in touch with the world, and demonstrating that I do venture beyond my local village.

Ultra vertigo potential: the Button Boy

It was many years ago now, but I clearly remember seeing a film on TV to do with the historical training of young naval recruits at a Royal Naval College called HMS Ganges. I watched with growing horror. The young recruits - each with the rank of 'Boy' and all teenage - gradually mounted (in formal attire, caps included) a very tall ship's mast set in the middle of a parade ground. I don't recall any sound effects, but you could easily imagine a big drum somewhere giving a 'boom' on every second, and in response these trainees would all step upwards together on the rope shrouds, perfectly synchronised. 

Higher and higher they went. Some would remain on the rope shrouds, holding on in an erect pose. But the rest would go on upwards to platforms, where a small number would stand. Others would edge out along the horizontal yards, spacing themselves evenly, and standing upright. The first and lowest yard was not quite halfway up; but the second was rather higher, and the topmost yard was at a quite dizzying height. The yards were substantial but rounded, and the topmost was on the thin side. 

This was dreadful enough. But one of the Boys, the nominated Button Boy, had to shin up the last section of mast to a tiny platform (the button) at the very top, and then stand on top of it, with (if it were not for a safety net far below) a fall to his death if he wobbled or lost his nerve and fainted. 

All stood to attention. And at some command would all salute. The Button Boy too, and that was a big deal, because he'd have to take his hands away from the short lightning conductor rod on his tiny platform. This rod hardly came up to his waist. He stood in front of it, and I suppose he might to some extent brace himself against it. But with one arm stiffly by his side, and the other making a salute, he couldn't hold onto it, and was effectively standing, barely supported, on a large dinner plate far above the ground. It was excruciating to watch. I expected him to be blown off by a puff of wind, and that would be that. But it didn't happen.  

You can view various versions of this mast-mounting ceremony on YouTube and elsewhere:

Wikipedia has a fair bit about HMS Ganges and this mast: 

Only a coin as a reward? 

But there might have been non-serious injuries? What about the mental trauma of scaling frightening heights, and then falling? How many falls were there?

On 11th July, the first evening of my Suffolk holiday, I drove to Shotley Gate - not far away - and while there I made a point of looking at what might be left of HMS Ganges. I'd already passed The Royal Hospital School at Holbrook on the way - basically a modern private school, originally built and run on naval college lines, and to this day continuing with much the same ethos - and I'd imagined that a former Royal Navy Training School like HMS Ganges would have a similar grand appearance. Or at least a grand approach road. But no. The old main entrance was tucked away down a disappointingly unremarkable side street at Shotley Gate. It was locked up, and looked forlorn. 

Behind those gates, the old site was being redeveloped. I didn't immediately realise what that white tower, which at a distance looked like a radar installation, actually was. I went closer, and managed to poke LXV's lens through a gap.

Oh dear! The redevelopment seemed to have stalled. And the mast had been partly dismantled to only half its original height. It must have got into a seriously poor condition. It was hard to believe that one day, when the redevelopment was finally complete, it would be restored to its former glory. I went away thinking that this part of the country's naval heritage had been sadly let down. And this, despite my feelings about heights and needlessly sending youngsters aloft. Many must have been in a state of controlled terror. Just to provide a display for an important visitor when the training school was active.   

Not every person is scared of being off the ground. I have to grant that these were boys of an unusually adventurous mould, likely to be high-spirited and light-hearted about risk. There would certainly be peer competition to show daring and coolness, peer pressure to excel, to exceed, and go to extremes. Then there was the relentless discipline, enforcing all commands to do things that were dangerous, unpalatable, or against natural common-sense. People will do anything if the compulsion is strong enough, or the penalties for refusal too severe.

And I dare say that some boys would have actually aspired to be the star of the show, the Button Boy. If they got up there with practiced ease, and came down again with the same aplomb, they would be much admired for their technique, proven courage and apparent fearlessness. It might make a difference later on, marking them out for early promotion in adult naval service. Given that, the small token present from the commander - that coin - might actually be a hugely-coveted trophy, symbolic of an impressive achievement. 

In any case, I'm sure the Navy wouldn't have offered meaningful cash rewards. There must be no suggestion that boys were induced to climb high in exchange for a money prize. The Button Boy's performance had to be in the best traditions of the service, the product of training and discipline and only those things. After all, in the days of Nelson anyone in a ship's crew might might have been ordered aloft, and no argument about it - nor any reward.

I remain perplexed how it is that some people have no anxiety about being high up. It makes me feel rather inadequate! I do test myself now and then. For instance, when looking around Woodbridge on 12th July, I mounted the curving steps at the front of the Shire Hall:

The steps, as you can see, were in good condition, and there was a proper handrail. The local council clearly regard ascending them as safe, otherwise they would be out of bounds to the general public. Anyway, I wanted the view (and some shots) from the landing at the top.

Well, yes: a great view of the lower town square! But it did seem high, and as the seconds passed I felt vertigo getting a grip. Time to get down. The stairs looked endless, the ground so far away.

I'm rather glad that I could never have been an HMS Ganges recruit! But there are careers I could have had, that would have involved being scarily high up from time to time. I'm really very content that I was only an office worker. 

So readers shouldn't be surprised to learn that I won't be trying out the zip-wire on the Brighton seafront. I saw it in action last April:

That tower with the spiral steps is the launch platform. Two friends were zipping noisily:

You zip down to that structure on the beach, where you come to a sudden stop. 

As I understand it, you get a ground-level briefing by the staff before donning a helmet and a harness. Then you have to climb that spiral staircase to the top of the tower - I'd never make it, it's too high, and my dodgy right knee would give out. On arrival, further advice and a choice between a fast wire and a slightly slower one. Then the harness gets attached. One is still not past the point of no return, but it must be like being at a church wedding (mine was a register office affair) and the exchange of vows is about to begin, with ring poised.

Two of my friends, Sue and Jackie, had a go recently. Apparently it was thrilling. A bit of last-moment trepidation as you dangle off the platform, then an immense adrenalin rush as you career at speed over the heads of people on the beach. 

But I'm still not tempted.

The experience is nevertheless unmissable if you are as daring as a Button Boy. Be warned, however: it's not cheap. Here a group of friends discuss whether they should spend megabucks on something they may regret:

Note the prices! Still, it's within reach of most pockets, including £4 extra for having a GoPro video camera popped on your helmet to record what you saw while zipping - Jackie and Sue agreed that is worth having. Obviously, you can't use your own camera or phone to take the footage, in case it drops onto the gawping multitude below. And they do gawp. I did. So did Joe Cool in the shot below, gliding along on his uniwheel Segway board:

Now that's something else beyond my capabilities - a good sense of balance. But that's for another post.

The correct use of knitting needles

Readers will, I'm sure, be pleased to know that The Moons of Destiny passed all tests while I was away on my recent nine-night caravan holiday in Suffolk. In fact such was their influence, I had a wonderful time. There were no issues whatever until I got home. Then, when wielding a hammer to tap something into place - why? Well, the reason may be explained in a post to come - I discovered that the Moons, now looser than they were on my wrist, had marked the skin. Actually, it wasn't the silver nuggets that had done the damage. It was the S-shaped clasp. Here it is, in one of my first shots of the bracelet:

But now it had done this to my skin. (Remember that when you get older, your skin gets more fragile!)

That S-shaped clasp was a handsome thing, a very nice feature of the bracelet, and I quite liked the little curly-wurly bits (finials?) on either side, which seemed to enhance the general elegance of the clasp. And yet they could dig into the skin and mark it, if I were engaged in something that would cause the bracelet to vigorously flop backwards and forwards. Such as hammering. I wouldn't be doing such a thing very often, but that wasn't the point. I wanted to wear The Moons all the time, and not take them off whenever I intended moving my right arm rapidly to and fro. There must be no likelihood of injury in any ordinary circumstances.

I'd grown very fond of my new 71st birthday bracelet while on holiday, and badly wanted to find a solution to this issue. So I went back to Pruden & Smith. Yes, I could easily have a different clasp. It would cost me nothing. What sort? The clear alternative was to fit a lobster clasp. I'd lose the full hallmark on the S-shaped clasp, but the new clasp would still bear a '925' to denote sterling silver. OK then!

I picked my bracelet up yesterday morning. It looked very good with the lobster clasp, which lay smooth and flat, with nothing sticking out that might gouge into my skin. Its shape and flatness would spread the load better, on the same principle as snowshoes. The S-shaped clasp was skeletal by comparison, with much more potential to press into the skin. The new clasp was decidedly dermo-friendly, and promised to be much kinder to my wrist. 

That said, it wasn't quite as elegant as the S-shaped clasp had been. But it was still sterling silver, and it went well with those chunky silver nuggets. I was amply satisfied.

Emily at Prudent & Smith had put The Moons back on for me. I now needed to work out a good way of putting them on by myself, in case I ever had to take them off again, and nobody was around to assist. 

I'd already given this some thought. There were for instance special gadgets you could buy on the Internet. These were like a small rod with a spring-loaded jaw. The jaw held one side of the clasp steady on the wrist while the other side of the clasp was attached with the other hand. As in this very cheap Chinese example on Amazon:

Or this more elaborate but still inexpensive version, also on Amazon: 

You can see how they work. It looks simple and quick. Actually, it's still rather a fiddle (I studied a couple of YouTube videos, to see what was involved), but if you were using one of these things often then practice would make perfect. All for less than a tenner, although postage might bump that up somewhat, and quite possibly one would have to wait for the next batch of 20,000-odd to be sent over from deepest China, where they all appear to be made. Still, an obvious source for something that would do the trick.

But I wondered whether I already had the answer at home. 

I'd taken The Moons off to weigh them. The different clasp had not altered the weight one bit: still 50g. Now to put my bracelet back on! Two weeks earlier, I'd thought of a way that involved looping a string through the rings on either side of the clasp, tying it into a slip knot, drawing it together, and then connecting the clasp. Time to try it out.

Well, it worked. But it was rather a struggle, because the string got in the way. (Incidentally, you can see why this kind of clasp is called a 'lobster'! It's so like a lobster's claw)

There must be a better method. Some of the bracelet-fasteners I'd seen on Amazon had simple hooks rather than spring-loaded jaws. What was the household equivalent? Crochet hooks?

Maybe...but it didn't work. There wasn't enough curl to the crochet hook, and it wouldn't lock onto the ring that I wanted to attach the lobster to. 

Then I thought of ordinary knitting needles. If I could poke a thin knitting needle through the ring, and press it onto my wrist to hold it steady, and then attach the lobster...? Aha...success!

Zooming out...

Now this did work, rather well. I used a short knitting needle - my Mum had a whole lot of knitting equipment, which I had inherited lock, stock and barrel - but really any knitting needle that could be held like that in the 'bracelet' hand, and could be pushed through that ring, would have done.

I don't know when I'll next need to remove The Moons of Destiny and put them on again, but at least I now have a sure-fire way of doing it! (Assuming I have a short knitting needle handy, naturally) 

Perceptive readers will have noticed that in one of the shots just above I show both hands in use. How then did I take the photo with my phone, without resorting to a tripod and a special phone clamp? 'Twas easy, me hearties. I just manoeuvred the phone - screen up and camera lens down - so that half was on the edge of a chest of drawers (it could just as well have been a table edge) and half overhanging. I then weighed down the half on the chest with a heavy slate coaster, then got my wrist and fingers into position with the needle through the ring, and with the lobster ready to connect to it, then gave a voice command to my phone to take the picture. Bob was my uncle, and Fanny was my aunt!

I have to admit, phones can be pretty good at hard-to-take closeups! It would have been harder to take that shot with my 'proper' camera, LXV, even if set up on a tripod.