F.

Books I read in September: 1) "Say Nothing" by Patrick Radden Keefe. Excellent storytelling, very accessible even to a reader like me who wasn’t very familiar with the subject matter. Perfectly gets across the price of violence and the toll conflict takes on every individual involved. 2) "How to be a French Girl" by Rose Cleary: a sort of coming-of-age story that starts with beautiful writing about aspirations and identity, and spirals into a stalker / obsession narrative that left me cold by the end. 3) "I Shouldn't Be Telling You This (But I'm Going To Anyway)" by Chelsea Devantez. This may just be the first celebrity memoir I never once felt like throwing out a window. Which is funny of me to say, given there’s a whole chapter dedicated to how much the author loves celebrity memoirs. Her life story isn’t easy reading, and while there’s obviously humour throughout the book, none of the subject matter is handled lightly. A few sections about family bonds and talking to her younger self had me shed a little tear, which brings the number of books that made me cry in my whole life to a total of 3. 4) "La Sconosciuta della Senna" by Guillaume Musso (English title: "The Stranger in the Seine"). A mystery set in Paris, with interesting characters and a promising premise. I didn't love the mystic turn it took, but the writing was good enough to get me to the end. 5) "Rejection" by Tony Tulathimutte. What a wild ride. There's nothing I could ever write within a character limit that would do it justice. It's 4 stars with a grudge. I get what the author was going for, and he resoundingly achieved it. At the same time, I've gone through pages upon neverending pages that exuded misery so contagious I felt the need to wash it off. So can I really say I enjoyed it? It made me feel similarly to Patricia Lockwood's "No One Really Talks About This": talented writer, excellent grasp of their generation, but it takes a terminally online soul to fully appreciate, and that's not me.

September reads on @thestorygraph.com. A month of big emotions I tried to sum up in the alt text. One of these books drained my heart of all hope and filled it with despair, and it's not the one about the IRA (that was no piece of cake either, but it's also the best book I've read this year so far).

Tetote Factory in South Ealing make buns with the best, smoothest, most delicate custard I ever had, and I'm probably lucky their opening hours are not very work-friendly, because otherwise they'd likely be the main beneficiaries of my salary. Bun pictured with my post-lunch espresso in a red-and-white Julius Meinl branded cup salvaged from the in-laws' restaurant in Italy, because I'm vintage.

Your Italian friend is back to remind you that you should never underestimate the power of a cup of espresso and a little treat from the bakery.

The power multiplies tenfold if the treat is a custard bun from Tetote Factory. This is the rule, which I just made up and completely stand by.

Oh but I'm a paradigm of gentleness, the poster child for women socialised to be deferential and meek at the office.

The flashing red alert emoji is a stand-in for the sailor-grade swear words I am not allowed to deploy in the workplace.

Always a joyous day at work when I have to send a Slack message with the @ channel tag, several bolded sentences, and a flashing siren emoji that means YOUR COMMENTS NOW (which I'm ready to bet people will either not read or take a week to reply to).

I too grew up with moka, and went straight back to it when my capsule machine broke. It always impresses guests and I get asked a lot what brand I get. It's Lavazza Rossa, bulk-bought online from wherever the best deal is. Coffee snobs can say what they like, I love it because it tastes like home.

The other cassette I loved was Whitney Houston's first album, which dad got when we lived in South Asia in the '90s. I learned English very young, so picture a 4-year-old singing along, getting 1 word out of 10 right and making a mess of it all (untangling misheard words as an adult was great fun)

My mum's dubbed cassette of Simon & Garfunkel's Concert in Central Park, which somehow was in his car while they were separated.

He won't remember the rainy night he was driving me home from Germany and we got lost on Austrian back roads, but I do - it's when I heard The Boxer for the first time.

How is it possible that feeling bad makes me want a little treat but also feeling good makes me want a little treat this is rigged

This is brilliant. I love the water-themed pictures and the flowers especially - the water drops on the roses are gorgeous. And I admire the way you captured contrast so much, those dark spaces veering towards a stark black.

Slim chance, but if we're very lucky the weekend might not be doomed! Feeling stuck in both work and writing plans isn't helping, and these photos are lifting my mood up a little. There's some real crap in that roll, to be sure, but I feel more strongly about the ones I like than those I don't.

Giardini di Boboli, Firenze, 2025. One of two dog statues guarding a pathway that leads away from a small lake. I was standing at the back of the statue, to make it look as if the dog was peering into the hedge next to it, staring at who knows what. In black and white, the statue and the hedge are almost the same colour, the dog almost camouflaged. It's exactly what I was hoping for and I'm so happy to have achieved it.

Giardini di Boboli, Firenze, 2025. My turn to peer inside a hedge and spy what's behind. In this case, it was a small square with a fountain. It looked so peaceful, no visitors around. It's a simple shot, framed by out-of-focus branches at the sides, and I don't know why I like it so much, but I do.

Giardini di Boboli, Firenze, 2025. A large grass expanse leading to a stone wall with an impressive view over the city. Naked branches to the left, a stone pillar to the right, and a tree right in the middle for a vague sense of symmetry. I wanted to embrace as much of the space around me as I could, and at the same time, the small groups of people sitting on the grass give the photo depth too. When the scans came back, my first impression of this one was timelessness. It reminds me of the sort of picture I might have found in my parents' archive of printed photos from the '70s or thereabouts. It feels like it could have been taken at any time.

More shots from my Possibly Cursed Film Roll, because my week's shaping up to be a wreck, and I want to remember I'm capable of making stuff I like. Vibe: the long peaceful park walk I wish I could have today.

📷 Pentax Spotmatic F
🎞️ Kodak T-MAX 100
📍Giardini di Boboli, Firenze, Italy
#believeinfilm

man rolling rock up hill how it started how its going

Man I am really going through it (a monday) right now (a monday)

A black and white photo of a derelict three-storey building with the traces of an old painted sign. To its left, what once used to be a water tower. Taken from the main road just outside my partner's hometown, if it wasn't my photo I'd never guess it's been shot from the side of a busy road with speeding cars.

A close-up of the empty building in the previous picture. Two rows of windows show; all closed, aside from the top middle one. The pattern they formed was too good not to capture. How does this come about? A gust of wind? Does anyone ever go in there? And wouldn't I love to know.

A black-and-white photo of a covered walkway in a small, nearly empty countryside hamlet. I stood right in front of the entrance so I could center it in my picture, nothing but water-stained walls on the sides. In the distance, more arches, and the patterns of light and shadow they create on the ground. Welcome to Middle-of-Nowhere, North-Eastern Italy, Europe, World, Universe.

Same walkway as the previous picture, different spot. I walked through it a few metres until it crossed a gravel alley flanked by two rows of doors. One of the houses was surrounded by plant pots, on the ground, on the walls, everywhere. After shooting this, I lost my balance trying to get back on my bike and nearly fell with the camera around my neck, which is one of the many ways this film roll's curse has endured throughout the year. Just then, an elderly lady got out of the house, and I had to reassure her that I was okay a million times. The look on her face seemed to say "how are you so clumsy at your age", which is absolutely what any Northern Italian grandma would say to any complete stranger. I love the final picture, though.

So much kept going wrong with my B&W film roll, I thought it might be cursed.

The scans came back, and the only thing that's haunting is the "deserted 1900s buildings in the Italian countryside" vibe. Which luckily is what I was going for.

📷 Pentax Spotmatic F
🎞️ Kodak T-MAX 100
#believeinfilm

A tuxedo cat sitting on a wall. Outstanding Poirot moustache and permanently surprised expression. Better still, when I approached, it was clearly very keen to be my friend. Scritches and head bumps ensued.

Three is a party! A long-haired black cat pops up out of the blue right behind my new tuxedo friend. Not as bold in its search for affection, but what a beauty.

Easy @thecatreviewer.bsky.social 10/10 to the tuxedo beauty who brightened yesterday's walk. Perfect Poirot moustache, friendly head bumps, what's not to love. Also 10/10 to its long-haired pal that arrived out of the blue, because what's better than a new cat friend if not two cat friends at once?

There are lessons somewhere here. About perfectionism, self-doubt, and how to untangle it from others' doubts that you grew up steeped in. But even as I learn to shutting up the "who, YOU?" voice, I sometimes do crave a little "yes, you, look what you're capable of" nudge from someone other than me.

Yes, and I think "expensive" can mean value as well as affordability. In my example, I would only think it worthwhile if people knew my work beforehand. Or it would be paying for the pleasure of sitting at home with no one knocking (I have a poor track record of people coming to things I arrange 😆)

So I may never do a pop-up photo sale, because I don't know how to promote myself, but how will people know my work otherwise? Because pricing feels beyond me. Because my chosen [size, quality, technique] may be crap to others. And I'm starting to learn that working it out alone is a lot to expect.

But some days I need people to know I'm capable of things beyond being at a desk 9-5. I need to not be the only one thinking it.

Growing up I'd hear it doesn't matter, not like a career, and what's my talent anyway? So when I imagine letting others see what I make, my brain fires back "YOUR stuff?"

An ex-colleague told me about her dad, who only paints for himself, because he feels weird about selling what he made in the quiet of his inner world.

That's me on most days. My writing, my photos: I don't much care if no one else sees the point. And as a private person, sharing is hard regardless.

There's a yearly artist open studio week in my area, and when I go, I'm in awe of so many people who make art alongside a day job and show it so proudly.

And I think, what if I tried selling some photos one year. Then I see the sign-up fee and my brain goes "quite the price to likely sell nothing".

A near empty road stretching towards the horizon in the Italian countryside. A stunning orange and blue-grey sunset in the sky. If there are smudges in the foreground, blame it on the filthy windows in my mother's car.

A green field, darkening in the evening light, with the perfect outline of mountains in th background. Above the mountains, clouds turning orange in the sunset, looking as if they'd been painted with brushstrokes. Another fair warning for car glass smudges, you can blame that on my parents if you like (as if my windscreen would be any cleaner if I owned a car in London).

An airplane wing immersed in what is possibly the prettiest pink sunset cloud I've ever seen.

A stunning view of Hyde Park from a plane flying into London. When I take aerial pictures like this they usually look crap, but the summer evening light here was just delightful.

The weather on my holiday back home might have been moody, but if there's one thing we weren't short of, it was beautiful sunsets. And just like that, nostalgia for a summer that hasn't even ended yet begins to kick in.

That's where I'm at. Old enough to give myself permission to picture a different working life, but also to worry about the big financial hit I'd have to take. Even when I don't think it's out of reach, getting to a good launching point would take years, like everything I try to figure out alone.

I call the washing machine "needy piece of equipment" when it beeps more than once while I'm too busy to unload it, and I'm stupidly proud of my turn of phrase, got to take my word crafting wins where I can find them.

It all boils down to frustration: 12 months ago I had a plan, and now, back at square one, I can't tell what it makes sense to aim for in the next year.

Here and now: a walk and a visit to a friend's grave. Some of her last words were "never be scared my friends", and I want to tell her I'm trying.

This is the funny shit, but mostly, I'be been having Words with myself about those feelings of failure. 19-year-old me thought she'd never be stuck in an unsuitable job, but look. 20K words on my novel, a published translation piece, a quiet life with a great partner + silly cats. It's not nothing.

An adult who still hasn't thrown out the outfit worn for one of two dates with someone I really liked at 19. The jumper still fits, and recalling how hard it was to convince my mother to get me those lovely brand-name jeans on sale, they deserve more than the bin. Maybe Vinted. Maybe next year.

On the plus side, I went through the hallmark return-to-hometown romcom experience I believe is called "questionable late teens crush spotted with very young-looking girlfriend while crossing the street with your Mum" and felt total, pleasing indifference, so I guess I really am an adult now.

People I haven't seen in a while: Helloooo, so cool you're back home for a few days, how ARE you!

Me, quietly facing the past few months' feelings of being a failure, in the very place where I used to dream of all I'd grow to achieve: Good thanks! On holiday, haha, my brain is so switched off!

This is where being a middle school teacher's very introverted only child could get kinda fun. Lots of time to myself, many atlases in the house.

The look of amazement from my partner when I ace the Flags or Capitals round of a TV quiz show is worth every hour spent playing alone in Mum's study.