I was itching to get outside. Perched in the glass, concrete and inertia riddled office that had started to breed its own kind of chemical warfare amongst its employed contents, I looked out at the angular, grey lansdcape of Manchester and my trigger finger started to twitch. As my mind drifted away from the tedium of the spreadsheet on my screen towards the world outside, the jumble, ill conceived, or probably un-conceived skyline, suddenly reminded me of the dental arrangement of a flailing tramp in bread bag shoes I’d seen earlier that morning. Smiling as he bellowed at the Pigeons and the blank faced Jehova’s Witness’ lodged outside the railway station, he seemed at one with his world. It is almost a joy to see a man to mentally beyond repair that he took such pleasure in urinating on his own feet. If only the rest of the world could find such glee in the simple things.
With a true sense of Rock n Roll rebellion, I logged out of my phone and correctly shut down my computer so that nobody could send an amusing but insulting email to manager, with more than a passing reference to his mother and his own groin. Rebellion is one thing, but correct security protocols are another. Once correctly logged out, I grabbed my camera and hotfooted it down the stairs, through the revolving doors and out in the leaf and plastic bag strewn vortex.
I had heard it told that there were some new pieces of art in my favourite location in the Northern Quarter and practically skipped my way up the cobbled hill, sprang across the canal before I was there. The word on the street was indeed true. There were some excellent new pieces; some threatening penguins in Xmas hats, a wonderfully exotic princess with pierced lips. There was also a great and sad dog chewing at a penguin on the side of the electrical unit. All wonderful, but my eyes were caught by somewhere I’d been before, something I’d captured before. I walked over and instinctively started snapping away at the cheeky, sexy, provocative green, yellow and purple girls covered in tattoos and with scant regard for clothes. The girls were not naked, showing nothing and looked happily fantastic. As they smiled back at you, you knew they were in charge. They say never go back, but I could not resist their charms.
There is a reason for mentioning the naked element of this, or lack of it. For upon uploading these images I retried my Flickr tagging experiment and included the tag “naked” on a select few and lo and behold, guess what happened. Yep, these images are by far and away the highest hits on the set. Don’t get me wrong, I am more than happy for people to view my images, my ego likes it, but there are other shots in the set that are equally as good, if not better, they just don’t have the “Naked” tag attached.
That said, I defy anybody, any male anyway to truly and honestly, 100% categorically say that they have never used that search in Flickr!!