Bristol Landmarks

At some point in Bristol's past, someone had fun with some paint. Lots of paint. In lots of colours. Lines of candy-coloured houses brighten up Bristol's hillsides - from the streets of Hotwells next to the water's edge, up to the top of Clifton next to the Downs, and back down the other side of the hill through Cotham into Montpelier. Ice-cream coloured houses fade away into the distance, too, on the hill the other side of Temple Meads station. For the past six months I've lived in a peppermint house. Kept in good company by blue, pink, green, cream and brown houses, the peppermint house freshens up the road - a minty moment amongst chocolate and sugar mice. But next week I'm moving out of my peppermint palace into a rather more conservatively decorated building. Let's hope this new flat has some other quirk to make up for the loss of a house-front that automatically cheers you up in the morning. Or I might just have to join Bristol tradition and buy a can of paint...

Bristol balloons

 

Chopin's Funeral

Only one photograph of Chopin is known to exist. Taken around 1846, the photo depicts a taken aback Chopin, flinching from the camera. Why Chopin sat for the portrait, no one knows. The identity of the photographer, too, remains a mystery. It's probably safe to say that Chopin didn't embrace the new medium. Intriguingly though, the end of Chopin's life dovetailed with the birth of a new breed of spectator fathered by the camera. The paparazzi. Moments after the composer died in Paris, two photographers were found attempting to move his body into better light so they might take a photo of the famous man, presumably to sell on. Interrupted mid-move, the pair fled. Having recently visited Chopin's grave at the Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris - definitely an expedition to be followed up with a pick-me-up coffee - this anecdote, as recounted in Benita Eisler's biography of Chopin, jumped out at me. Perhaps it's pushing the point too far to suggest Chopin disliked the camera - though anyone facing the lens for the first time in the nineteenth century must surely have been wary - but it seems a shame that so many of those clustering round his grave felt it necessary to take a photo. Is it just me, or is it a bit strange to take a photo of a grave, however famous the person? Stick to placing vividly coloured flowers on the memorial instead.