countessian

I went to a farm with my boyfriend to visit his friends who lived there, but then he had to go back to London for work, and I stayed behind on the farm with his friends, who were very wise and taught me lots of things.

Then a pig gave birth to little piglets and the friends said I could have one for my very own and that they would take care of it for me because it wasn’t fair to raise a piglet in the city, but that it would definitely be all mine and then when it grew up I could kill it and eat it at a celebration of my choosing.

I was obviously very excited because I loved my piglet very much.

When my boyfriend came back up to the farm we spent a lovely afternoon together, with me running around in the yard chasing after my little piglet and him sitting on an upturned bucket singing The Kinks’ Animal Farm to me.

Then I woke up all snotty because I caught bloody swine ‘flu from my bloody dream.

[A TRUE STORY]

The old Riot Hyatt is now The Andaz, Hyatt’s new luxury brand.

They were playing Belle & Sebastian in the lobby when I checked out, and you can spy on people in their rooms at The Mondrian across the street if they don’t close their curtains.

A gorgeous boy got on the four at Sweetzer. Really stunning. He was immediately the only thing I could focus on. Jeans, t-shirt and trainers—nothing remarkable, but if you look like that you don’t have to bother dressing nicely. No one but me seemed to notice.

Then an elderly man got out of his seat and staggered over to the boy, who was listening to some hardcore band so loud it was bleeding from his ear buds (and I’m such a sucker I considered that alluring.)

Old bloke said: “You’ve got an amazing set of eyes, son. What do you do for a living?”

“Porn,” said the boy, without turning the volume down.

“Porno, huh?” said the man. “Do you do, you know, private parties?”

“No,” said the boy.

No one but me seemed to be listening.

“Well, if you were looking to get some more work,” said the man, “you know, to make some more money, I know some people, quite important people.”

The doors opened at La Brea.

“Well, this is me,” said the old man. “Take care of those eyes.”

At the front of the bus, another elderly gent got on, this one on crutches and complaining that the driver could’ve pulled up a bit closer to the curb. The driver didn’t reply.

I stared very hard out the window trying to stop looking at the boy with the eyes, but just hearing the sound of the drums seeping out of his headphones was enough that I kept accidentally holding my breath. He got out at Vermont and went underground. I was still blushing at Alvarado.

Sponsored by Gucci and Mac, we are.

“How do you like being photographed?”

“I don’t like it. I like to photograph others.”

I was alarmed when the young man beside me asked his companion across the aisle that question, because I’d been thinking how much I’d love to take his picture ever since they got on the bus. He was the image of a very young Sylvester Stallone, eyebrows and nose and black bouffant and all, clammy complexioned in a brown sheepskin jacket, probably mid seventies, that was slung over both shoulders like a cape. He’d earlier asked the girl in their party if he looked high; she replied: “Not really wasted, but… yeah, like you had a long day”.

[A long pause.]

“There’s an oil of me, an oil painting,” he continued, “sitting in a chair, wearing a tuxedo. It’s my grandmother’s chair. I keep it in my room, all year, but on holy days, on high holy days, I have it moved to the family room. There’s a menorah, too. See, my parents, I’m adopted, see, so they’re French, French American, so that’s why my name’s D—, which is very common in France. My birth name’s Cohen.”

“How would you feel if someone took a photo of you, without you knowing?”

“I wouldn’t care. Anyway, so, there’s Christmas trees everywhere else in the house, little itty bitty ones in the bathroom. Anyway, the oil was painted by an artist in Palm Springs…”

…And with that they disappeared into the dark of a Beverly Hills night.

We drove straight from Coachella to El Matador State Beach, because our lives are brilliant.

I took a picture there with the best natural light I’ve ever managed to capture in my entire 13 years of taking pictures and I’m incredibly proud of it. It’s at least seventeen times better than any of the other shots from that day. It’s not posted anywhere, so you’ll just have to take my word for it.

We saw dolphins, too. They were nice.

Things I Learnt at Coachella 2009:

• Sleep is nice but basically optional
• American painkillers are useless. Stock up on English ones with codeine.
• Keeping your spare battery in a securely zipped compartment does not mean it won’t disappear in a blood-drenched, wristband-tearing, zip-breaking frenzy
• Bringing extras of things like ear plugs, allergy medicine and plasters, etc, will make people more likely to lend you their spare batteries (cheers, Darren!)
• In the middle of the desert when everyone’s giving up on everything, people will be very impressed if you can coordinate your ear plugs with your nail varnish (lilac)
• Do whatever it takes to get some sort of parking priviledges. Do not—this is serious—park in the normal car parks, if you ever want to leave. If you have to file the day’s photos before you sleep, do not underestimate how long it will take to find your car and get through the traffic. I’m not joking, kids. I don’t care if you have to sleep with the drummer from some band you’ve never heard of in order to pinch his Lot A parking pass—you must find a way to park somewhere sensible.
• Mid-afternoon sunlight is a mortal enemy to your health, sanity and ability to take photographs
• The rules about who can go where are different depending on whom you talk to, so keep trying
• If all else fails, meet by the fountain
• Bring lots of cash, especially if you’re new to the concept of churros. You will want to eat many of them, and they’re $4 each.
• Processing your pictures every night before you go to sleep will make your return to reality much easier (ie, you can go directly to the beach instead of to work)
• Further to the previous point, it’s much easier to transition between shooting and processing if you’re sitting in a hot tub
• Some stages are better lit than others (that was a terrible Morrissey joke, sorry)
• All the photographs are either someone you sort of know or someone who sort of knows someone you sort of know, and you should talk to them
• Waterproof mascara. Waterproof everything. They’re just being polite by calling it “water” proof, and if you’re not dripping sweat then you’re doing it wrong.
• Be early to the photo pit for everything, always, unless you’re late, at which point you can probably get to the front of the crowd if you dance instead of push
• If you must sit down for a min, do it somewhere photogenic where attractive people will walk by
• Watch other photographers setting up impromptu artist portraits and realise that they’re just as bad at it as you
• Much as I hate to disagree with Public Enemy about anything, ever, do believe the hype and see as many of the bands the other photographers wrote about on Twitter as possible. It’s only three days. It’s only 100 degrees. You can do it. Suck it up.
• Don’t miss shooting Fucked Up, ever, unless you want people to be pointing at you and shaking their heads sadly for the rest of the day
• T A K E M O R E P I C T U R E S

And Now, The Galleries:

• Friday: The Hold Steady, M Ward, The Black Keys, The Ting Tings, White Lies, Franz Ferdinand, Leonard Cohen, Morrissey, A Place to Bury Strangers, Patton & Rahzel, The Presets, Paul McCartney
• Saturday: Ida Maria, Liars, Joss Stone, Blitzen Trapper, Dr Dog, Superchunk, Amanda Palmer, TV on the Radio, Fleet Foxes, Theivery Corporation, MIA, Jenny Lewis, Glass Candy, Turbo Negro
• Sunday: Friendly Fires, Fucked Up, No Age, Brian Jonestown Massacre, Lykke Li, Peter Bjorn & John, Anthony & The Johnsons, Murder City Devils, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Late of the Pier, My Bloody Valentine, The Horrors, Public Enemy, The Kills, The Cure, Throbbing Gristle
• People, including girls in glow-in-the-dark bikinis
• More People and a small toy mushroom that reads “your music is what keeps me sain”, which is possibly the best thing I saw all weekend

The Mae Shi and Anavan opened for Monotonix at Spaceland last week. It was loud and gleeful, etc.

I saw Wavves again last night; lovely. I’m going to Coachella tomorrow; hurrah.

[Originally published by Prefix.]

Further to our previous discussion—Dita Dimoné, etc.

I came home with bruises from this one.

Please note: Some of the pictures below might make your eyes bleed.

[Originally published by Prefix]