By lens and byline, this is life on film.
March: a season of new beginnings and a time for change. Our coats get lighter, the bluebells blossom and the sky stays bright past 4pm. The seasons are rotating, and so are our moods. We’re shyly, but surely, claiming back the day and savouring each moment just that little bit longer. Be it moving out or travelling Portugal, sweating in live gigs or meeting thieves – these are my March moments.
14 · 03 · 19
Tottenham Court Road
Sam, Sophie, salsa dancing, colossal gin bowls and a table full of tapas; the perfect flatmate farewell. We converse on careers and paramours, and then ride the last train home.
16 · 03 · 19
‘Be careful of the plants!” I exclaim. It’s move-out day, and in exchange for a £20 note, the local gardener Giovanni agrees to help. The two of us drive down Finchley Rd at 10am with my belongings in my lap and my mirror bubble-wrapped in a yoga mat.
17 · 03 · 19
It’s odd. Just like that, I have a new postcode to call home. So I make the space my own with fresh linen and a fig candle. And Beth (the new roomie) gives me a warm welcome in the form of a lush, Sunday roast.
21 · 03 · 19
Picture this: an elderly man plays a soft melody on the piano, the breeze is subtle but smells of salt, and the sunshine casts golden glows over the terracotta roofs. Are you imagining it?
21 · 03 · 19
Praça do Comércio, Lisbon
I took a local’s map, double laced my converses and put my phone on silent. I joined a free walking tour and learnt about the history of Lisbon with fellow sixty-year old American tourists.
22 · 03 · 19
Over one year, that’s how long I hadn’t seen Lauren for. And yet here we were, lying on the green and eating gelato out of paper cups in the city of Lisbon.
22 · 03 · 19
Time Out Market, Lisbon
A bridal hen party robbed me. The story goes like this. I (carelessly) left my camera at the Time Out Market and didn’t realise until we were half-way out. I said ‘shit!’ and ran back to the table to ask a group of women if they had seen it. English wasn’t their native tongue so there were a lot of blank faces, and then slowly, awkward glances. Finally, blondie on the right pulls out the camera from her bag and guiltily hands it over. I say thank you a million times and walk back to Lauren. I look down at my image count and it’s then that I realise that I’m 5 shots short. These are those images. And that’s the story of how I was robbed.
23 · 03 · 19
Tagus River, Lisbon
It’s been awhile since I sat by the waters edge. Beaches, rivers, lakes, oceans: these are some of the things I took for granted when residing in Australia. So I found a port in Lisbon and watched sail boats drift against the current for 20 minutes. It returned me to a warm, fuzzy feeling of home.
24 · 03 · 19
The people down below looked like a tiny army of ants. Ladies were lunching, families were walking and the men of Porto were heaving cargo off boats and ships.
30 · 03 · 19
My best friend came down to London for the weekend so we linked arms, perused the markets and oohed and aahed at the pastel-hued houses.
30 · 03 · 19
Our legs were sore from dancing in a blueshouse in Camden, so we turn to eating overpriced cupcakes in the Belgravia district. We walk along the bend of pristine white buildings before agreeing we’ll go out tonight and do it all over again.
04 · 04 · 19
See those two little specks in the darkness? That’s the guitarist and singer from an Aussie band called Gang of Youths. I don’t think I’ve ever joyfully cried at a concert as much as I did at this.
05 · 04 · 19
A sobering and sleepy Bella, with a tattered, ageing Felton. “I’m sorry I have to kick you out now, but I have to go to work” I mumble from my pillow. Bella yawns in reply. “It’s okay, I’ll get the next train out to Brighton and then I’ll go for a long, hard nap.”
08 · 04 · 19
I feel extremely lucky to call this ‘my walk to work’. I like that I can smell the morning coffee brewing from the house boats. I like the gangly teenagers that show up to the skate park every morning to practice, regardless of the weather. I like the polite cyclists that ring their bell and say thank you as they pass me on the canals. I like my new home.