Christmas is upon us, and it's always been a funny time of year, and the more the years relent on, more often than not the occasion of Christmas harks back to a reminisce of the few things remaining giddy for family. Finding myself, and companion, strolling through London's Flower Market, East London. 9: am Sunday morning, walking pass plants that I had never seen before, or if truth be told, plants that looked far too exotic for life in the Big Smoke, not to mention flowers that my very flavoured vocabulary could not pronounce, despite the trying, amongst the array, of a simply beautifully refreshing environment, it is Christmas soon, and this particular Sunday done it's emotional thing, and promptly wished me back to when joy was simply for the sake of joy.
Traders are hauling Christmas tree's up and down the market, parents are asking which Christmas tree does fancy like best, Fathers are uncomfortably lugging bark, branches and bushes on one shoulder, whilst the other hand measures the weight of two shopping bags, filled to the brim. It's manic, and yet it's peaceful, shop fronts hang one-off stockings, others are decorated with seasonal lights, mistletoe hangs, velvet Poinsettia appear in bloom, Holly; as red and as significant as ever, above all essentially the good will is apparent, significant because the easier the soul replenishes its surroundings, the more things the eyes get to see.
As a street photographer, literally at beck and call to trudging for hours, on the off chance inspired moment provokes the coverage of my lens, one thing did stand out, something of which, emotionally, culturally, and above all significantly, not so much the doo-la of Christmas, more so the goodwill. The thing is, trudging streets, on the off chance inspired provokes the coverage of my lens, hours spent in this way lends perspective to one's surroundings, it creates a dialogue between condition of self, and everything else around you, leaving conscience to debate just how comfortable aspirations for self and society is.
And none more so than the Clutch Chicken outlet, this cute, exterior lit-up in bright yellow paint, sits with the backdrop of a housing state, twenty plus stories high draped in morbid grey and faded red decor. Not your regular greasy chicken outlet in London, far from it, this particular building stands out like a ray of sunshine, slap bang in the middle of the Big Smoke, profoundly a ray of sunshine that Christmas heightens the sensitivity of. Concluding this personal monologue, no matter the religious allegiances it's the family goodwill memory is most fond of, with the perspective afforded to me, on my journeys, it's fair to say may the goodwill sentiment live on.