The thing about whirligigs is that if they’re working, one can’t get a decent photo of them. Only when they stop moving can the capture be made: but then it’s not whirling, is it? You see, these are the kinds of things that I drift into thinking about while sitting in the pub at the end of a day’s writing (and most of my days are that at the moment). Everything I took today seemed to be some sort of abstract.
The chances of my highly mediocre equipment getting the players sharp as well as the sunset, at this time of night, was virtually nil, but it doesn’t matter: the ball is what I wanted here, and there it is, a small and temporary, but definite, hole in the sky.
Why did the tipping of this chair bring to my mind a feeling of slight melancholy, as if the summer is over and all to come is the decline? I don’t know, but somehow, it does. Even if it is still July and (at least at 11:40am) the sun was still shining…
The second canine in a row, though this one is attending to the world far less than yesterday’s specimen. In fact this is the second photo in a week to imply that this is somewhat like I feel — looks like that weekend did a lot for the energy levels, huh?
There are seven potential spectators in this picture, all present at Llanfairfechan Town FC in the later stages of a Welsh Cup Qualifying Round tie — five human and two canine. Fairly obviously, three of them are definitely watching the action, and they ain’t the three guys in the middle.
I hope they did pay attention in the end, because this turned out to be one of the better football matches I have ever seen. When this shot was taken the visitors were 5-2 up, but the final score — Llanfairfechan Town 5, FC Queen’s Park 5.
In flight from the photographer, specifically. My reaction: “Woah! Deer!” Point. Click. I claim no talent — this is Fluke Capture of the Year, for sure. It’s even in focus.
Well, I can dig it. I felt much the same way at this point in the week.
I’ve done plenty of work in archives, whether those of governments, companies or individuals (take Trevor Hearl‘s for instance: which I intend to revisit next month). Here’s mine. When I pass on, it’s this little tin that will contain my digital ashes.
One of those shots chosen as much because I thought of a neat title for it as for its photographic qualities. But let us continue, at least for a day, the orange theme begun by David Byrne’s entourage on Saturday night. Other ‘hotel, restaurant & catering linen’ options are available, I am sure.
It’s graduation season. Bearing in mind that the very minimum one needs to spend to get a degree from my august institution is in five figures, and for a 3-year undergraduate programme it is now approaching £30K (more, if you are an international student) just in fees — you’d think the UoM might just give them their gowns to keep, as with a wedding dress. But no.
Being 42 