I have not blogged for a while. A mixture of high pressure work, forced absences, and photo jobs as long as the M6. But this morning, in spite of this ongoing spiral where I seem either glued to my DSLR or the PC and Photoshop, I felt I needed a release. And that release often comes through writing. Some of you who are reading this will by now have opened a very inflammatory email from me written in a blood red font and cast out across the ether at just after one this morning. That email was, I know, a rant of the highest order, where all my fury was unleashed upon this Govt. and its inadequate bumbling. I did however empathise with the ‘lot’ of a handful of police officers trying to cover a vast topographical area on a Friday night.
We live in society where the mongrel prowls, free to snap and snarl at will, fuelled on drugs and drink with no fear of authority. My son was doing nothing other than strolling after the rain and ‘minding his own’. Last night in A&E, as again, for the umpteenth time that day, I raised my Digital SLR to my right eye, he was a mess. This morning he looks worse. I cannot bear the thought of taking yet more images of his hideously swollen face. He is ok, or will be in a little while.
We live in society where the mongrel prowls, free to snap and snarl at will, fuelled on drugs and drink with no fear of authority. My son was doing nothing other than strolling after the rain and ‘minding his own’. Last night in A&E, as again, for the umpteenth time that day, I raised my Digital SLR to my right eye, he was a mess. This morning he looks worse. I cannot bear the thought of taking yet more images of his hideously swollen face. He is ok, or will be in a little while.
As I write these words, I pause to gaze at a soft, Selenium toned photograph that sits on the wall in my study. It is an image of a little boy who had just about learned to walk and was happily strolling through the long grass on a rural South Staffordshire common. I didn't plan the photograph, it was a grab shot from a lovely autumn day in 1990. It is one of my favourites and one of my finest. That little boy has endured a lot. Nearly taken from me at age twelve, the victim of a non-stop RTC and ironically, but thankfully, saved by my best friend (an EMT called to the scene). The loss of his mother almost exactly two years ago. Now this. June is not a pleasant month in this house. Excuse me now, I have that empty feeling in my stomach, the precursor of emesis.
