Sunday. Bed by ten and (one hopes) another decent night's sleep. Up before the alarm to drive by an ATM before heading to breakfast, the morning overcast and cool. Looking forward to turning in a better day's shooting at the Art & Soul Festival ahead. He said.
We'll arrive around one, rather than noon. Still too early, but there'll be a crowd and photographs to shoot. Attitude, my man. Fix it. Corral it and get it pointed in the right direction. Which it's already done itself by taking the reins in hand and fixing it on its own. Which is good, because if it were to depend on me, it would never happen.
I think we're babbling on into incomprehensible here.
That's what editing is useful for if you actually do it.
Later. Arrived half an hour later this afternoon than I did yesterday afternoon and the crowd arrived later still, so I had my usual problem of too few people at the beginning of the shoot. Makes one smile at the foolishness of it.
Still, more pictures. Not enough to generate a second section for the web sites, unless I make a dumb decision and run some that really don't merit a place, but when have I not been faced with (and bitched about) this very problem? Home by three to work on the photographs in reasonably good fettle, picking up two of the large bottles of Diet Coke on the way home. After a glass we're ready for whatever comes. He said.
Well, yes, but it's the decent mood sort of babbling rather than the head in some strange place less than wonderful sort of babbling. Believe me: there's a difference.
Evening. Nothing on television. The Poldark series continues to run in the nine o'clock slot, but I gave up on it after watching the first two or three episodes on the tablet. Not sure where my aversion to set in the eighteenth century British television comes from, when I was younger I made it a point to watch it whenever and wherever it could be found.
Maybe it's some aspect of the “head in some strange place” you've been experiencing.
Maybe best not to think about it.