OK, I admit it, I cheated.
It was only a few mobile phone snaps though and I was unable to resist: I’m tortured with these multicoloured sunsets and rises (see for example the header photo of this site: sunset over the motorway on the way back North from Birmingham). This morning is a mist-draped version of last nights rainbow, all the saturated colours washed out into pastels the very colour of hazy nostalgia, a sort of cold, Brit version of an Alma Tadema palette that sends you sentimentally back to grey and pink 1980s bedroom décor and rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed Pierrot.
I think that you can live a lifetime in one distilled moment of perfect clarity, the kind of beauty that really elevates you, and I have those moments so frequently that this has to be a life well lived already, although I swear I am feeling actual pain at having to stew in an office on a day like this. All I want to do right now is get hold of some 120 mm film and take my Holga out to capture this cheesy, watercolour view out of the window that looks just like the Christmas card the first person you ever loved sent to you at age fourteen. If only I’d been a photographer I could have spent the past few days trudging around Cheshire with a swelling heart and a 72-hour boner. Oh, the paths we take.