The First Cold Wind
"Are you doing a late one?" Katie stood at my office door in her coat, signalling that it was time to go. It's the first time she's worn a coat in months, which tells a story in itself. Ever since Lockdown started in the UK, or at least so it seems, the weather has been unusually good. Even in March, when we were first instructed to work from home it was nice enough to sit outside without a coat on. March is usually a bitter and blustery month in the UK. April is often only marginally better for that matter. But apart from a below average June, the summer has seemed longer this year. Until today it has at any rate.
"No, I'm coming with you," I replied. It was already nearly 6pm. I wasn't in the middle of anything and our boss had already left, so there was nobody to look heroically pious in front of. I switched off my computer and followed her out of the building. We look after each other like that as left unchecked we're both likely to carry on working until the caretakers throw us out during the crazy autumn term. Sometimes I think someone should bash our heads together and knock some sense into us - all this unpaid overtime doesn't impress anyone, although it does just about keep our heads above water.
Today had started wet, then been bright, and rained again before the evening sun filtered through the clouds - a recipe for the soft grainy warm yellow light that I saw on the slopes of Carn Brea as I drove home. Although it was just about an hour until sunset, I knew there was time to change quickly, hoping that everything was in the bag and head to Wheal Coates, the nearest coastal focal point on the map. I arrived to a blast of a distinctly chilly onshore breeze coming in from the north and immediately put my raincoat on over the one I was already wearing and tried to reconcile the conditions to the sweltering heat that had found me switching on the office fan just two days earlier. Still, when you can stand and gaze all the way along the coast down to St Ives and beyond just an hour after leaving work, a bit of fresh weather seems a small price to pay.
In my last post I talked about my routine of planning and preparing a shot, often waiting happily for an hour or more before even reaching for the camera. Today there was no time to reach for the unwritten textbook in my head as I hastily assembled the camera on the tripod to catch the yellow path over the sea reach the sunbeams bursting from low cloud on the horizon. Things weren't helped when it dawned on me that I'd left my glasses in the car, bringing instead my Ray Bans. Right now I was up there with Stevie Wonder in the looking cool stakes, but I only had a very small advantage over him in discerning what was happening on the three inch screen in front of me. It's not the first time I've done this when I've been in a bit of a hurry to get to a location.
Normally I stay well after sunset, most of the way through the blue hour watching the light fall and the colours fade into the darkness, but this evening it was too cold to hang around and gaze at nature's beauty. I headed home, to soon be passed by an escaped horse running in the direction of St Agnes, followed at a judicious distance by a conscientious driver with her hazard lights on. When I got home I phoned the police for the first time in my life to report the antics of our equine friend. They already knew and were on the way. Hope they got there in time to lead it to safety.
The First Cold Wind
"Are you doing a late one?" Katie stood at my office door in her coat, signalling that it was time to go. It's the first time she's worn a coat in months, which tells a story in itself. Ever since Lockdown started in the UK, or at least so it seems, the weather has been unusually good. Even in March, when we were first instructed to work from home it was nice enough to sit outside without a coat on. March is usually a bitter and blustery month in the UK. April is often only marginally better for that matter. But apart from a below average June, the summer has seemed longer this year. Until today it has at any rate.
"No, I'm coming with you," I replied. It was already nearly 6pm. I wasn't in the middle of anything and our boss had already left, so there was nobody to look heroically pious in front of. I switched off my computer and followed her out of the building. We look after each other like that as left unchecked we're both likely to carry on working until the caretakers throw us out during the crazy autumn term. Sometimes I think someone should bash our heads together and knock some sense into us - all this unpaid overtime doesn't impress anyone, although it does just about keep our heads above water.
Today had started wet, then been bright, and rained again before the evening sun filtered through the clouds - a recipe for the soft grainy warm yellow light that I saw on the slopes of Carn Brea as I drove home. Although it was just about an hour until sunset, I knew there was time to change quickly, hoping that everything was in the bag and head to Wheal Coates, the nearest coastal focal point on the map. I arrived to a blast of a distinctly chilly onshore breeze coming in from the north and immediately put my raincoat on over the one I was already wearing and tried to reconcile the conditions to the sweltering heat that had found me switching on the office fan just two days earlier. Still, when you can stand and gaze all the way along the coast down to St Ives and beyond just an hour after leaving work, a bit of fresh weather seems a small price to pay.
In my last post I talked about my routine of planning and preparing a shot, often waiting happily for an hour or more before even reaching for the camera. Today there was no time to reach for the unwritten textbook in my head as I hastily assembled the camera on the tripod to catch the yellow path over the sea reach the sunbeams bursting from low cloud on the horizon. Things weren't helped when it dawned on me that I'd left my glasses in the car, bringing instead my Ray Bans. Right now I was up there with Stevie Wonder in the looking cool stakes, but I only had a very small advantage over him in discerning what was happening on the three inch screen in front of me. It's not the first time I've done this when I've been in a bit of a hurry to get to a location.
Normally I stay well after sunset, most of the way through the blue hour watching the light fall and the colours fade into the darkness, but this evening it was too cold to hang around and gaze at nature's beauty. I headed home, to soon be passed by an escaped horse running in the direction of St Agnes, followed at a judicious distance by a conscientious driver with her hazard lights on. When I got home I phoned the police for the first time in my life to report the antics of our equine friend. They already knew and were on the way. Hope they got there in time to lead it to safety.