A Puddle

Sometimes I realise that my purpose on earth is not only to serve as a warning to others but also to keep them amused. I imagine that the majority of adults would pass by a large puddle without giving it another thought. For me that would be impossible. There's the whole sunset thing going on in the sky, a mother and child in the distance and passing traffic. Just the recipe for some cavorting about in the middle of the road with my little Canon and some strange looks.

I like photographing scenes from near ground level but I don't like the effort involved in getting down there and back up again. A few years ago I bought myself a monopod in the hope of steadying long lens shots in poor light conditions. I didn't find it very effective but now I'd like to start using it the other way up so that I can get the camera near the ground while staying with my head in the clouds; just add a cable release. The problem is that I've put the thing somewhere safe and that's as good as throwing it out. I've given up hiding things away when we go on holiday because I know that's the last I'll ever see of them. It's not as if we live in a mansion, something with forty bedrooms and a light-fingered butler. There are just not enough nooks and crannies in our house to secrete away a three-foot long silver-grey pole. Yet it's gone, vanished, present no more. It's been hustled away to the great repository of all lost things, to spend its declining years hidden in a forest of umbrellas, biros, tiny screws and opportunities.

Now I could go out and buy a new monopod at great expense but, as we all know, as soon as I do, the old one will leap out from under a work bench or from behind the sofa with a jubilant cry of 'here I am, you old fool'. And I will be forced to rend it asunder with a large hammer and a sharp saw.