Resurgam.

It occurred to me tonight that it would have been fun to do a series of posts entitled ‘Travels with my Camera,’ being anecdotes from the years of working as a landscape photographer. I tried to remember some of them, and came up with:

The Mad Woman from Toronto with the Menacing Digit

Down and Dehydrated in New Orleans

Meeting Hélène from Le Puy, and Why Acne Was a Bar to Engagement

Being the Target of Cigarette-Throwing by the Nutter from Newton Stewart

Rabbits on the Roof at Patterdale

Being Alone with the Beefy Fraulein in the Wild and Windswept Hostel on the Sea Cliff, and why Playing Olivier to her Fontaine Would Have Been Terrifying

Stuck in a Snow Drift on Hadrian’s Wall

Meeting the Cheviot Fox Who Had Beaten the Hunters

The Little Lady of Lough Eske

The problem is that I’ve already told some of these stories, and I don’t know which I have and which I haven’t. If I remember, maybe I’ll fill in the gaps one of these days.

Not that I would ever relate the last one, though. Having made my peace with her, I wouldn’t want to incur her wrath again. It’s amazing what you can encounter in a remote Irish wood.

*  *  *

I seem to have re-discovered my sense of the future. It looks a little desolate at the moment, but at least it’s there.

*  *  *

I’m impressed by the amount of scotch whisky I have in my house at the moment, courtesy of gifts and irresistible special offers. Don’t worry; I won’t be drinking any more just because it’s there. Mr Barleycorn and I have battles of wills occasionally, but I always win in the end.

*  *  *

I’m still not sure that I matter.