Sunday July 24, 2005
This was the day when the rain came down. Nothing dramatic, just soft, persistent rain from mid-day onwards, starting with a few heavy drops as I left Tesco’s with my three-day supply of provisions, waxing and waning right through to night-fall and going on, so far as I know, into the small hours. I fell asleep to the comforting sound of rain on the window.
Even so I had to go out and water the hanging baskets, which are sheltered under the eaves. I’ve improvised a ‘drip-feed’ for them, pending some better arrangement. I took an empty clear plastic 750ml Coke bottle for each one, screwed the top on firmly and made a small hole in it, then sawed off the base. Inverted and stuck in the soil at the back of the basket, tied in place with a piece of string, all I need do is fill the bottle with water and leave it to percolate to where it’ll do most good. Much better than sploshing water all over the place, and economical, too. On hot days I fill them twice or even three times. On cool days, just the once. Nice solution and, best of all, free.
So, anyway, turning my attention to my ongoing Flickr project, uploading photographs from the journal, titling and tagging them, month by month through 2001. Sadly, the service was subject to long delays throughout the day so the task was much more tedious and time-consuming than it ought to have been. Even so I managed to work through January to August. Having snitched fourteen quid from my website fund to buy a ‘pro’ membership so I have room for all the photos, I hope most sincerely that the service will be restored to normal soon. I’m afraid the paranoid twit in me set to wondering what would happen if the service were to collapse finally and permanently. There is no backup other than the originals in the online journal, and on my hard disk copies. Perish the thought.
It’s rather like looking through old photo albums, without the smell of the paper and the feel of the pages. A very similar experience comes from going through the online journal. This triggers the beginning of a thought in me, of the possibility of another project, even more methodical and time-consuming. I wonder if a paper copy, bound in one volume a year between hard covers, complete with all the photographs and illustrations, would be a good thing to have on my shelf? I’ll think on that.
It’s a trip along a meandering memory lane, that’s for sure. Picking out photographs of Harry Cat, I was truly happy to find that the pain of losing him has faded away, to be replaced with thousands of happy memories. I still miss him, probably always shall, but the photographs bring back all the good feelings and fun I had when privileged by his physical presence.
I’m reminded, too, that my photography has lapsed recently. Just now I’m staying close to home, of course, adjusting to Graham’s absence. Before too much longer I shall need to get out and about, just as I did in the Somerset days when he was working in London. All I need is to set one day aside each week to visit an interesting place. And I shall take my big camera with me. Apart from the obvious benefits, it’ll be a good way to get to know the new car, when it arrives.
A quiet day, then, filled with low-level industry. That’s the way I like it. Nothing wrong with quiet industry.