Strange whence inspiration comes to us. And none much stranger, in my particular case, than from a certain person who shall remain nameless.
Said nameless person contributed a comment to this very blog. A comment brief but inspiring. Not so much in its nature but in the use of a particular phrase. That sounded so delicious as I repeated it to myself that I was compelled to… um… er… nick it, so to speak.
For a blogpost. This one no less!
But I couldn’t post something on this ‘ere supposed-to-be photoblog of a sort (or a semi-photoblog, or whatever) without at least a token reference to photography. Or a piccy. Or something. Now could I?
Just posting a title would look damn silly no matter how inspiringly phrased, wouldn’t it?
So what the hell can I shoot at a moment’s notice in a vicinity where I’ve “done” virtually everything umpteen times already?
Which dilemma propels me into wandering the streets a bit (in the middle of the night wouldya believe!), scratching my head in puzzlement (figuratively) and getting freezingly colder by the minute (literally).
And eventually, in a state of increasing boredom at the same old scenes, and quiet desperation as I begin to fear the frostbite that must inevitably grasp me in icy fingers momentarily I finally settle upon… a pub!
Well, what a surprise. And naturally I didn’t have a tripod with me. Oh well.
All that remains is to pad out the rest of the post with a bit of blurb, and… voila! Here we are.
I s’pose this means you could say that whilst at the end of a rainbow there’s a pot of gold, at the intersection of bored and desperate there’s an… er… empty flowerpot!