Greetings of the day to you.

It’s rather spiffing to know you’re reading this because most people don’t get this far.  You know, they come on this page because they think that they’ll find out about the website here, and when they see an interesting long paragraph they give it up and decide to look at photographs instead.  As Adam Lasnik would mention to Matt Cutts over a glass of his favourite red wine, “they bounce”.

This bounce term is a bit of an old one to us weathered web analysts.  It’a rather a tricky one, but what it boils down to, is if you’re a bit of a bouncer, and you go online, then it’s likely that you will bounce.  That’s what’s known as an e-bouncer.

However, back to the point, it’s good to know you’re with us.  You remind me of the Irish geezers who walked down the Broadway together.  I think Paddy may have been one of them and he fell down a manhole, or it may have been another bloke… however, someone fell down a manhole and there was quite a punchline to the story.  The main point is I think they were working together, and I just wanted to illustrate the point that it’s rather spiffing that I can write a short polite little blurb and that you take the time out to peruse it.

So moving on to the whole website thing and about me and all the stuff you really want to find out…  I’m like one of those blokes that write poems about sunsets and capturing the warmth of it’s happy glow and all that sort of thing.  Only I’m nothing like that sort of person actually, but it’s rather wacky to be able to find a fairly decent sort of sunset hanging about somewhere, and you can point this piece of equipment vaguely in it’s direction, press a few buttons (if there’s lots of people watching, it’s important to press lots of buttons, because the process then tends to look extremely impressive), and you can capture this rather decent sunset on a semi-permanent basis.  It gives you a bit of a happy glow deep down inside.

Well, after a bit it begins to get a bit cold, and you think you really should be pushing on, so you start packing up.  By the time you’ve packed up half an hour later, it’s really cold and quite dark, and it’s difficult to see a bean of what’s going on.  You stumble around in the dark, patting the ground to find various pieces of overpriced camera parts, usually mumbling comments under your breath about being crazy enough to leave your warm, cosy, home in the first place.

Once you think you have got everything you trudge half a mile back to the station wagon, only to find that your key is nowhere to be found.  You walk half a mile back, using the last 10% of your dying phone to shine a dim light ahead of you while looking for the key.  In the dark, you begin to conceive notions of sleeping out and mind turns over the options you have available to find some place of habitation, or at least somewhere relatively sheltered to sleep for the night.  You count up how much food you think you haven’t eaten and recall stories of lost travellers wandering for days, eventually perishing of cold and starvation.  Then about halfway there, you suddenly  remember that you put the key in your sock for safety, so you pull it out, and walk back, feeling appropiatly joyful about the lost being found…  Returning to the trusty automobile you fling the key in the air and catch it a few times in a happy-to-be-here kind of mood, before missing it and loosing it again.  After spending another five minutes finding it again, you grip it firmly, determined it won’t inadvertantly escape again, and start packing the kit in the rear of the station wagon.  Under the cold light of day, (or in this case, the rather weak flickering lights in the boot) you realise you have left your tripod behind.

After saying the sort of things that Buffalo Bill says when he misses a buffalo from a hundred yards, you traipse back, retrieve your tripod (now damp with late night dew), and get back just in time for your phone to run out of battery…

Feeling exhausted and run down, you collapse into the driving seat.  Feeling justly overwhelmed by the vigorous excercise, you proceed to journey homewards, travelling at literally a snails pace as your mind runs over the events of the photography shoot.

Once back, you brag about the wonderful sights, the intense and vivid sunsets you saw, throw in a little poetry to make it all a little more invigorating, and then explain you have to get up early next morning and need to sleep, and you push off to bed, thankful that no one asks if you actually enjoyed it.

This is what photography is all about.  When you’re knee deep in freezing, watery mud, trying to safeguard extortionatly priced equipment from an evil watery death, you’re soaked through, chilled to the bone, tired, it’s dark, and you ask yourself why you’re doing this….  just remember you are ensconced in a long-standing and ancient hobby, one that has been respected and feared by many through the ages, one that has been analysed, criticised and evaluated by top professionals in the field, and one that has produced awe-inspiring, outstanding and unimaginable results.

That’s what makes us photographers so tough and resilient, so patient and yet so rewarded.

Next time you see a photographer, just respect them becuase you have no idea how many time he has had close brushes with thought of being stranded in the pursuit of their hobby.

Kind regards,

Tom Morton