Poor little frog

Last Sunday, I played photographer, instead of athlete. This is in part because – and as my aching legs from yesterday’s fifty-six mile bike ride will testify – I’m not an athlete.

So, instead of running the 13.1 miles of the challenging Birmingham half marathon, I took to the sidelines. And spotted Kermit. Clearly not relishing the challenge ahead. Poor little frog.

Sunday punch

Spent some time on Sunday pretending I was a professional sports photographer. I don’t think it worked. It did take me back, though.

The smell of Deep Heat, cries of ‘yellow head!’, vein-busting grimacing and football at times so bad it was genuinely laugh-out-loud funny. Not a single player intent on giving anything less than their all, though (take note, Northampton Town Football Club).

I do miss Sunday league, although standing on the touchline, lens in hand, was somewhat easier on my legs.


p.s. can anyone work out what the dude by the post is doing?

The waiting game

You rise early. And you wait.

Camera perched precariously on top of its bag, resting against the hotel window ledge, you wait. You figure it’s worth the effort; the sea isn’t usually this close.

The sun, due at 8.02am (according to the ever-unreliable iOS Weather app), makes but the briefest of appearances before scurrying back behind cloud cover.

Was the wait worth it? Probably.

The in-between time

We’re in that odd, ethereal, in-between time. Christmas is over. The last scraps of turkey gratefully departed, trees and decorations in danger of making their way back into forced hibernation. Friends, family and gatherings temporarily on hold until New Years Eve.

Work, for many of us, remains paused and seemingly further away and less important than ever before.

Time stops.

Pressures ease.

The air cools, and calms.

Another year is ending.

Here’s to an awesome 2014.