Post 116: Cameras, lights, but very little action.
Chemo week is here, and there’s a lot riding on it—but it should go to plan.
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I’m happier, with less pain, and Nurse Darling is weaning me off the morphine like a true pro.
My shoulders still ache a bit, but I’m sleeping so soundly that I’m getting back to myself fast.
A gulp of Morphine before bed is the best thing ever—though I don’t strictly feel what it does.
But I do feel more tired, and I fall asleep in seconds, according to my Darling.
This relief in my body, in turn, has allowed me to get back on the sofa and watch the massive TV side by side with my Darling—not hiding anymore in the comfy rocker behind the big blue sofa.
Things are getting back to normal, and that’s something I could only dream of last week.
I thought the pain in my back would never go, and that I’d soon be hospitalised—bedridden with pain.
It just goes to show how delicate my mind really is, and how my strength and positivity rely so much on feeling well.
Just one thing going wrong had me in the doldrums, and no mistake.
I’m not happy with that tendency, but maybe I can build a bit of resilience from it—with the understanding that pain can be controlled.
But it doesn’t disappear in a flash—it needs its own sweet time to be quelled.
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I mentioned a camera in yesterday’s blog—when I was blown out of the parked car at the Welsh harbour waiting for the ferry.
A camera was always with me, and I loved hiding behind it.
I’m not one for selfies—unless asked nicely by my Darling or family.
The camera was a hobby tool.
Back in the Boys’ Brigade as kids, we were taught the magical world of photographic development and printing.
Yes, it was only black and white—but the chemistry and the magic could be created by us kids, if we were interested and had the patience.
Phil and I were always very interested.
We had a paired upbringing of sorts when it came to hobbies.
Photography, especially, was something we shared.
As usual, it gave us one more thing to compete over.
We were sometimes inseparable and sometimes at war.
It’s funny looking back at how we travelled through our formative years.
We were so different—but back then we only saw each other’s strengths.
Our weaknesses were locked away, stored in places we didn’t understand until age introduced cracks and differences too painful to ignore.
We grew—and so did our ambitions and knowledge—but not in the same directions or at the same pace.
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In the ’70s, cameras were becoming more technologically advanced—even the ones I could afford.
Japanese cameras became accessible thanks to Mum’s Kay’s catalogue, and my Saturday job at the International grocery store in town helped fund the dream.
I longed to upgrade from my first camera—a Russian-made Zenit E—a completely manual camera with no bells or whistles.
It took ages to pay off, especially at 80p a week out of my Saturday pay (just a couple of quid).
Phil, meanwhile, had pocket money and a job at the builder’s yard where his mum worked.
So things were always a bit different between us.
I was content—but yes, I suppose I was a little jealous of his upmarket lifestyle at times - and his Olympus SLR.
Thanks to more overtime, I was eventually able to afford the Canon I’d coveted—spotted and ear-marked years earlier in second-hand Amateur photography magazines. We’d both flick through these weekly photographic-bibles religiously.
Those magazines had me wide-eyed at every gallery of stunning landscapes, birds, or wildlife.
It was something I aspired to.
With my new semi-automatic AV-1, I could step out into the great wide open with a tool that might help me create clear, colourful, well-defined natural photos.
I didn’t understand all the arty-farty soft focus shots, or weird filters and non-standard film. That was for other people. Not me.
In time, I got some Cokin filters—free accessories stuck to the front of the magazines which I could now afford to buy weekly. But the filters weren’t really my scene. I could live without them.
Just give me a polarising filter to protect the film and lens—that was enough.
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As we grew up, life slowly separated us.
After we left school at 16, I went into working life, and my lifelong friend became a casualty of my circumstance.
We met regularly at Boys’ Brigade all the way until nearly twenty—but after that, we just lost touch, but not irrevocably.
Big life moments brought us back together now and then, and there’s never been any animosity that couldn’t be overcome.
Just different lives in different places.
The times we had, and the laughter, are still crystal clear in my memory.
As are the days we’d run to Boots the Chemist to pick up our prints from the photographic counter—delving into those paper wallets of negatives and snapshots to see how we did.
I was always happy if one in twelve turned out okay.
Two in twenty-four.
Three in thirty-six.
And oh, the joy of finding 37 or 38 prints in the envelope—a couple of freebies, thanks to careful film insertion (only hobbyists will know what I mean—ha-ha!).
The love of photography has never left me.
And my friend? He’s still at the other end of the line—retired now, living the dream on a serene, beautiful narrowboat.
He lives happily alone, enjoying a peaceful nomadic life full of style—farm shops and restaurants for fuel, small and large towns to explore, weekly supermarket drop-offs at the canal bridges.
An idyllic life he absolutely deserves and loves.
Yes, I’m a little jealous.
But he’s been gracious enough to let my Darling and me stay aboard, and we’ve come to realise it’s hard work.
It wouldn’t suit us all year—but oh, how we enjoyed staying with him.
It was the most relaxing time ever.
Good luck to my wonderful friend Phil—and to everyone living on the waterways.
I can’t wait to stay-over again.
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With modern technology, my beautiful digital camera—a gift from My Darling—has taken a back seat.
The mobile phone has now superseded the big camera.
We all carry magnificent, high-tech cameras in our hands, all day long.
Just wipe the lens clean—and you’re ready to shoot professional-grade images.
As a growing teen, I could only have dreamed of this.
But now, we underuse these tools—filling them with thousands of forgettable snaps, stored in vast digital vaults, never to be looked at again.
Oh, how times have changed.
Selfies are now the most popular portrait—the most popular style of image.
What does that say about us?
Gone are the days of staring in wonder at the unexplored world trying to capture a part of it.
In has come the mirror—to study our blemishes, to overanalyse ourselves in the name of art and self-admiration.
I’d better stop now before I upset someone with my old-git rants about how things used to be…
But I loved my 35mm film camera.
And I loved my friend by my side—on all those voyages of education and enjoyment.
I wouldn’t want to grow up in these modern times now.
You can keep your megapixel selfie-cam.
I’d rather boil my head (not really!).
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This week, I’ll dust off my digital 35mm Canon and go on an expedition to capture a classic one-in-twelve.
And if it’s any good, I’ll show you too.
Thanks for reading.
Apologies if I’ve upset any applecarts with my ancient views.
But do me a favour:
Clean off your phone lens… and take a photo you’re proud of.
I dare you.
Yes, I’m feeling better.
Yes, the aches are still there—to remind me I’m old.
Yes, I’m joking—and that’s a great sign.
Enjoy the weekend.
Forget your woes (for a little while).
Love you all. xx
