Amy is on the turn - she is becoming nocturnal. For the last thirteen years she has been more than happy to go for a walk through the Crematorium in the morning and a stroll around the block in the early evening. Together, we have grown into this routine: our twice daily walks providing a daily timeline, like some peripatetic minaret call. Now she shuns our tea time outing, rolling over on her back, sinking into some deeper level of unconsciousness. And then, at half past midnight, when all good folk are tucked up in bed, she wants to take to the streets. It's a better time of the day, she explained to me the other day, a time when you don't bump into other dogs or other people (she is not that fond of other dogs). It's a time when the only life you are likely to meet is a fox on its evening stroll or the milkman making an early delivery. It's a time of the day when you can be alone with the street lights, the fog, and your thoughts.
I have just taken delivery of a new camera (message to the GLW if she is reading this, it was a bargain). It is just a little point and shoot Nikon, the kind of camera that you can slip into your pocket and forget about until that moment when a good shot sneaks up on you. Despite the fact that it is by far the cheapest camera in my collection, it happens to have probably the best sensor of any camera I have ever owned - packing a mighty 20 megapixels. I remember buying 3 megapixel cameras and thinking "nobody could ever need more than that" I remember telling someone that wanting more than 5 megapixels was nothing but greedy. I remember hitting double megapixel figures and thinking "that is more than enough for the rest of my life". No doubt within the next few months I will be penning another blog post as I try out some new 50 megapixel camera (message to the GLW if she is reading this, no I won't, my camera buying days are behind me).