The town of Broadstairs is somewhere on the road to Ramsgate, in a general Dover area (for all those who have no idea what i'm talking about - these are not the names of cookie companies. Strongly suggest looking at this creature's tongue . If that doesn't give results, i also suggest using this . Self applied).
Somehow, there is this town, believe it or not, where people have dogs. That are bigger than your average rat. Dogs you can't kick over stuff. Like fences. And they walk these fluffy things all over the place, like the sea side. The town, believe it or not is a bit better than Rochester, just because they have dogs. And an infinite amount of fish and chips joints. And a Victorian Bath (www.google.com - should be of assistance). And boats. Colorful boats on the beach. Left by the tide. And crabs. The animals not the disease. And white cliffs, like Dover.
One of the things that suprised me most is that people didn't seem surprised about anything. Walking along with a huge large format camera isn't exactly inconspicuous. Still, people would walk by and not look funny. Dogs would come around while Denisa and i were shooting the Victorian Bath for my project. Wet. And friendly. And golden retrieverish. And we petted them. And then, just to prove Murphy's law and the fact that the little fucker couldn't keep his shit together for one day, it happened. The only thing that was not suppose to fail, that my project relied on, failed. Epically.
My project revolves around lighting the picture with the flash in a certain way so i would get some... oh fuck it. Can't explain but i'll put the pictures so you can stare at them and figure it out for yourselves.
So i use the flash. You're still with me on this? And what does the flash have? Batterieeeees. And what do batteries do? Run out! Therefore, after getting all excited that a picture might come out well, the second time i tried the trick, i ended up staring at the should-be green button for about 10 minutes. Nothing happened. Nothing. Dead. Passed on. Deceased. Expired. We still got to walk around the town rest of the day, enjoying the lovely scapes (of which, in my cheapness - that compares not to the one of other people i know and who suck seriously - i took one color shot of). And another shot of Denisa on a bench. Freezing. Monochromely frozen.
I am pretty sure they won't come out, or at least some of them won't. It's just the way it is. But it's always been like this. You wait and wait, and hope and hope. Like Christmas Eve. Waiting for Santa to bring you that Action Man you always wanted. Instead you get something useful. Like say... a shirt.
(this did not happen to me. I had a perfect childhood. I am "me" by choice. My parents are honest hard working people who finished universities in which you use pens and paper. They're like real universities, only harder)
Thus Monday i will post the pictures that i took today. Scanned and that.
Oh yeah i almost forgot. Sea shells. We were walking back and i saw a wall that had sea shells on it. Like really small shells, and bigger and bigger. They were about the size of one's hand. Averagely. But one, just one, right at the end, was huge. It was one of those you see in cartoons spitting Tom (the cat, don't think of other random shit) out underwater. Or doing giant pearls. Or somersaults. Or not. It was about half a meter in length and white. Perfect white. The pearl white that idiots choose for their idiot wife's cars. But the real one. It seemed quite a good place to live. And eat. And have a weekend off.
Will put up the pictures in the week time.
Now then, up on the page, there is this little button that says "Next blog". see it? on the left. Push it and go away. Do something useful with your time instead of reading about somebody doing something useful.
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