My nerves were jangling like a duck walking on a hot plate, my palms were as sweaty and clammy as a British 1970’s TV presenter or DJ as he opened up this morning’s newspaper and my heart was racing at the speed of a lapsed drinker at opening time. I was a mess, I was a wreck and I was 11,000 feet above the earth. And so, I sough solace in the good book and as I leafed through its pages of majesty, wisdom and splendour, I felt becalmed. I was of course reading the in-flight food, beverage and gift items catalogue on my EastyJet flight, packed to the gills with untold opportunities to feel better by simply not buying anything that allowed you remain sober. I was also having my Nice come-down. A million and one thoughts raced through my head as we sped through the vast skies above France; would my car work when I got back to Liverpool, would my cat have left any of my furniture unshredded, had I fulfilled my photographic brief from www.pebblesproperties.com, or had I simply pranced away a weekend in Nice pointing my camera at nice things and odd people that didn’t make sense?
The doubts continued when I arrived home. I opened my laptop and looked at the file containing my photos, all 1574 of them. They looked back at me, taunting me, goading me with their sheer volume and numbers. How on earth could I possibly review and edit that many photos without going the way of so many prematurely psychotic and deranged photographers with permanently damaged eye sight before me?
Nine hours on the first day, 6 on the second all the while I chipped away with no real progress. Hours turned in to days, days turned in to weeks, or at least so it felt as my brain slowly turned to putty and my eyes began to seize up like two rusted ping-pong balls welded in to my sockets. I couldn’t see straight and I’m pretty sure that after a while I had developed the ability to see the long since dead former inhabitants of my cottage. I had neglected my family, ignored my friends I had not eaten in days, but then, almost without knowing I had finished, I had reviewed and edited my entire collection from Nice. I had done it.
Now, with some time having elapsed, I can see the funny side of it. I may have possibly, perhaps permanently damaged my eyes, I made contact with the dead and my cat has a pathalogical hatred of my camera as well as my laptop, but it was worth it. I had won. Plus, I’d got some really cool photos of some fantastic looking people in Nice (as well as the proper ones I should have been taking…..)