"There's rainbow," Heidi calls to me when I am downstairs in the kitchen. " a double rainbow". I run upstairs and there it is, only a single one by now, but bright enough to win Noah's approval, and to make me grab my camera. I think of what used to be a favourite line of soap opera script writers, "everything's gonna be alright," because that's what rainbows are about.
In Watersone's bookshop, two teenage girls are standing in front of a shelf of English classics. One knows her onions and tells the other what's what. "That's Emily, she says, " And that's Charlotte..." Passing on from the Bronte's she responds to her companion: "P. G Wodehouse? No it isn't. It' not heavy at all. There's always a jealous lover somewhere. They always get married at the end of the book."
On Hungerford footbridge, I watch different people stop to take a photograph, all from more or less the same spot, of St Paul's Cathedral. I
imagine a pile of photograph as high as St Paul's itself assembled from all over the world. I suppose it's the same wherever there is an important object to view, that people want to take a little bit of it away for themselves. In this respect digital cameras give instant satisfaction.