Preparing the sound in the forecourt of Somerset House. Tom Odell seems to be melancholy (to judge only and probably unfairly by a single visit to YouTube where he performs a sad air with a guitar), He is a young singer/song writer with floppy blond hair. Reminds me of a medieval minstrel calling for unattainable love. The gig will be over by the time you read this. None of us will know what we missed. Unless you were there?
A bridge camera with a 50 X optical zoom moving up from macro on the same lens and with remarkable stabilisation features (hand held is fine) appeals to me as a means of fixing objects and creatures near and distant and providing a record of passing inspiration, fleeting images, stolen moments.
A pair of frozen blue eyes, irises swollen by the lenses, stare from behind a pair of spectacles on the nose of a red-faced old man at a bus stop. He is probably not looking at me but the eyes seem to have me in focus. I am not generally embarrassed or scared, but as I walk by the impression leaves me momentarily uneasy.
A bridge camera with a 50 X optical zoom moving up from macro on the same lens and with remarkable stabilisation features (hand held is fine) appeals to me as a means of fixing objects and creatures near and distant and providing a record of passing inspiration, fleeting images, stolen moments.
A pair of frozen blue eyes, irises swollen by the lenses, stare from behind a pair of spectacles on the nose of a red-faced old man at a bus stop. He is probably not looking at me but the eyes seem to have me in focus. I am not generally embarrassed or scared, but as I walk by the impression leaves me momentarily uneasy.
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