Jeffie’s Neurologist

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We popped down to the Queen’s Veterinary Hospital at Cambridge University yesterday to see Jeffie’s neurologist, Paul Freeman. We didn’t take Jeffie along because we were only going to view the scans and x-rays which had been taken when he was seen there, but which for some reason we didn’t get to see at the time.

It felt strange walking into reception without a dog, and knowing we weren’t even there to collect one. I almost felt like a fraud. So I buried myself in my Which Digital Camera? magazine, because another thing we were going to do was visit the Campkins photography shop to see if we could get me a new camera.

And the time went by. I read all the latest reviews and discovered that since I last bought a one, something called a Compact System Camera had appeared in large numbers, and that I wanted one.

We were given some tokens by the receptionist for a hot drink from the machine, and passed a minute or two selecting and following instructions after which we drank the strangest cappuccino either of us have ever tasted1.

More time passed. Canon and Nikon were metaphorically ditched, and I learned that Sony cameras were well respected and that Olympus were not only still being made but were strong contenders. I also learned that something mysterious called the Micro Four Thirds systems was raising the game.

And eventually, OH said: ‘Do you know we’ve been here nearly an hour?’

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I went up to the desk and relayed this information to the receptionist in a polite ‘how much longer?’ kind of way and she checked our appointment time and who we were here to see, and looked horrified that we hadn’t been seen yet and rang through to find out what was going on, and a few minutes later the neurologist came through apologetically and ushered us into a consulting room. It seems he was just about to ring us to find out if we were coming or not, because his pager had fallen off somewhere and he’d never got the message that we had arrived.

Ah well. There then followed a most interesting session with him showing us the x-rays and MRI scans and explaining what all the things we could see thereupon actually meant.

My eye was immediately drawn to a bulging disc, but in fact it was an old problem, quite calcified and unlikely to be causing his symptoms because a) he doesn’t appear to be in pain judging by the way he throws himself about and leaps into the car like Zebedee, and b) it isn’t compressing anything. This was in the cauda equina2 area, but most of the bulging is in the safest position, which is downwards, and the nerves are not being pinched. We discussed his demeanour, his playfulness, and lack of any obvious signs of pain, plus the fact that he is in fact on anti-inflammatories as a kind of empirical ‘he’s nearly thirteen years old, he must hurt somewhere‘ solution. Personally, I haven’t seen any sign of any difference in him since he’s been on them, but I’m willing to trust my vet on that one.

There are also a few bone spurs, most noticeable in the thoracic region, but again, not of a type to cause a problem, and not in a place where they might cause a problem. ‘It’s something you see in old dogs’ he said. Fair enough.

I wish I’d thought to ask if I could snap a couple of pictures off the screen to show you, but the sad fact is that I didn’t, so you’ll have to make do with some random pictures.

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Anyway. It was lovely of Mr Freeman to give us an appointment just to go and see the scans and to make time to explain everything thoroughly for us. I have to say that our experiences so far with the Cambridge vet school have been outstanding, and this afternoon gave us a new appreciation for exactly why the cost of an MRI is so high. Not only do the machines themselves cost an absolute fortune3, and animals need to be anaesthetised while inside them, but because the area they cover at any one time is so small, it can take a long time to get the information you need. You have to first determine which area is worth looking at by clinical examination, then take some x-rays to narrow it down, then set up your MRI to make ‘slices’ at predetermined intervals through the tissues. Each slice examines a two-dimensional area, so that, for instance, to examine a short section of spine properly4, you might need about fifteen slices – which all take time, both to produce and to analyse.

For Jeffie, today’s visit will make absolutely no difference at all. For us, it was reassuring to know that we had done, and were doing, all that was reasonable. He is an old dog – thirteen years old in a few months – and there is a limit to what one should do, I think, if the benefit does not outweight the risks and stresses involved. What we hope for Jeffie is that he will continue to enjoy life in his own idiosyncratic way, despite his ‘Dogzheimer’s Syndrome’ and his wobble issues, right up to the day we find that he has peacefully slipped away from us in his sleep. It’s a rare thing, but when it happens to an oldie whose issues are known and are being addressed, it’s a real blessing.

1 It must have been cappuccino because it said so on the pod. Tell me: why do coffee machine manufacturers assume that anyone who wants cappuccino or hot chocolate also wants to compromise their pancreas and rot their teeth? What is wrong with being allowed to add sugar by choice?

2 Cauda Equina literally means ‘horse’s tail’ and refers to a section of spinal cord with nerve roots branching out all over the place.

3 Pet Plan insurance is our friend.

4 In the ‘through the tube’ direction, not with the animal flat on his side.

Just for fun: Cee’s Fun Photo Challenge

BikesforHireDC

Just because I happened to be looking at pictures of scooters when I read about it, I’m joining in with Cee’s Fun Photo Challenge this week. Bet you can’t guess what the prompt is?

You can?

Oh. You’re right of course. It’s Bikes and Motorcycles.

The photo at the top was taken in Washington DC. A row of public rental bikes waits for customers. It’s a subscription scheme, I believe, so you have to sign up and use your card each time you want to take a bike. Short journeys only, please!

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These aren’t for hire. This is a normal street scene you can find in pretty much any Italian town anywhere. The roads are narrow and parking is at a premium, so scooters, motorbikes and bicycles are extremely popular. This was taken in Modena.

Next up is a rather lovely machine spotted in a car park somewhere – I can’t even remember where, now, but it struck me as worthy of a photo. I mean, well, it’s purple!!

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And lastly, two scooters parked up neatly in a corner of a town in Italy. This time it’s Urbino, Le Marche. It’s a gorgeous place, but some of the streets are nearly vertical, so I admire the bravery of the riders!

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And there you go. Cee’s Fun Photo Challenge can be found by following the highlighted link, if you’d like to take part, or even if you just want to go and take a look at some of the other entries.

Anatomy for Shoppers

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Today we went shopping for a few things in town. We visited the new Waitrose, a huge superstore-type supermarket in all its pristine glory. The following conversation took place on the way home:

OH: ‘Trouble with Waitrose is that they don’t make a granary loaf.1

Me: ‘Are you sure? Have you asked them at the bakery? They may call it something else .. ‘

OH: ‘No, they don’t do one. They do artisan bread, though.’

*Pause*

OH: ‘The French bowel is good.’

Me (a tad startled by the change of subject): ‘The French bowel??’

OH: ‘Yes, you know, it’s sort of round and flat.’

Me: ‘What?’

OH: ‘It’s all soft and spongy when it’s fresh, but the next day it begins to go a little more solid and it really lasts well. You might like it.’

Me: ‘Uh … I might?’

OH: ‘Yes – I think it’s long fermentation. You know, it’s like a big crusty roll, sort of thing.’

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Me: ‘Oh, the French boule! Cos, you know, bowels are sort of round and … uh … long, not round and flat.’

OH: ‘I wouldn’t know.’

Me: ‘You don’t know what shape a bowel is?’

OH: ‘No, and I have no wish to know!’

*Pause*

OH: ‘Anyway, I thought you pronounced it ‘boolay‘.’

Me: ‘No, only if there’s an accent on the end. Otherwise it’s ‘bool‘.’

*Pause*

OH: ‘I knew really, you know. I’m just making fun of the pronunciation.’

*Pause*

OH: ‘Their rustic pains are really good, too.’

Me: ‘That’s rustic ‘pan‘ with a kind of soft ‘n’, not … ‘

I caught sight of a suspicion of a smirk at the corner of his mouth.

Me: ‘Oh, never mind!’

And as usual, laughter ensued, which is good for all that ails you. Bowels or not3.

1 The thing about OH and I is that we have totally different tastes in bread. He likes horrible, squishy, doughy stuff made in the Chorleywood manner, and my digestion won’t cope with it and prefers long-fermentation bread made with a lot less yeast. I also can’t deal with malted flour, which makes me itchy. Granary loaves are full of malted flour so I don’t eat them. OH really likes them .. but not the sort which are like wholemeal bread with a few seeds stuck to the outside. Those aren’t ‘real’ granary bread.

2 What supermarkets call ‘long fermentation’ isn’t really very long at all. Anything over one hour is ‘long fermentation’ to them, but true long fermentation is somewhere around 12 hours and can be even longer. This improves digestibility, and raises the bread’s glycaemic index. All good, huh?

3 OK, I concede that in some specialised cases, laughter might not, in fact, be good for the bowels.

No birds on the feeders

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Well, OK. I exaggerate a tad It’s not ‘no birds ever’, it’s ‘very few birds’.

It’s winter here in jolly old England, and my least favourite month of the season: February. January can be vicious, it’s true1, but February seems to hang onto the worst of winter with bitter obstinacy, and March with it’s blue skies2 seems months away. Usually.

This year, it’s been quite mild. There have been some days when it’s been warm enough to go out without a jacket, and I’ve been too hot in my walking boots.

We live on the edge of the village, so on one side of us there are open fields, and on the other the houses continue, and grow denser. Usually we get a fair variety of bird visitors in winter, including magpies, jackdaws, fieldfares, goldfinches, blue tits, great tits, starlings, dunnocks and the occasional green woodpecker. Not forgetting the robin (singular) and last year we had Bob the blackbird, who would hop into the conservatory to clean up any dropped bits of kibble from Jeffie’s dish. He got quite impatient if breakfast was late, or if Jeffie didn’t drop any, but Jeffie usually did drop quite a lot so that was alright. OH got quite used to going into the conservatory with his cup of tea only to see Bob’s truculent little face pressed against the glass door. If he’d had fingers, we’re convinced he’d have been tapping them, while muttering things like ‘Bloody lazy humans .. Come on, come on! Do you think I’ve got all day?’

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This year, the birds have been conspicuous by their absence. We have two bird feeding poles, each with a hanging seed feeder and a mesh tray. I put ‘no mess’ bird food into one feeder and a ‘winter warmer’ mix into the other, and mealworms and a corn mix into the trays for the starlings, jackdaws and the aggressive little bastard robin3. I sprinkle mealworms occasionally into the dormant vegetable trugs for Bob, because blackbirds are ground feeders by choice. I also sprinkle a small amount of seed mix on the ground for the dunnocks, but I don’t know why I bother because the starlings tip enough onto the ground anyway once they get here.

But that’s the problem. This year, the bird numbers are way, way down. I have had, at the most, five starlings on a feeding station at one time, whereas usually, there are somewhere around fifteen or twenty.

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The dunnocks are still hopping around in ones and twos, but the collared doves, wood pigeons, tits and so on are, quite simply, infrequent visitors. I’ve seen a jackdaw once, and I haven’t seen a goldfinch or a woodpecker4 this winter at all. Even Bob is conspicuous by his absence. Good heavens, I’ve only had to buy one pack of each type of food for them! I’m filling the seed feeders once a week, instead of every couple of days.

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I don’t think it’s a lack of bird numbers. I think it’s the unseasonal weather. I think that the birds are finding plenty to eat in the fields and hedgerows without having to venture into gardens – which is why the mealworms are going, I suppose, mealworms being to the winter bird diet as a restaurant meal is to us; something rich and special, to be grabbed if you can.

There’s a ‘Winter Invertebrates’ thread on a wildlife forum I belong to, and it’s really quite busy with sightings of flies, slugs, beetles etc all awake and doing when they should be asleep, and there are flowers blooming which shouldn’t be5. No wonder the birds aren’t at the all-you-can-eat buffet we call the feeders! What with all this untoward activity, plus the habit farmers have of planting crops earlier and earlier, they have the equivalent of a roast dinner out there for the taking!

Ah well. I bet come nesting season they’ll be back. For a brief month or so the feeders will be emptying as if they had holes in the bottom.

Oh .. wait … they do!

1 … and so can March, April, May, September, October, November and December. In fact, you can throw in June, July and August as well, because I can remember some vicious days during those months too, like the day we battled to the get to the school’s summer fete in driving snow one July dressed in our winter’s finest and with our umbrellas turning inside out, and the August day I tried to cycle into Brighton from the north against a full-on, bitterly cold gale. In fact, just go and listen to Flanders & Swann’s ‘A Song of the Weather‘, and you’ll get the idea.

2 See footnote one.

3 People seem to have such an affection for the robin that they tend to overlook the hugely aggressive nature of this little bird. They berate starlings for being dirty, noisy, antisocial and aggressive, but in fact starlings are a) no dirtier than robins, although considerably less dainty, b) extremely social with a very organised ‘family’ structure, and c) only aggressive with each other. I have never seen one chase a bird of another species away or attack them in any way, but OK, you’ve got me on the ‘noisy’. Robins, on the other hand, will kill their own mate if she doesn’t bugger off the minute raising the family is done with, and likewise the nestlings if they hang around once their red breast feathers develop. They will attack small birds of other species without provocation, and will even attempt to kill a stuffed model robin, or their own reflection in a window.

4 Though I know the woodpeckers are around because I hear them.

5 Like the white rambling rose at the bottom of the garden, and the periwinkles, for goodness’ sake!

Remind me never to …

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If ever I get tempted, please remind me never to hold a children’s party ever again, would you?

It seems that two rather managing young mothers got together and decided to send an email to all the parents of their daughters’ classmates, stating that for their forthcoming birthdays, they wanted a ‘class gift’ for them rather than individual offerings. They informed the recipients exactly what the young ladies wanted – a kindle for one, and a desk for the other – and even suggested an amount that parents should contribute (£10) and a couple of alternative methods of paying.

Stunned, another mother, Myleene Klass1, relieved her feelings on Twitter, adding a picture of the email she had received and her reply to it. Her reply was classic, and very funny. She told the two grasping forward-thinking and hopeful mothers that her own daughter would like a real, live unicorn for her birthday and that she herself wouldn’t be averse to a Ferrari, and/or Leonardo DiCaprio. She suggested that money could be donated via a fictitious website’. Having read this email, I think it was a pretty good one. A nice blend of humour, and ‘take you down a peg or two in the nicest possible way’.

Here’s where it gets really silly. The headteacher of the school chose to reprimand Ms Klass for making it public rather than the two instigators for their outrageous and extremely rude begging email, and she was also harangued at the school gates by the other mothers.

There’s no doubt that to publish the email on Twitter was unacceptable, but at least it has brought to light what is going on in our schools today. It may be that it was a private school for the well-heeled and well-connected, but if so, does that make it any better? And this comes not very long after a young boy’s father was sent an invoice for nearly £16 for failing to send his son to a friend’s party, which happened to be held at a dry ski slope.

I’m afraid that to this grouchy old woman who remembers – and holds to – the values of her childhood, this all seems .. well, a mixture of sad, pathetic and absolutely fucking outrageous. And no, I am not going to beg you to excuse the swearword2.

I would like now to give you the reply that would have been forthcoming from me, if anyone had ‘suggested’ that I pay £10 towards a child’s ‘class gift’ when my boys were young.

Dear Managing and Socially Inept Fellow Parent,

Thank you for your email regarding my contribution to your son/daughter’s ‘class gift’ on the occasion of their forthcoming birthday. What a very clever, and rather inspired, thought! But – forgive me – I fear you cannot have thought this through.

You see, there are thirty children in the class, and if I were to do this for each of them, the amount I would need to find on a yearly basis comes to £300. I also have another son, in whose class there are twenty-eight children, which adds another £280 to the bill. Since I cannot afford an extra £580 per annum from my classroom assistant’s wages until such time as my sons leave this school, I must decline to take part, on the basis of fairness to all the other children. After all, since you have shown such an example of inclusiveness, I can hardly contribute to one and fail to spend on them all, can I?

Yours, Affronted of Orton Malborne

This doesn’t even take into account the fact that some parents have three, four, or even five children, and are thus on even tighter budgets than we were. Can you imagine trying to find an extra £1500 each year as a single mother on child benefit? Or are we now judging people on their ability to pay, and discriminating against those who choose larger families? Personally, I can’t imagine the effect all this will have on the kids themselves. I have visions of the ‘haves’ feeling superior to the ‘have nots’3 and the ‘have nots’ being looked down upon and feeling not only inferior in some way, but shamed.

More to the point, really, is that if we go with this horrible new venture, will it not make the children themselves look down their cute little noses at those with different values4 or lifestyles which make it impossible or undesirable for their families to join in? What about the kids whose ‘class present’ email doesn’t bring enough revenue for their desired unicorn gift?

I sometimes get sick to the back teeth with the current politically correct attempt to include everyone, everywhere, all the time, because let’s face it, life isn’t like that and if we are taught to believe that it is, we are doomed to bitter disappointment, but this is … well, let’s just say it’s a step in the wrong direction.

Or maybe I’m way out of date and this now is the done thing. I sincerely hope not. It’s bad enough that there now appear to be rules for holding children’s parties about who gets to win what and which treats have to be provided for each child and when it’s OK to withhold them.

1 So, OK, Myleene Klass happens to be both famous and well-heeled. It is hardly the point.

2 This does not betray my childhood values at all. My father, God rest his soul, swore like the trooper he once was.

3 As has always happened and will continue to happen despite our best endeavours, especially among children.

4 Jehovah’s Witnesses, for instance, who don’t celebrate personal birthdays.

The Cocoa Imperative

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OH and I have a habit of exchanging Interesting Facts of the Day.

I suppose it started when we first each had our own laptop, and would sit and read about news, current affairs, scientific breakthroughs, trivia etc in our own little info-tech bubbles. Neither of us is really the silent sort though, and now and then we break out with the need to impart information and beat it to death.

One day recently, OH picked up his laptop, heaved himself out of his comfy chair and brought it to me1.

‘Here, read this,’ he said. ‘This will interest you.’

I took the laptop from him and read an article about how cocoa improves memory in 50-60 year olds and returns their memory to that of 30-40 year olds. Wow.

Me: ‘Wow. That’s great, isn’t it?’

OH: ‘But it has to be cocoa …’

Me: ‘Yes, I imagine that it’s the Dutching process that destroys the flavonols in chocolate.’

OH: ‘What? What’s Dutching?’

Me: ‘Dutching … it’s done with most chocolate to remove the bitterness. The good, dark chocolate is probably OK. People expect that to be bitter.’

OH: ‘Oh, right.’

*Pause*

OH: ‘Have I ever had cocoa?’

Me: ‘What? Yes!’

OH: ‘Have I?’

Me: ‘Yes! I used to make it quite regularly at one time. You have to make it with milk. You don’t remember that?’

OH (in an interested tone): ‘No, I don’t… did you?’

Me: ‘Yes!’

*Pause*

OH: ‘But you have to drink 800ml a day. That’s a lot of cocoa. Almost a litre!’

Me: ‘It is. Although you could make it stronger, and drink less.’

OH: ‘Can you make it stronger?’

Me: ‘Of course you can. You just put more cocoa in it. So, not drinking chocolate, then. You’d have to drink even more of that. It’s so sugary you couldn’t possibly make it strong enough.’

OH: ‘Do you have to make it with milk?’

Me: ‘I think so. I suppose that’s why people use the instant hot chocolate. It’s easier.’

*Pause*

Me: ‘We’d better start drinking cocoa again.’

OH: ‘I’ve had cocoa?’

Me (eyeing him dubiously) ‘We’d definitely better start drinking cocoa again!’

OH: ‘Why do we need to start drinking cocoa?’

I looked at him over my glasses. He was pretty deadpan but there was a suspicious twitch around the corners of his mouth.

Me: ‘OK. I’m going to see if I can make it in the microwave.’

And so I did, but it turns out much better if you do it the traditional way with a milk pan. I also set about improving it slightly. Making it more like the rather wonderful Italian hot chocolate we’ve had when we’ve been in Italy2.

What I do now, is this: I heat the milk in a pan. While it’s heating, I melt a couple of squares of solid, 100% cocoa in little pot in the microwave, and mix a heaped teaspoon of cornflour, a couple of teaspoons of Green & Blacks organic cocoa and a little cold milk in a cup. When the solid cocoa is melted, I stir it into the pan, then slowly add the cornflour/cocoa/milk mixture and whisk it till it’s smooth.

It takes a little bit of care or you’ll end up with lumpy cocoa, which while still tasty3 is less than perfect as a hot drink.

Trouble is, we keep forgetting to make the cocoa.

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1 The laptop, not the chair. Don’t be silly
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2 We also found it in that rather lovely little Italian bar ‘Milano’ in Stamford, Lincs.

3 You can, after all, eat the lumps, and the memory-improving qualities of the cocoa will be unimpaired.

The Digital Age

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When I was very young, my father had a camera. It was a fixed-lens model, and when you opened it a bellows popped out, which moved in and out to focus the lens, but it folded up small so it nearly always came with us on outings and holidays. That’s it on the left in the picture. Dad would carefully sort the resulting photos, and stick the best into post-bound albums1 that he’d made himself, and he’d paint little designs on the pages. Sometimes there’d be a caption and date and sometimes not, but those albums – which I still have – are a record of our family from the beginning of WW1 to some time in the sixties. I don’t know why he stopped, but it was shortly after we moved out of London and he took a management position at a local printing press, so maybe he was simply too busy.

I so wanted a camera of my own, and when I was about sixteen years old I bought one with the miniscule wages2 from my first job. It was a Kodak Instamatic. I took pictures of our cats and our house and the family, and places I’d been and where I worked … and at some point I won a ‘young people’s’ photo competition, which did nothing to dampen my enthusiasm.

Feb5-Instamatic

When I met OH, I got my hands on a half-decent camera – a Praktica SLR. We met on a residential course, and something clicked between us. He lent me this camera, which had a removable lens and looked horribly complicated, but he showed me how to use it and I got some surprisingly good results. When we went home at the end of the week, he took the rolls of film I’d used and developed and printed them for me, sending them to me in a fat envelope. Looking back, he must have been besotted, because he wasn’t very well-off either, though certainly more solvent than I.

Feb5-CarlbPraktica

I’ve been through several cameras since then. After we were married, OH bought a Contax 127 Quartz, which I used more than he did. In no particular order3, we’ve since had, between us, a Contax Aria, a Bronica ETRS, and an ETRSi, a Minolta twin lens reflex, a Canon Powershot, and about four Panasonic Lumix point-and-shoots. Apart from the current point & shoots, we now have a Canon DSLR, and a Lumix bridge camera. And I’m looking to upgrade.

Every time I go on holiday I take a camera, and sometimes two. I love taking photographs – I suppose you could say that it’s one of my hobbies. I take photos of my family, of family events, of things I’ve made, and places I’ve been. I can’t wait for spring, because the insects will suddenly be everywhere and I’ll have a thousand new subjects to try to capture in all their miniature and startling detail.

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My trouble is that I very seldom do anything with the photographs I take, apart from when I use them on my blog. I have thousands upon thousands of photographs sitting quietly on hard disks and CDs and in my own personal storage galleries online, but that’s about it. Oh, I have made a few note-cards and so on. I’ve printed off the odd tee-shirt and had the odd mug made. I might even have a photobook made of some of the nicest, but that’s quite daunting (I did one once with over a hundred pages for a gift, and I nearly turned grey overnight4). Anyhow, very few of them end up in albums like this one:

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But now I’ve disovered Picfair, which seems to be quite interesting. It’s an online image market to which anyone can contribute. I keep the copyright on all my photos, and I can upload what I like, when I like, and I can delete them if I like. The fun part is that I can set a price, which can be a nominal £1 if I so choose, or I can be ambitious and ask £50. I can change that price when I like, too. Picfair make their money by charging the buyer of the license a small percentage. And I’m finding that this is addictive. I’m going through my digital albums and finding pictures I’d forgotten about, and putting them out there to see if they can help me justify the cost of a new camera5. The next step will be to scan in some of my film photos, though some I might need to get them reprinted first. They fade, in time, you know.

If you would like to see some of my favourite images, go take a look. Click here to be taken to my home page on Picfair. I’d welcome your opinion. Tell me which your favourites are, and why!

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And if you feel generous, do click on any that you particularly like and view the full sized version, because that will help my ratings and maybe one day I’ll sell – or rather licence – one or two.

It’s amazing, but that picture of a hoverfly on my finger was taken one-handed with a Lumix bridge camera. Perhaps Dad, being a keen entomologist, would have kept up the photography if he’d had a modern camera with a macro feature that could do that, but sadly, they simply didn’t exist in those days.

1 Post bound means that the covers are simply two separate covered boards, and both they and the pages are punched. You buy special bolts, otherwise known as Chicago screws, or post screws, and when you want to add or remove pages, you simply unscrew them and take off the cover/s.

2 Six pounds and sixpence, if you must know! I could barely afford my bus fare into work and suitable clothing. I was officially ‘poor’ and could get free glasses and dental treatment and everything. So the Instamatic – a very cheap camera – was bought on the ‘never-never’ – that’s hire purchase for those non-Brits who don’t know the term.

3 Because I’ve forgotten.

4 Well, I would have done, if I weren’t grey already. And in fact I should have said ‘over several weeks’ because that’s how long it took me to try to upload my photos in the correct order, and in the correct size, with the correct backgrounds and captions where required.

5 So far, the answer is no, but I live in hope.