Now that the longest two weeks of the year are over, you know the ones where people try to persuade you to eat and drink until you are sick and then spend the whole year telling you to cut back, and Granny still recovers from that Ginger Wine and Sherry Baby Sham cocktail, while people still argue what to call what is now TWENTY TEN whilst nursing their broken bones from drunken icy falls while trying to start a diet, give up smoking and try to be nice to people. I thought I would get back to the only place that makes sense. Here on B-Mode I continue to face lives challenge as a freelance Fine Arty-Pants photographer writing whatever I like. The Festive Spice candles are in the bin, the cards are in the recycling, and the presents, well I can't even remember that because like my uncle Les all I get these days is a Biro with my name on it or a voucher for WH Smiths... I have taken this last fortnight not as a Holiday, but as a time of reflection and preparation. The lenses have been cleaned, the camera serviced, the notebook filled, and the long Johns warmed on the radiator.
Don't wait up, I may be some time..

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