What do you do when your bosses think of a PC as no more than perhaps a slightly complicated abacus and, instead of using it intelligently, think up systerms to work around it? "Frustration" is a word that barely begins to cover it.
Rose, black velvet, plant spray, do that thing with the glow using layers / blur / overlay, adjust curves = orton, bit of clone tool here and there, and voila: a big red cliche. Not too unpleasant though.
So this was taken from a bluff overlooking the river early one evening on the Bodnant Estate. Shortly after this I met the head gamekeeper who was "doing his rounds" and wanted to know what I was doing on the land. Thankfully I wasn't shot as I was staying in a house on the estate and therefore had roaming rights. Less thankfully I couldn't pronounce the name of the place I was staying and simply said it was near a farm with lots of dogs(remember, this is sheep farming country). He asked where I was from, I told him, and off he went, probably thinking "oh dear lord, what is the matter with city folk?".
Life affords few enough opportunities for pure, unadulterated joy, but the stepping down of Shahid Malik from his ministerial post provides one such. The only slight cloud is the fact that this walking drop of self-regarding slime has "stepped down" rather than resigned, I think, which leaves scope for a comeback. However, until such a time: cheers all round!
D700 with 28 - 105 f/3.5-4.5D @ f/7.6 ISO 1000, 1/350th sec. Would have been impossible with the D50 - noise louder than this brash creature himself. Spent a short while at Kew after work, where this was taken. And now, this evening, I was reading in the comments section at The Online Photographer that Ansel Adams (to whom I am in no way, not even 1%, comparing myself) once said that there is a big difference between turning up when you want to take a picture and turning up when God wants you to. And Kew, tonight, was definitely an example of the former rather than the latter.
There you are, moderately inebriated, waiting for your train at Hammersmith tube. In front of you is a poster suggesting that signing up for tfl's free text alert service might save you some time during your commute. What the hell, you think, I've got my mobile, I can get the interwebz, I'll sign up. Off you go to the site and, lo and behold, it isn't configured to show on a mobile screen. Well, let's go with it - you'll scroll around if they force you, I mean, it's free, right? So you scroll around and after five minutes find yourself on the sign up page. Only, of course, the problems really begin here. Because the sign up involves your name (including title...), your oyster card number (the box doesn't automatically recognise the key presses as numbers of course, you have to press and hold), your address, your email, your mother's date of birth, your cat's weight and your views on dialectical materialism. You've lost contact with the inter…
I'm thinking it might kinda be a good thing to get this now, while it's weak and feeble, rather than when it comes roaring back in the winter and those who've had the first dose have immunity, the rest of us getting it real bad. I'll have to start hanging out in the tube more often.
I know, I know, horribly hazy in the distance but I cannot, try as I might, sort this out by use of another exposure and a gradient layer in paint shop pro. Will try again tomorrow; in the meantime, try and imagine crystal clear Alpine air replaces the blue haze you can see here.