originally posted on my photography site
Being born and brought up in cold (and usually fairly damp) England the longing to move to a warmer country is strong. The fragrant hills in the South of France, the rugged coastline of North Majorca. I’d spend my days wafting through perfumed gardens with a glass of wine in my hand and relishing the warm sun on my pale and frozen English body.
Last night as sleep evaded me yet again, I started to question if I could adapt to this fantasy life I’ve longed for. After dragging ourselves through a long, grey Winter and Spring, Britain has now turned in to the hotspot of Europe with weeks of blazing sun and not a raindrop insight. Even mad dogs and Englishmen are reluctant to go outside.
I’ve resorted to fighting the dog for the shadiest spot in the house where there may be a hint of a breeze – I’m not adverse to lying on the tiled floor if Harveyhound would just move over a bit
Photographing gardens and flowers is challenging in this blinding light so the choice is getting up at 4 am to catch the dawn, or waiting til twilight. So twilight it is then ..