How can it be that with twenty four hours every day there is never enough time to photograph all the things I dream of doing, let alone the impromptu things that simply come along each day?
My new website LINK touches a mere gnats wing of ideas, and I refuse to keep uploading more and more photographs relaxed in the knowledge that one day they [the images awaiting publishing] will all make it to the net. H'mm, how upset I'll be if they don't make it - I may die and no one will think of finishing the task. But then there would be a definate end in sight.
Now if you're ever lost for something to do [not a habit I'm usually in] and want some amusing minutes perusing my photographs do not hesitate to tap into your browser: http://www.littleredjacket.com the resulting pages that are awaiting your visit will do one of two things. Knock your socks off when you spy some great photographic masterpiece, OR bore the f****** pants off off you. Whichever way the cookie crumbles really is no concern of me, but if you begin to criticise and lambaste the content I'll be quite upset. After all I believe my mother when as a boy she would simply say of 'moaners', "If they haven't something nice to say, they shouldn't say anything". In truth I couldn't feel less inclined to pick my arse, or do anything cos I've got broad shoulders and can take all the criticism thrown at me. Something else my mother instilled in me - a thick skin.
On the other hand if sycophancy crawls out of the woodwork and descends upon me in waves. Or wonderful prose is written about me, and media moguls thrash down my door to reach me, I'll modestly calm the throngs of journalists, TV crews, and whole media circus and say, "Hey guys, one at a time"!
What would you do?
