Paper trails
I found one of my field record books today, a battered khaki wedge which has remained elusive since 2003.
I dunno. In today's climate it's too easy to become po-faced in pursuit of worthiness. It's vital to remember that there's no harm in doing things out of pure enjoyment.
And this notebook drips with fun. Talk about unprofessional. There are checklists and columns of figures, but also the distinct perfume of lard and jelly babies. If I close my eyes, the evocative scent of curried eggs, fresh from cheap plastic tubs, may just tickle my nose. There are dumb jokes scribbled in the margins, references to Lego, lyrics from camp musicals, bastardised quotes from The Lord Of The Rings. There are snide messages, paper conspiracies which never toppled evil dictators. Here is the missing soundtrack to accompany my CD of digital photos. Now I need not only see the images disseminated at dry meetings, fronting a half dozen dusty reports. Instead, with the original script in hand, the film can be re-edited. Like a Director's Cut for a special edition, years after the inferior first release.
My movie tagline: Death-defying misuse of the English language! Road trips bound for Pig Island! Scurvy! Mad birds! Backward apples!
Or is it more like a broken zoetrope, capturing only the illusion of movement and texture? Am I taken in by seeing horses caught in mid-gallop, magically hovering with all four hooves above the ground? Only one way to check. I will contact some of the cast. A reunion is impossible but they might stop for a moment over the hum of urban life and laugh a little.
I dunno. In today's climate it's too easy to become po-faced in pursuit of worthiness. It's vital to remember that there's no harm in doing things out of pure enjoyment.
And this notebook drips with fun. Talk about unprofessional. There are checklists and columns of figures, but also the distinct perfume of lard and jelly babies. If I close my eyes, the evocative scent of curried eggs, fresh from cheap plastic tubs, may just tickle my nose. There are dumb jokes scribbled in the margins, references to Lego, lyrics from camp musicals, bastardised quotes from The Lord Of The Rings. There are snide messages, paper conspiracies which never toppled evil dictators. Here is the missing soundtrack to accompany my CD of digital photos. Now I need not only see the images disseminated at dry meetings, fronting a half dozen dusty reports. Instead, with the original script in hand, the film can be re-edited. Like a Director's Cut for a special edition, years after the inferior first release.
My movie tagline: Death-defying misuse of the English language! Road trips bound for Pig Island! Scurvy! Mad birds! Backward apples!
Or is it more like a broken zoetrope, capturing only the illusion of movement and texture? Am I taken in by seeing horses caught in mid-gallop, magically hovering with all four hooves above the ground? Only one way to check. I will contact some of the cast. A reunion is impossible but they might stop for a moment over the hum of urban life and laugh a little.