So Mum read a book on photography and now she reckons she’s Mario Testino. Seriously. It’s embarrassing. Like suddenly she’s going on about apertures and f-stops and Elsie and I are like YAAAWWWWN.
I’m like why d’you need photographs anyway? If you want to remember something just roll in it. A lifetime of memories I got stored in my coat. Albeit I lost like 15 albums worth when Mum insisted on ‘trimming’ my bloomers. Less said about which the better.
What really does my nut is all the waiting around. Just hold it right there she says to me, like 50,000 times on every walk, so what I do, right, is I wait until she’s got it in focus, and then just as her finger touches the shutter, I move my head, or wag my tail, or jump up, or lie down or zip off after a hare. HAHAHAHAHA! It’s alright for Elsie, cause Else never moves much anyway. Not even her face. She’s got two expressions. Mildly disgruntled and hungry, or mildly disgruntled and HUNGRY. That’s it. That’s the Pie. And Mum’s got like five thousand photos of it. I’m telling you. Seriously.
So just about every photo Mum’s ever taken of me is blurred. And now she’s like. ‘Girls, I need a tripod.’ ‘You already got a tripod,’ I said. And she’s like, ‘No, I haven’t!’ And I just looked at her like waiting for the penny to drop. ‘Oh Meg!’ she says, after like half an hour. Seriously – that’s how long it took. ‘Oh Meg! Don’t be silly… Ooh,’ she says, ‘Meg. Can you just hold that look right there!’
