It's May, and the battered and bruised photographer begins to awaken to the sound of birdsong and email bleeps.
A sunken face, with more than a bit of Desperate Dan facial hair, time for the clippers and a wash.
Recharging batteries not only for the camera but myself too. This cold and crispy Spring is timing the rainfall nicely to fall on the first wedding at the weekend or so the weatherman says. Suddenly a brolly is going to be the most important piece of equipment. As my rusty eyes are being subjected to a pollen attack, a bit of rain might not be such a bad thing.
More the worry of equipment mis-behaving after such an enforced period of inactivity. The back up is there in case, as long as that doesn't fail too.
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​This strangeness of five months into the year with next to no work. Watching the seasons and thinking am I going to be the next groceries delivery driver? My butt stubbornness (idleness?) though takes over, I am a photographer and a building shed builder and the summer is going to be alright..maybe. So I stay as one. 

A day's break from shed production as the gusts and freak snow showers splutter the garden site. Leftover off-cuts of re-worked timber, scattered, creating the mess in full view of an irritating neighbour. The temporarily 'tarped' roof blowing in the wind ready for take off at anytime. I think it can be left for another day or three.
So instead its cakes, chocolates and the occasional photography enquiries. Probably in that order too but not saying any should have a priority.
I have been offered wedding cake only twice in my photography career and stolen a piece only once I think. After the newly married couple I am usually the next person to spot the cake in all its glory.
There have been a couple of episodes of loosely-fixed shaky laminate flooring in outside marquees where the tiered creation has become an uncanny resemblance to a certain tower in Pisa. One false step of a photographer with a keen eye for cake detail could have resulted in an 'earthquaked' affected sweetened rubble.  
A safe route or 'cop out' is the muffin/bun alternative. Gorgeously individual with unique toppings, but this in itself creates a whole host of issues. Guests are suddenly being offered a choice, which one is to their liking? can they take more than one? Will there be bunfights? Will there be enough to go round after the greedy fat kid has eaten four? And most importantly how on earth do the wedding pair cut the cake for the obligatory picture?
There are thankfully solutions to that last point with a bit of will and imagination (or copying other photographer's pictures but don't tell anyone that..) 
As I am usually and possibly rightly not offered a slice or bite from the display I cannot offer any guidance or experience on taste. I only know by judging what's left on people's plates or not after the boogie on the dancefloor has started and has pulled the hoards away from the dining tables.
​By this my only advice would be for presentation is the priority for the camera memory, even if looks can be deceptive.  

I might miss the lockdown. Living in my own little bubble sending the key worker wife to earn whilst I doss from project to project on the house and now particularly the shed. 
Have I spoken about the shed recently? Sheds are in vogue, the external room to the house made to your own specifications (within reason..). The escapism from the escapism. A chance to shine and put a stamp on the garden with my non-horticultural hands.
Ours, I say that in a very loose term as usage is still being thrashed out in negotiations between myself and the wife, is going to be a recycled modified creation.  
All the non-rotten parts are being re-skilled (bodged) together, with the added elegance of a scaffold floorboard floor and reclaimed battened roof.
The recent gale gusts have not slowed the enthusiasm but instead bruted the challenge.
Sheds are most definitely 'in'. Some conversation over every mealtime has to include a segment about the shed. Im getting quite good at veering any topic back towards shed talk. 
And yet it is still in a preliminary stage. The shed news will not go away.
Wedding and event work still feels some time off giving me more time for the shed, much to the disgruntlement of my 'bored listening to shed facts' wife. 

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Scratching my head, peeling back some loose skin around a finger nail. Anxiety is creeping in.
Times past begin to play on your mind, how it was seem a long haul away.
It's strange, a year ago or nearabouts myself and a colleague whilst working away were cooped up in a pub b+b trying to explain the ways of the world in a lock up with a landlord and his 'Chinese to blame for everything'  stories. This being on the cusp of the initial wave, alcohol and a late night made the evening's discussions the entertainment that it was. 
As the news steadily worsened from abroad whilst on that trip, the weary thoughts on how this could develop were still distant but a feeling of fear on a work level was playing in our minds. After all, our events industry concerns people and usually a large amount of people close together. What could still take place in an empty space? This, like low alcohol beer shouldn't happen. It's unprecedented.  It would expose the importance of the performance, the event, the conference, the occasion. Without this industry goes the promotion, presentation, the sale, the memories and escapism.   
The real life disaster movie has taken place, twelve months of downs and more downs. Only now we are all trying to survive to reach the end credits. 
My health has stayed intact and those closest to me the same so far and touching wood. So I should have no reason to complain other than being only left the pink elephant to photograph. 
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Smiling through gritted teeth as the calendar changes to a new month. The empty charging cable for my phone dangles from the socket redundant but symbolic. The homemade brew of attempted cider sits still, not energised. 
The dullness of the year now highlighted with autumn tones, the larger picture of colour seems wasted in these polarised times.
Dreams of times past and of times to come, wishful thinking says some.
A sporadic diary of work now crossed out with a P for postponement, don't be fooled by a photographer who say they are busy.
Our house is nearly newly plastered throughout, a brilliant harvest of garden vegetables as reward. The first frosts bite the shed roofs and car windows, let them sit there, I'm not going anyway fast today.  

About a year ago I was dithering on this photograph that I had taken the week before.
The crooked angle was more by accident in this case as my main concern was to capture the intimacy of the moment with a bit of location.
Anyway I also tend to have a unique photography condition known as "crooked photo angliteous " which I take adequate amounts of Adobe to correct it so that it is never really that noticeable.
But the main issue was what to do with the wandering Joe public who had decided to dare to stray into my shot at this precious time.
As I hadn't barked at them (the two background strays I'm talking about) in the right allocated time the plan B was to decimate the walkers in post production. Easy enough to do whilst the focus stayed with the loving couple until I thought let them stay and be remembered. The reason for this was their own contribution to the day. They had shouted their congratulations to our handsome couple once we had been caught up by the long striding photo bombers.
I never asked MR and MRS if they still like this particular picture with the long socked and cagoulled walkers. If they don't, I know where the eraser tool is and it's not far from the angle tool either.

The freeze frame is melting, life and work begins to return but hopefully slowly.
Hedge verges stand like undisturbed triffids grabbing the sunlight and freedom from the cutters. Wildlife sounds, with their magnified decibals echo down country lanes. It is a unique time to exploit the camera in nature. 
The month of June is always full of colour but everything out there is exaggerated, spoilt for choice for picturing. No coincidence there are no planes flying over, fewer cars bustling past.
​Alone in thoughts, the extraordinary has left a blank calendar for a few months but a blank canvas to refill. It could be for the better long term.

An un-necessary amount of lycra now sports the pavements at any time of day, is it too late to keep fit? New routines, new leaf's turned, new ideas to fulfil, new projects to take on, life has suddenly become shorter.
Every task has become more thorough, so many more nails are being hammered. Dusty and dirt from neighbouring DIY projects, we are in this for the long run. No one can move as everything has become worthless. Make do and mend. The war slogans are back in fashion.
Yet I still crumble to the out of season of hot cross bun which my bowels hate. And it's nothing new to start re-making my yeasty bread, time that I had previously put towards editing pictures. One day there will be a revival of being a photographer again. 

The grand splendour of Springtime, forced upon us to enjoy in lockdown.
The refuge of the garden shed to regain a sense of normality, a tranquil escape from the fear of what may come next.
Photography suddenly becomes a pastime in a literal sense, the writings I write have more familiarity with back garden anecdote forums than photo whizz promotional blogs.
Solitude and stranded, awaiting the first go-ahead event. Set back to June at present but expecting later.
Not needed as a volunteer, nor a seasonal picker, at least our potatoes got dug in.
The blossom is in full pelt, causing my eyes to sting and my nose runs more than the stream in the woodland below. My sniffling scares the old dears in the local co-op.
The smogless days and the only human noise is either another lawn being cut or a gossiping loud neighbour who ignores her safe distancing (which in her case should always be another street away).      
Really this should be testing times, putting your back into those picture experimenting tasks to make you a better photographer. I'm content thanks.