Crushing camera bag
Tomorrow I’m getting up at the crack of dawn for my 5km power walk in the woods, then it’s a two-hour gym session, an errand I try to do five times a week. (All the people I know barely drink at all, never touch tobacco, watch their cholesterol as if it were HIV positive, jog across to Germany and back about twice a day - all which guilts me into exercising as often as I can.) At 10am I’m meeting a European rock band to shoot an album cover. It’s at times like these (and whilst on press trips) that I wish I could magically produce a camera assistant from somewhere. Someone who can swap lenses and camera’s, load the digital card content onto my laptop, be the spotlight for dark room shots, feed me grapes, and most of all, carry the darn camera bag. It doesn’t matter how much weights I push in the gym, it always does my back in. And it’s not as if I can leave any of the lenses behind either, I need to lug them all along, like a wardrobe on my back.
A few months ago, whilst looking for tulips to photograph in Holland my camera bag caused me to over-balance and I stepped heavily onto a wobbly drain, did a series of graceless pirouettes, spun across the road, smacked face-first into the side of a barn and, after teetering theatrically for a moment, fell forward into a bush of something foul smelling.
Sometimes I don't know why I bother getting out of bed.
posted by Cindy-Lou Dale @ Friday, August 03, 2007
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