The Youngest of the Darling Daughters sends me a message asking me what I am up to today. "I do love Bank Holiday weekends!" she enthuses.
I can understand that she will
be glad to be missing out on the Monday Morning Back At Work feeling - though presumably it's only putting off the evil (Mon)day? Tuesday will simply become Monday if you know what I mean, though at least Friday will arrive earlier than expected. Having muddled
myself up with all this talk of Mondays, Tuesdays and Fridays, I pull myself back into the present. Ah, yes, it's still Monday, and a Bank Holiday to boot.
I feel honour-bound to send my daughter a cheery
response, even though at the time of writing I don't have anything interesting planned for my day. She will want to imagine me beavering away happily at my latest project, whatever that might be. Which is when I remember my new camera.
We bought it on Saturday on our trip into town. Mr B, majestic on his Shoprider, drove into Jessups like Lewis Hamilton trying to make up for a poor start in the last Grand Prix. Several customers who had the temerity to stand in his
way found themselves under attack from the shopping basket fixed onto the front of the scooter. When I say they stood in his way I mean that they were minding their own business, inspecting cameras or loading discs onto the photo developing machines - they
didn't purposely arrange themselves in his path, they just happened to be there. Poor things.
A young and helpful shop assistant hurried over to assure Mr B that he was at his service, whatever that might
be. Mr B embarked on the long and sorry saga of how I had lost my camera, not having looked after it properly, necessitating unnecessary expenditure on the purchase of a new one. I managed to look suitably chastened, recognising that I was not coming out of
this too well. The shop assistant suggested, a little too eagerly, that we should take out insurance on the new camera. Mr B retorted, darkly, that the type of insurance he was touting would hardly help if Someone didn't look after her new possession properly.
Half an hour later Lewis Hamilton and I re-emerged into the sunshine with a brand new Panasonic Lumix camera. We had also bought a number of apparently essential extras, including a camera case, a screen protector and
a memory card. "Please look after it!" was Mr B's final warning as he scooted off towards the chiropodist where he was expected at exactly 12 noon. Waiting for him (I could hear him joking with the chiropodist. I'm sure I heard something about mysterious disappearances
and lost cameras, but perhaps I was just feeling paranoid) I opened the box in which my precious new possession was nestling and studied the instructions. For a "point and shoot" camera, these appeared extremely complicated at first reading.
So complicated, indeed, that I left it until today - until this Bank Holiday Monday when I had nothing else to do - to carry out the all-important set-up. I charged up the battery, inserted the memory card, set the date (now,
that was a challenge - we almost found ourselves back in 2014!) and took a few experimental photographs of Mr B in various stages of repose. So far, so very, very good. Though I so say myself as shouldn't.
came before a fall. My new camera is WiFi enabled. What larks! I can imagine that this will change my life. I will be able to send photographs to my IPad, to my computer, to my television, to Facebook and Twitter. I will even be able to operate the camera
remotely. Which might be helpful if I mislaid it sometime. Or at Ieast I could do all of this and more if I could only fathom out the instructions. I have installed the relevant app on the IPad (Grandson Jack would be so proud of me) and according to the "Quick
Guide" all I need to do is to use the QR code "to make settings easily." I've tried, I really have.
But like my old camera, I am completely lost...