The title, for the uninitiated, is a traditional cricketing announcement that heralds the onset of summer in England, when the rich thwack of willow on leather ought to be wakening the hibernating members of the MCC. It is frequently seen and heard along with its fellow spoilsport, Rain stopped play. In the USA, it seems, everybody gets excited by wardrobe malfunctions. In England umbrellas and light-meters are the nearest we get to a state of agitation.
This morning I was looking for a bird for you. Any bird. Yesterday was punk day. How do I follow that? What came after punk? Well clearly I can’t remember. Probably Spandau Belly or whatever they were called. Would it have been Blondie? I liked Blondie. I remember Parallel Lines. So much better than all that John Denver stuff that kept blaring out on the wireless. I suppose if you live in West Virginia its good music but that begs the question….. does anybody actually live there? I have no idea. I suppose I could look it up in Wikipedia. What if it says “West Virginia: population zero”? Take me home or beam me up? Who cares? Anyway, I digress and not for the first time.
I wanted a bird and sadly only one turned up. So the choice was take it or leave it. I took it. When I was taking the shots I thought it was going rather well. I even remembered to turn the camera + lens into portrait format. Pretty good, eh? Anyway, I went home and looked at the photos and thought that frankly they looked decidedly ordinary. The background was very dark and the bird looked washed out. This was a job for Photoshop Man, I thought. Even after playing around with Lanius schach in CS6 for a while it still looked like a grunge shot. Some sort of escaped HDR effort. I tried another but they all looked much the same. I can only conclude that bad light was the offender. Not so much bad light stopped play, more bad light ruined shrike. The way the England cricket team played in Australia this winter I suspect a shrike would have done better. Played 5, lost 5. Well, they were admirably consistent. On a Facebook discussion we discussed who should be brought back to play, dead or alive. I voted for Brian Close. Others wanted Derek Underwood back. Getting caught on a sticky facing Deadly Derek was not nice. I suppose after all this cricket talk most people will have either gone off in despair or slumped into a catatonic state. But for those of you still with me (what brave folk you are), here is the successor to punk, grunge.