It’s hard to believe just how creatures of habit some people
are. Three or four friends meet
every Sunday in a local car park at 7.30 a.m. sharp and head off into the
countryside, primarily on a photographic morning. Not that there’s anything strange about this, but the fact
that they’ve been doing it for more than 40 years is somewhat of an enigma to
me. They have catholic tastes,
ranging from birds and butterflies, to landscapes and even oddities such as
lighthouses and letterboxes. No
matter what the weather, one or more will turn up. There’s no prior communication, and if you’re not there at
exactly the appointed hour you’ll be left behind.
The result of all this dedication has been thousands of
magnificent photographs and several books. More though, they’ve acquired an understanding of the changing
countryside that can only be obtained by this kind of constancy. I have to confess that I’ve been out
with them from time to time, and have often enjoyed the experience, but I
usually yearn for solitude in the countryside.
Who decides where to go each week is a mystery to me, but as
an honoured visitor to the ‘club’ recently, I went with the flow. We end up in the great sand dune system
on the other side of the bay - the aim is to photograph marram grass, which I
have to admit isn’t really my kind of thing. The discomfort of the cramped conditions in the back seat of
the car on the return journey is more than enough to ensure I won’t be joining
them again for a while.
It all ends at precisely 12 noon in the same pub, with an
identical round of drinks, and a quick look at the same Sunday newspapers. The world is duly put to right, and
they depart for a traditional Sunday roast precisely at 1 p.m.
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