Grey Skies, Barking Trolls, and Postbridge: A Photographic Mishap

Well, the weather. Honestly. You'd think the Sky People, or whatever they call themselves up there, had nothing better to do than mess with the likes of us, the lens-toting, sunset-chasing, landscape-obsessed mortals. A glorious, postcard-perfect day, all sapphire skies and fluffy little clouds, just begging to be captured. And then, poof, grey. Just… grey. Like someone had dropped a damp blanket over everything. So, plan B. Naturally.

Plan B, in my case, involved the rather less glamorous, but arguably more entertaining, pursuit of pet photography. You know, those close-ups of furry faces that people inexplicably adore. And, as a delightful side effect, a bit of location scouting. Postbridge. Ah, Postbridge. That charming little clapper bridge. A place I'd promised myself I’d capture, oh, years ago, and which had, frankly, started to resemble a permanent fixture in shot list itself, rather than a subject to be photographed. It had, as they say, taken root.

So, with a photographic itch that was positively demanding to be scratched, Sarah, Winnie (the dog), and myself set off for a spot of what I like to call "shutter therapy." Now, Winnie, being a seasoned professional in the art of dog-posing, one would think she’d have this whole thing down pat. But no. On this particular evening, the allure of the river, and the prospect of dragging Sarah into it, proved far too compelling.

And thus, the scene. Picture, if you will, a middle-aged chap, me, crouching by the bridge, looking for all the world like a particularly disheveled troll. Camera in one hand, flash in the other, meowing and barking in a desperate attempt to command the attention of a dog that was clearly having none of it. Sarah, meanwhile, was engaged in a Herculean struggle to prevent Winnie from launching herself into the river, while simultaneously trying to avoid being in the frame. It was, shall we say, a spectacle.

I can only offer my deepest apologies to the unsuspecting tourists who, no doubt, had envisioned a serene, picturesque moment by the clapper bridge, perhaps even a selfie or two. Instead, they were treated to a bizarre tableau of animal noises, frantic arm waving, and a dog that seemed intent on aquatic mayhem. They, quite understandably, made a hasty retreat. I can only imagine what the tourist board will say.