Last night I thought I’d better brush the cobwebs off my reserve email address. I have just had an email from an editor who has been unable to communicate with me for the last ten days and thought I’d been ignoring them. It is, as far as I know, only happening with one magazine, but it is slightly perplexing. As part of the email was an acceptance for two tanka, and a comment on the others which weren’t required, I’m glad she persisted.
Unfortunately it is just over six months since I last used the reserve address and the provider is in the middle of closing it down. There is no way to reverse it, and until the process is finished, there is no way to see if I can get it back. This is slightly annoying, but it is my fault for losing track of time. I have manged to get one with a similar name, and will remember to use it regularly.
I had a novel experience at work this morning when I was told I could write to a customer and tell him that I thought he would be better looking elsewhere. Normally we don’t turn business down but he has a low feedback, a history of returning things and quite precise requirements. I’ve been polite and told him he’s welcome to visit the shop and check the stock out for himself, but we can’t guarantee that our photographs or descriptions will give him what he requires.
The trouble is, as every photographer knows, the camera does not see what your eye sees.
It is possible, by altering camera settings, to turn silver coins gold and vice versa. As I recall, all I did with the shilling in the header picture was to change the setting from tungsten to fluorescent and the coin changed from silver to “gold”. Some metals seem to do this on their own, without help from the camera. They just have some sort of quality in their colour which makes the camera mis-read the balance. I wish I could work it out, but it always seems to take me by surprise. Note how the colour of the background has moved from light blue to grey.