The Unlikely Return: How I Conquered the Barnstaple Photo Club (and Why My Dachshund Was Backup)
Well, let me tell you, I occasionally find myself in the rather baffling position of being invited, yes, invited by some poor, unsuspecting, and quite frankly, dangerously optimistic club to bore them senseless with a little talk about my utterly pointless photographic ramblings across this wonderfully bumpy, lumpy, and generally damp little corner of the globe we call home.
My latest victims, God bless their cotton socks, were the good folks of the Barnstaple Photographic Club. Now, you might think they'd have learned their lesson, seeing as I'd previously served as a judge for one of their contests, a performance, I might add, that probably left a few of the contestants quietly weeping into their aperture priority settings. Yet, against all known laws of self-preservation, they invited me back.
I'll confess, a dark suspicion immediately settled over me. I figured this latest invitation was an elaborate ruse, a trap laid with the precision of a Swiss timepiece, designed solely to let them point out the sheer, bloody minded error of my ways from my last visit. Fully braced for an angry mob, a vengeful crowd ready to exact a terrible revenge for my previous, perhaps less than charitable ruminations, I arrived with backup. First, there was Sarah, and then, far more importantly, the veritable tour de force that is Winnie, our two year old miniature dachshund. A creature whose furious, ankle-biting bark is entirely out of proportion to her tiny, sausage like form.
As it turned out, the vocal threat from my diminutive, grumpy hound was entirely and completely unmerited. The entire club, bless their kindly souls, was filled with utterly welcoming folk who were an absolute delight. For nearly two hours, two hours! They managed, through sheer grit and perhaps a small miracle, to stay awake despite my best and most strenuous efforts to put them under by producing slide after interminable slide of sunsets taken from various granite outcrops.
It should be noted, and I offer this as proof of their inherent good nature, that after the first hour, a blessed, glorious caffeine break is administered. This, I can only assume, is a mandatory measure to at least give everyone a fighting chance of making it to the bitter, blurry end. When the final, merciful slide finally dimmed, the entire club offered a very hearty round of applause, which I can only take to mean they were utterly delighted that I had, at long last, shut my trap.
Having sufficiently chewed the ears off of the good locals, we decided to linger for a day or two and see whatever sights Barnstaple has to offer, which, inevitably, means that future presentations will now extend their soporific reach to North Devon, offering even more glorious opportunity for unsuspecting clubs to be utterly anaesthetised by yours truly.
