Cold winter night – about three degrees. Nothing was stirring, not even a breeze.

No, I’m not going to segue into a riff on the Night Before Christmas, though it’s the right bloody temperature down here.

And if it was cold, I was properly dressed – right down to my fingerless gloves, Latvian red wool hat (Latvians have great hair and even better hats!), faux pashmina scarf and about 5 layers. Oh yeah, then there was the camera bag, lenses, cleaning stuff, torch, filters, other crap I never use but bring ‘just in case.’ And the thermos of hot tea. And Bobby’s water bottle. And some of his to-die-for onion & garlic rolls, and some fresh fruit. And an extra scarf and little blanket. And the tripods (super heavy duty as I have murdered 2 already) one for him and one for me.

We headed down to the waterfront, about half an hour from Titirangi, 90 minutes early, planning to get a few shots of the sunset on the water. Brought a map (of course) but managed to get lost in the warren that is a working waterfront (as opposed to a tourist/transport waterfront) and got caught in a series of one-way detours that gave us a quick tour of the area suburbs – twice. He was driving, I was navigating, always a test of the state of a marriage. If you’ve got issues – that’s enough of a pressure cooker to make them erupt. We’re good. I think the maximum level of tension was expressed in a two decibel or so increase in voice and about 15 seconds of deathly silence.

We arrived – ten minutes early (or 80 minutes late?) Got ourselves geared up, met up with some friends and off we went, looking like we’re just so hip and together and fabulous, and cool. And Hey! We were cool. It’s just the back story that isn’t so cool. But look at that photo? Only a very cool photographer could have taken that. And last night – it was me! He he!

Click to see the large version!

Published by Titirangi Storyteller

Telling tales from around the world

6 thoughts on “Dreamboats

  1. Ooh, I’ve always wanted fingerless gloves. Something about them just screams poshness.

    Never be the co-pilot. Corey and I usually end up arguing because I’m being butting-in co-pilot. Great shot, nonetheless.


    1. I assure you, my fingerless gloves do not scream posh… If anything they are screaming of shame and heartbreak. Black wool, kind of lumpy… meant to keep your hands warm whilst your fingers freeze…

      Bobby puts up with a lot. But then, so do I. I suppose that is why we live together so well…


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