Death of a Camera

It had been raining in London earlier that day and there were still some puddles about. The garish neon lights of Soho reflected in the water and off metal surfaces and windows in this curious alleyway. It is early evening so there is still some blue left in the sky. There are people about, but not too many and not too close. Intent on capturing this indeterminate phase between day and night, when people had finished work, but it was still too early for night life, I snapped away and took some interesting pictures. This was the last. Yes, it is a little blurred; I would have perfected the image with the next shot, but that was not to be. Because exactly one second after this shot had been taken the camera somehow slipped from my hands and crashed onto the pavement. Usually I am very careful, and lucky, but in this instance the camera hit the ground in such a way that the lens casing was knocked crooked, the electronics went ballistic, flashing messages appeared on the screen, and then all went dead. Nothing I tried, from gentle persuausion to frustrated violence could bring my camera back to life, or even realign the lens casing, and it has remained stuck and crooked in my bag ever since. Ok, it was not an expensive camera (it was a Canon PowerShot), but it had become a trusty companion over the 20 months I had used it. Easy to use, dependable and packed with power and life –but not immortal. Now it rests in a cupboard with numerous other cameras that have died or broken or just given up; I can't bear to get rid of them. But nor could I be without a pocket camera –I felt instantly naked and cut off without one, so the next day I purchased a Canon Ixus 135, similar in size and quality but still a little unfamiliar. And you can be sure I am handling it very, very carefully. But this picture will forever be a reminder of –and a memorial too– by dear little PowerShot! R.I.P. Location: London, England