I've got two days off :) And I got home today to find a very gorgeous John, a very excitable Sherlock and a big bunch of red roses.
Sadly I didn't get one of these, which, frankly, I've got my eye on... cool, right?
I think it'd be pretty useful in London!
And...on to more serious blogging.
I talked to John and...he said he wouldn't mind if I wrote this.
So, the pictures Bryan put in the show. One's of me in our kitchen, standing at the worktop, reading the paper and making a mug of coffee. One's me in the bath. You can't see anything, but, well... I suppose the thing that bothers me isn't that it's...me, it's that they're, y'know, intimate pictures. They're the sort of pictures, candid, of that part of my life. And he's...putting that out there, as if, like that's still a thing. That's what bothers me. People won't be looking at them thinking I'm here with John and the boys and that Bryan's a scheming fuckwit. They'll be thinking that's...that's the truth.
John said earlier he didn't know what sort of pictures Bry took.
I think I've said it before, somewhere...he is a good photographer. He's won awards. People like his images. He used to...well, was supposed to...take pictures at weddings and portraits and stuff. He was usually too lazy to do it, after I met him, but he did a few. And the reason people liked his work was that he could really capture people, important moments, emotions. He was good at it.
And I didn't mind, at the time, that the camera came out at home. In some ways, it was nice, then, to think we'd have those memories. Because at the time, we were ...well, I was, in it for good.
I guess pictures only tell the truth in that split second they're taken. And not even then, sometimes.
And now they feel like lies, up there for all the world to see and take as the truth - when the truth is so very, very different. And that's what I don't like.
And that's taken me about two hours to write and I'm still not sure it's really...that.