Friday, March 19, 2010

Unedited photos and a lucious side of fat

I absolutely refused to blog some more until I got myself a camera that took proper photos that weren't blur or had stupid washed out colours. Believe me, it's not funny having to go on a holiday with the prettiest blue skies and a bangin' hard core music festival only to have half the photos come out looking like abstract watercolour paintings.

Also, Jamie and Dawn were consistently taking the mickey out of me for how terrible my photos were – when I proudly showed them snowy shots of a visit to a mountain resort in Japan, Dawn collapsed against the back of my chair and moaned: “I think I’m about to die of boredom.”

Nice colleagues, much?

Anyroad, at long last, today is the day of celebration. Let us dance and wear teacups on our heads!

Because I, good guys and dolls, am the proud owner of a spanking new Canon Powershot G11!! As a camera idiot, I have no idea if that’s good or bad. All I can say is, the photos are a vast improvement from anything I’ve ever taken in my sorry life. (I know, that's not saying much. I mean, have you seen my mountain photos?!)

Thusly, I present you with Exhibit A: this post, with photos completely unedited in any way (I pretend like I meant for them to be natural; in actual fact, I don't know Photoshop from Adam).

My grandaunt brought some wunderba lamb chops from Australia so we had a fabulous barbecue this evening with sausages, lamb, steak and salad. A hot piece of grilled sheep with melted fat round the edge? Colour me delighted!

Pre-cooking marinated slabs of cow. Yum!

My brother wore his beloved Anthony Bourdain shirt to cook dinner. He believes channelling the guru makes the meat taste that much better.

Someone was waiting around eagerly for the first scraps. I shan’t say who. Someone.

Dhany and I also took the camera up to the roof to experiment with it. I’d told him earlier that I was given a case for free and I was very proud of how I’d hassled it out of the sales guy. The case is a little bulky so I left it at home, wrapped the camera in the thin foam sleeve that it came in and popped it in my bag.

Just as I was pulling the camera out, he demanded to know what the case looked like.

I don’t know which was funnier: the way his face fell when he saw my bedraggled foam sleeve (he looked like he just realised he had the most gullible girlfriend in the world) or the way he exclaimed that I’d gotten cheated. Hah!

Linen shirt: Marks and Spencers. Pants: Tangs. Boat Shoes: Rockport. Watch: Breitling.

I swear Dhany's actually making devil horns in the last one. Excuse the slightly manic look in his eyes - as at this point, he hadn't had lunch yet.

Blouse: Somewhere in la belle France. Shorts: Cotton On. Loafers: Timberland. Earrings: Metal forged in the fires of Mordor and wound round bits of shell stolen from a sea turtle's back. No, actually, I can't remember.

In other news, my nails look like the M&Ms our trainer at work has been hurling at us all day long for volunteering answers she feels are correct. "You cannot be on my baseball team!" she shrieks as we dodge, terrified, and the candy describes a parabola in the air.

Um yeah well, given that the team captain is obviously batty and these hot lavender claws didn't pay for themselves, I can't say I'm terribly sorry.

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