What the Dickens?

The office party was OK. Women wore black with sparkly & heels, whereas I wore pink polka-dots with a black necklace and flat boxing boots. Nobody seemed to mind. My food was significantly nicer than anyone else's and since nobody fancied the wine the top brass had treated them to, I got to bring a bottle home. So that was OK too.

Today my friend J came to visit me in Kent from that London. He was excited to see real fields through the train window on his journey down. I met him at Rochester where Medieval meets Tudor meets Victorian.

Rochester was in full swing with its Dickens weekend and there were lots of people dressed up to fit the occasion and snow machines pumping photogenic soap froth into the air all over the place.

Little Sony was having uber-sulk and this was the one and only shot I managed to coax it into all day. I've had enough, really I have. When I get myself a replacement Canon, Sony is going to Oxfam, or Emmaus. Certainly not a camera exchange place.