Silence of the Lamb or Not-so-good-Sunday

Cordula's little lamb didn't utter a sound as we slowly but methodically chopped slices off its plump, zesty, juicy little arse. That's a lesson in stoicism for you. 

Another lesson in stoicism was when I fished out my much adored and newish-to-me Olympus E-M1 mkii out of Uncle Martin's rucksack as it slid down a rock and into a rock pool. 
"It's weather-sealed" I thought, "hopefully it won't be as bad as it looks." 
It was a bad as it looked. And worse. 
I don't think it's a good sign when sea water comes out of the battery compartment, and the memory card compartment, and through the shutter when detaching the lens (which itself has drops of sea water between the two main elements...) 
And then there was the red light that came on. A red light that I never seen, just beside the Olympus logo at the front. A red light that shone for 2 seconds, and then died a sudden death. Like the rest of my much adored Olympus. It reminded of that scene in Terminator when the last red spark goes off in the robot's eye. Except that that shaggin robot was obsessed with annihilating the human race. While my little Olympus wanted nothing more than to lovingly record the human race, as it teeters on the brink of extinction. 
I was like little Cordula's little lamb. I didn't utter a sound. I just cried softly, on the inside.  

The extra? The extra is the very last photo taken with my much adored but now defunct Olympus E-M1 mkii