Tales of the city

I don’t often go to Chelsea. It’s not that I don’t want to go to Chelsea just that I have no particular reason to be there. Still, the other day I found myself in SW3 with time to kill and so I fused two of my favourite things into one happy hour of idleness: photography and boris bikes.

Not all of the photos are back from the processors yet but this is one from the first film I shot – XP2 rushed through in an hour by a branch of Boots who still do that sort thing. It’s of Sumner Place, which isn’t as lovely as many of the streets in that part of the world but no doubt I would have to sell several kidneys to afford to live there. As you can see, Sumner Place has a cycle hire station and as you can see someone has lost their keys. Or possibly hasn’t and is trying to entice wouldbe good knights to their doom (I may make this twist a key feature of my first major thriller).

It’s a simple photo and it’s been hurriedly processed. The monochrome has a tinge that post processing isn’t removing. And yet I like it. In fact, it’s one of my favourites of my own stuff. But then I do have perilously low standards. I like the mixture of lost keys and hoped-for honesty, coupled with a silver Merc in the background; I like that it reminds me of aimless wandering in a new part of town. And I like that when I passed by a week later the note was still there – the keys presumably unreturned but the sign still holding out hope that some time an honest man would walk down that not so mean street and remember he has some keys that aren’t his own. Cos that happens. All the time. Even in Chelsea.

Should you still be awake after all that waffle you can see this smiley faced request large here.


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