Monday, February 23, 2009
I am the fourth person to arrive, I give everyone a cheery "good morning" but am met with silence. Oh well, nothing has changed. Gradually, Channel 9 arrives, various photographers with enormous lens I lust after come and begin to check their apertures, shooting off the odd image for practise. Some rehearse a pan move, others just joke and chat with each other. I stride the flowerbeds, I am above, and behind, exactly where I want to be.
Taxis arrive, men who should be slimmer get out, eventually; I am a little stressed, hurry up, get out of the way, will I get my shot, and then another cab arrives. This takes ages to leave, and finally Channel 10 erect their aerial to transmit the live images.
'Here she is!' the cry goes up.
A huddle, jostling, all decorum out the window.
I shoot and forget to turn on my video, even though I have the wretched phone held up. *click, *click *click.
She doesn't wind the window down, unlike Beattie, who did.
Turning quickly I shoot from behind, getting the scrum and the two receeding cars driving up the driveway. I am striding towards my car and on the way home as they are still checking their images. All good.