I arrived in
the early hours to photograph some extremely filthy, but mightily proud,
villagers and the half-dozen chicks that had actually survived.
I swung into
action, photographed the villagers using my brand new all-singing all-dancing
flashgun; the very latest in flash technology.
Then I came to
photograph the chicks, placed in a lovingly prepared straw lined cardboard box.
I leaned over the box, focused on one of the little balls of yellow fluff and
pressed the button. BANG! When I reopened my eyes all I could see through the
viewfinder was a mess of blood, yellow fur and glittering glass; my flash had
I stepped away
from the box and one by one the villagers filed past like mourners at a
funeral, peered into the box and then at me.
Now I have
never seen a lynch mob, but Ive got a damned good idea of what it would
look like and it was looking at me.
the story, literally, and wasted all their night long effort it seemed like a
good time to leave
and I did with mumbled apologies and much
been back to that village since, but I have it on good authority that their Guy
Fawkes looks suspiciously like me