The hole I refer to is part of this performance. Where I slip imperceptibly down the happiness ladder as I await someone [not here on the island I might add] to get themselves into gear and get 'stuff' done. You can see what sort of state I am in using colour and everything - albeit dipped in used sheep-dip or something, hence the marks. And it's been in a Holga too. Eh? Have I lost it? Probably.
That's dearest Eve who crept into the shot to ensure I didn't take a landscape. Eve looks after me properly you see.
These are sheeps. That's what they look like. Well, the white woolie backs anyway. We were on a little stroll at the end of the village. This is where we live. The sun is shining now too - as it was then. But it is very cold. Even Her Highness Henrietta Cartier Bresson [the cat] prefers to sit in front of the fire.
Apologies, I shall lie down now if you don't mind.