Sexy Beach, Sydney

I was lying at a five star hotel's pool somewhere in Sydney, wearing my tan-through electric blue speedo listening to an iPod nano while sipping apple martinis with Darance at my side. I was pumping out a great genius playlist that had begun with Annie Lennox, Little Bird. Wearing my darkest sunglasses, I was scanning the pool area with my Canon waiting under a bright beach towel. As if the genius playlist wasn't genius enough it was playing just the right song as SHE walked in wearing a wet t-shirt, harboring some sugar cubes. She was wet, hot and dripping all over and all I could think was exactly what Akon was saying:

The way, that booty movin' - I can't take no more
Have to stop what I'm doin', so I can pull up close
I'm tryinna find the words to describe this girl without being disrespectful

Damn Girl!!!

Damn, you's sexy beach, a sexy beach!
Damn, you's sexy beach!

Damn Girl!!!

Damn, you's sexy beach, a sexy beach!
Damn, you's sexy beach!

Damn Girl!!!

So I flipped the Canon from beneath my towel, extended my zoom and started shooting.

On the Street…All My Fingers Again

I just take too many photographs of people and don't use my hands anymore! I've recently been clicking Darance's eye during the night mistaking it for my DSLR shutter button.
So I found one of my photographs, got some magazines out and with some magic-tape and scissors started on an old-school collage.
I felt so alive using all my fingers again.

PS click on the photo for a more detailed image.

The Lobal Gent Man or The Sainthood of Darance

It's difficult enough shooting really-really-good-looking-people without them also being your full-time lover and part-time friend.
Poor poor Darance just couldn't click the shutter button without me checking the composure, light levels and my hair in the mirror, over and over again. I kept on saying, are you sure you don't just want me to take the photograph myself, really love, it might just be easier and most likely faster, but Darance persisted.
It really didn't help much either with my 19th century royal-wax collar that began to melt in the Milan heat towards the end of the shoot.

Sorry D,
next time a self-pic on my BB might just be the best compromise.
xxx