Channelled from Ino


I leaned upwards at a slanting angle, a bent lamp-post or Tower of Pisa angle, in order to photograph the chimney pots. They had been preserved from Victorian times, including the grime and soot on the outside.

A smudge effect on my camera would accentuate the soot, and a clarity adjustment would outline the sharpness of the largest chimney, thrusting into the sky. Pigeons love to lean against it, rubbing their wings against the soot and taking a little of it away on their feathers.

I looked through the viewfinder and magnified my chosen chimney till it dwarfed the others, widening out into a cavern that became a shaft- and fell into the laundry of the block of flats below.

Soot on the clean clothes would be a catastrophe, so the chimney is sealed at the point where it penetrates the room. I don’t want to photograph the laundry, and I can’t see it from this angle anyway, not even through binoculars or the viewfinder.

I’ll focus on the chimney and pretend it is still Victorian times, and the roof still covers a houseful of people in black suits and long crinoline dresses, who look up as they hear the click. But they see no flash, as it is a modern camera which does not have one. So no lightning in their Victorian world- only a click of thunder, as the camera travels in time to take their picture.