Less than 20 minutes ago, we were on the landing coming down the stairs at the big Cineworld on Fulham Road (all of London, by the way, is a ghost town: even Shoreditch is pretty quiet, but that cinema was absolutely packed). I saw a girl with great style - small, with wonderfully Botticelli curly hair, in light pink I think - she & her friends were on their way up as we were on our way down, having just seen Sherlock Holmes.
I asked her, 'Did I shoot you at London Fashion Week?' Apparently I did. She'd lost the card, I hadn't asked her name, and I had simply called the post 'lace'. Her name, it turns out, is Grace.
As we drove home, I was thinking about images I've seen the past few days over Christmas: snow, in Herefordshire, perhaps the first time I've ever seen it there: I mean, magically covering everything, the village, the countryside, the ancient gravestones on the church on top of the hill.. the light coming in during Christmas service, reflecting on the gold and brass.. a girl in the ladies' room of one of the pubs Christmas Eve, with great little black booties and a kind of sparkly Christmas wreath brooch on her coat.. all these images that I did not photograph. Just memories.
Sometimes the most beautiful images are the ones we can't share. But perhaps they're more vivid that way.