touched and untouched

Today, as almost all my days these days, was the most extraordinary, surreal day: I was at Comptoir in South Ken, met a dear friend in the late morning, ate a yummy bowl of soup, read my book, ate some baklava and drank mint tea, met a great photographer named Suki who was sent by the Observer to shoot me for a piece in the New Review.

She wanted to move a few feet up - 'there'. So we did. Once we got 'there' I saw someone I wanted to street shoot: shiny silver shoes in the sunlight, red plaid trousers. Suddenly it was all happening at once: Suki was greeting her friend Dvora, who has a blog called Fashionistable. We were introduced at fashion week in September, but we hadn't really had a chance to get to know each other. So on this cold day, after my shoot, we sat down at Paul with hot chocolate and coffee and discovered that when it comes to how we feel about streetstyle, photography, and life in general, we were essentially separated at birth.

She was also telling me that altho - like me - she loves to work on photos in Photoshop, that our mutual friend David Nyanzi doesn't TOUCH his photos! So I clicked on one shot - randomly - from last September's Mark Fast show. And decided not to even touch the colour balance. Just to set a challenge for myself, see if I can post a shot untouched.

Extremely touched by your kindness, your words of condolence: each one genuine, heartfelt. I am so lucky, so fortunate, to know you all. And tonight, my husband happened to flip the tv channels and start watching a show on the British Olympics in 1946. I heard a familiar voice. There was our Major Bobby: alive on television, laughing his delightful laugh, and talking about rowing for the Olympics, and how fortunate we all were.