Tonight, I am heading up the Shard:

The tallest building in Europe, and I’m all excited to get to take photos of what promises to be a fantastic view. The BBC is even telling me that visibility will be “good” this evening. Whatever that means.

I’m imagining myself rocking up with a backpack full of gear, pulling out my tripod, and … what’s that, Terms and Conditions of entry?

We regret that tripods and monopods are not permitted onsite.

Well, damn. I’m not sure that I believe that word “regret” at the start. I mean, if this decision was something you regret, you could change it. You know. If, as the policy maker, it makes you sad.

Wait, what’s that, Terms and Conditions of entry?

Large items, including bags, bicycles or large photographic equipment may be prohibited from being taken to The View. Such items cannot be left within the premises of The View.

So now the puzzle emerges. I need a bag that’s big enough for both my laptop and my camera — I’m going straight from work, so my laptop will be with me. But the bag cannot be sufficiently large that I’m on the wrong side of vaguely worded “large items”. And the terms and conditions clearly have a concern that somebody is going to take a nice picture from the top of the Shard, so I must minimize my kit footprint.

I have to take my camera body, and a lens (12-24 mm, I’m thinking). Do I take anything else? Do I risk confiscation of my Gorillapod? Do I fill up my bag with additional kit until it is full, while being short of bulging?

Ah, dilemmas.

You’ll know if I got it wrong, though. Because I’ll be writing all about how I got kicked out of the Shard for taking photos, rather than posting photos from the top of the Shard.

See you tomorrow!

Poor bokeh.

(This looks better in Flickr’s lightbox, folks.)

In the box.

I was looking through some older photos that had never been uploaded to the Internet, and came across this one:

You can see it larger on Flickr.

That’s a photo of Karen’s hands on our friend Josie’s belly. It is February 2010. We are in Canada, staying in a spare “guest” apartment in the building where Josie owns a condo.

Karen is pregnant, but we haven’t told anybody yet. She will spend the entire trip with “morning sickness” that lasts all day, every day, justifying our decision not to actually stay with any friends or family.

Josie is also pregnant; everybody knows this — she is well beyond any thoughts of hiding it. It will be exactly one month before she gives birth.

This is our last time in Canada as non-parents.

The photo was taken nearly three years ago, but it’s very easy to remember. It was in the midst of the Vancouver Olympics, and we were at a restaurant/bar to watch the the hockey semifinals with friends.

A month earlier, we had been in Sofia, Bulgaria. I had to spend a month there for work, and Karen had joined me for the first two weeks. We realised that she was most likely pregnant near the end of our first week there. She went to the doctor’s on returning to London, and called me to tell me that yes, she was definitely pregnant. I was standing on a subway platform in Sofia at the time.

Now we were in Toronto. Spending time with an old friend who was also expectant. We touched the belly. I would get quite accustomed to putting my hands on a pregnant belly, later that year.

Canada won the hockey game. I do not remember a minute of it, though I know I watched intently and cheered. Other friends were there, too.

But I remember this moment. I don’t even need the photo.