M'colleague at work bats, shall we say, for the other side. Put simply, he's an art director. And as such he receives a regular deluge of mail from photographers eager to show off their latest picture of a scuffed training shoe.
Most of the work speaks for itself, you either like it and file it away or bin it. There is no middle ground, it's a ruthless world.
One such piece of mail came the other day.
And this one had words attached.
Long words. That had been cobbled together in some strange blasphemy of a sentence which failed to make any sense at all.
So I cut the words out and assembled them into a vague poem.
It still didn't make the pictures any better.