Nineteen photographs, two continents, an unreasonable quantity of ice cream, and one Labrador who arrived five minutes ago and behaves as though he built the house.
Three generations, two cameras, and a boy who had recently decided he was a photographer.
The ordinary end of the collection, which is the part that adds up.
Holds each composition together without appearing to try. Consistently the one crouching to someone else's eye level — documented across nineteen works and two continents.
Camera round the neck, ice cream in hand, mid-sentence in roughly half of these. Ages visibly from photo to photo, which is the only thing here that isn't funny.
Labrador. Pale, unbothered, named by committee. Currently claims the exact centre of the bed and is prepared to defend the position.
Everything else in the house is just furniture.