If you are lucky enough to start an addiction immersed in the sea, looking up to the clear blue sky – please don’t complain.

You know that there are addictions that start in the dark, the cold… and let me not get carried away. So you were too lazy to swim and just pretended to and looked up and there it was, a flying miracle a metal container of human flesh, seemingly too small to hold 1, let alone 100 people (or who knows how many), mostly holiday goers, and 1 with a life changing decision in their suitcase on average, people who spend two hours getting from A to B and a silent little person, a hobbit if you want to reflect on how small we are compared to fate, a someone who decided not just to talk about it, but immerse themselves in that relatively unknown thing called N W E – not necessarily in that order.

An aeroplane! An aeroplane in the sky! And you – a prisoner on that island where you only had to see a travel agent to set you free – you with your wingless existence among people who you imagine don’t even look up – slowly got hooked to staring at flying objects, identified, registered and, commercially speaking, sensibly taking people from what they think is A to what they imagine is B.

And you stare so much that when your fate takes you away from that place you can’t help but stare even more. And then you sort yourself out – sitting inside those identified flying objects often enough – and start going back and forth, visiting your former cage and spending even more on leaving so you can return – so you sort yourself out by not sorting yourself out when you realise that anyway – the anyway part is so good that you hang on to it for a while, but then you need to finish the sentence...

Anyway, you end up having those so called aeroplanes permanently in your life and then there comes the question.

In the following form.

You enjoy them. They make you feel real, a totally 100 % living being. You feel how empty you’d be under an airplane-less sky, and when it’s overcast for weeks you gather evidence that you were right, those little flying arrows or (flying cocks!!! that’s what they look like. sorry) make a huge difference, and you start focussing on them.

 And that’s how you arrive in Airport Town, where they have an Airport and you can pretend your own little interest lacks all vested interest. And this is how you go about it. You take pictures. Of that magic moment where earth is past and sky is present. Not that you have the right equipment, or patience. So your photos are supposedly better and better, more and more concentrating on that moment where earth says goodbye and lets the sky do the hello, welcome to the sky bit. And so the more you photograph them, the more you’re supposed to immerse yourself in that almost moment, in that huge airplane instance, in that landing lights on, wheels out,  touching the ground moment, or the opposite, that let me take you to a far away place for your money bit.

But, better face it, you’re still nowhere near it. Your eyes register huge airplanes and tiny ones, because you still believe in huge and tiny, you take some pictures you instantly erase, then some you try to fix, then some that show you’re almost almost there – but do you think you’ll ever really get to the almost bit? Do you think you’ll ever photograph the very moment where earth and sky say their goodbyes, their hellos?

And if not – do you see how your research turns into ridicule?

The other day I tried again. The planes did their take off bit and me the clicking. A rabbit ran across the pub garden. How cute. And equally unphotographably fast.