Back at Canary Wharf again, my new second home. It's approaching that time of the day when the sun is slipping from the sky and the golden tones emanating from behind the buildings. I'm itching to get my camera but we have a tight schedule and have to hotfoot it from one client to another. As we approach the sun is a fiery orange ball exploding through a gap between buildings, it's so tantalising, and I so what to point my camera in that direction. So torn, so little time but I am clutching my iPhone. I need more time and I want to grab my camera out of my bag it I’ll have to compromise with the phone camera.
A swift shimmy to the reception to discover my next appointment would like to put back our meeting by fifteen minutes. Result! But then as we now have “all the time in the world” the receptionist slowly makes our badges whilst I'm surreptitiously trying to see if the sunset is still happening. Badges made we’re asked to take a seat and I figure I could just run across the road and catch the last few rays if I'm sharpish. I leave my bags with V and do that that but, noooooo, my battery is flat arghh! Back across the road again, through the revolving door I grab a spare charged battery from my handbag and hurtle across the road again but there's very little left. There's a deep terracotta line on the horizon, which is quite pleasing but maybe ten minutes earlier it would have been spectacular. It seems I can never get my fill of a good sunset, I don't think I suffer from SAD (bring a Northerner we’ve been acclimatised to sun deprivation) but I feel recharged by those pinky purples, orangey reds and the golden yellowy ochres streaked across the bruising sky, manna for my occasionally black soul. My name is J and I'm a sunset-aholic!
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