We all come in one at a time, nervous, clutching at folders and laptops — this is our first critique. It's the Autumn of 2011 and a collection of students, myself among them, sit in a tutorial room in the London College of Communication. We are about to embark on a part-time MA in Photography.

I was surprised to learn that the colour pink was considered a masculine shade in English society a century or more ago.

My daughter tells me to get to the bus-stop ten minutes early. The bus-stop is less than a minute walk from our house. If the bus arrives early it never waits. If you’re early, the bus will be late. Ahhh…c’est la vie.

Last year, we took a big three-week trip to Europe to visit family and friends. We spent a few days in Scotland, more days in England and then ten more days in Italy, where we'd all wanted to visit for a long time — us and everyone else in the world.

It's warm. The sun casts short, deep shadows in the crisp sand and a thick white foam is gathering on the beach.

I've been in a tussle this past week with the weather, the lawn and my distracted self. The weather, I can't control. It's rained and rained, then rained some more. But this is the Pacific Northwest, known for its temperate rainforest — it's only to be expected.