Mozart’s Requiem is a remarkably intimate work. I’ve always thought so, always felt the benefit of its modest intensity. An unwavering promise is built into its musical foundations that gives it a strangely restorative quality.
The camera on the iPhone 7 Plus churns out some delightfully high quality images. I’m not entirely convinced about the depth of field function built into the software (the Panasonic Lumix is a far less contrived interpretation), but the pictures are sharp, it handles low light pretty well, and at the age of 44 I still can make myself look slim.
It’s an interesting process trying to write every day for a year. It seems I’m not as committed to the regular routine as I thought I could be. There have been a few occasions since I last wrote when I’ve thought to myself: I’ll pass tonight. No one cares really. No one will miss it. Those moments have been a little like the one I had this morning sat on Hither Green Station platform staring at my shoe through the glass of my new phone.