This time last year, my co-conspirator Matt and I took a decidedly unplanned weekend to photograph the Brecon Beacons. One cheap Airbnb and a somewhat circuitous route to the heartlands of Wales and we were marching up Pen-y-Fan,
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I live in perpetual fear that one day EasyJet will weigh my hand luggage and throw my gear in the hold, only to be returned in tiny fragments and a bill for the privilege.
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The beach. A place where calmness strolls hand in hand with tranquillity for a leisurely exercise in relaxation. Unless you're carrying around a bag of delicate glass and sensitive electronics whilst the wind is pelting you with miniature rocks covered in salt water. In which case, it's a bloody nightmare.
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