I was over at RR’s flat helping out with a few things, including an open freezer door. TPR came along for the ride with his guitar and a couple of amps.
It was our last day before heading off on holiday and I suddenly realised that I needed to wash the pair of jeans that I was wearing. I asked RR if I could put them in his machine. He was happy with this, and suggested that I do a full load. I understood why: his washing basket was overflowing.
The next day we were on a black sand beach in the far north. It was a very grey day and everything was in monochrome, including the pack of greyhounds that ran down to the shore and the herd of elephants across the bay.
TPR noticed something floating in the water and swam in fully clothed (because it was cold) to fetch it. The mysterious object was a dead dog wrapped in a carpet off-cut.
Although TPR survived his dip in the icy sea, the camera around his neck did not. How were we going to tell RR that £100,000 worth of his personal photography equipment had been ruined?