WPC: trio


Every week another challenge. Yay! And on with it: trio. Trio?

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“Three times,” a rummy old breath murmurs into my ear (The Sage—I thought he’d long since reincarnated somewhere …) “will confirm any issue. Hic!” semper vigilans

Yeah, right. Where were we? Oh yes, trio. According to Mac’s dictionary (screen-shotted above) trio means three of. Oh goody. Here, have yourself a nice mythological doggy—

I use this cute wee fellow in the office of a logo, or caveat, or wake-up call, or simply to add class to a boring post—feed three times a day and never turn your back; free to a good home.


Screen Shot 2015-11-22 at 13.09.37judicious tweaking (snip snip) and I reduced a small group of enthusiastic smurfs (smurves?) to a trio.

Trio is legal in the challenge so here you are; they were part of the assembling Christmas Parade that I stumbled over when transiting darkest Invercargill en route Queens Park. I was going to shoot the ducks and flowers but these made an easier target.

I like people. Really.

And I really really like them when they’re working pro bono publico and having a great time doing it; and I especially like capturing them with a camera when they’re simply being themselves (most folks are good at that). Look at the smile on Smurfette’s face there—is that catch, or what?


note, ‘they’ keep changing things in the park. All in the name of progress, economy and common sense but I guess we have to live with it. The park used to be lighted at night with lamp standards mounting three globular balls, but the globalls are gradually being replaced by the new all-singing all-dancing modern LED things—

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that I suppose charge themselves during the daylight hours and save someone a fortune doing so (got a solar panel on the top).

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I must go back there during the night some time and get some shots of both functioning for comparison purposes; and any other night-shots of opportunity.

So here y’are then, a trio of lighting balls … in the pole above. I have no idea how many LEDs make a lamp …


“Mr Argus, Sir?”

“Yes, little Ollivia?

“Sir … how many Southland electricians does it take to change a light bulb?”

(Oh no. Not this archaic old cliché—)

“Sir … it takes just three!”


“One to grip the bulb whilst the others hold him up by the feet and walk around with him to unscrew it …”





10 thoughts on “WPC: trio

  1. Ha! Nice selection, dearest Argie.
    I shall at some point return to the WPC myself at some point, should my handsome iMac ever arrive with the rest of my shipment this side of Christmas. Unfortunately my little MacBook is a poor excuse of a computer with running speeds akin to an inebriated snail nailed to a board. Exhaustingly frustrating, I tell you…

      1. Love that asnalogy (oops, think ‘snail’ whilst writing ‘analogy’ and you end up with something like asnailogy … (poor beast—would he be worshipped in years to come?)

      1. What do you call a worshiper of snails…? Snailofile, Snailist…? Or would it be latinised in true pseudo-scientific-religioso style? This is going to be bugging me all day now, I can tell…

      2. As for my shipment, thankfully it has cleared customs after it was deemed fit for further inspection (it came in a container with other shipments – not sure I could fill a whole one…). Now to wait for a delivery date (with much chomping at the bit. They already broke my piano. Let’s hope the rest of my things are still intact!)

      3. They broke your piano? Ye gods … dropped from a great height, I imagine. Wish you the very best of luck—I’d guess that insurance or other will have specific clauses to let them out of paying for repairs~?

      4. Unfortunately they dropped a crate on it, the crate incidentally within which it was meant to be shipped. Smashed my poor old piano to pieces. Insurance paid up, but it was barely sufficient to buy even half a replacement. I have since bought a replacement, but without all the memories of young children playing it attached. Oh well, c’est la vie I suppose.

      5. I have still a few things of sentimental attachment, which one day will be meaningless archaic junk. C’est la vie indeed.

        Perhaps the philosopher was right after all when he said ‘You don’t own things—they own you’.

        But loss still hurts …

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