Dacha with Lady Friends.

Some time in June my cousin invited me to join her and her friends at N’s summer house. There will be ice-cream, she said.

Well. That’s all I needed to know. ’twas a lovely Saturday morning when we bought enough food to sustain a small army, loaded it into Jarvis, picked up N and her cousin, and drove to our designated location. There we ate, and talked, and drank, and listened to terrible ’90s Russian pop (which I love, mind you), and played trivia games, and were merry.

Whenever I’m at some get-together, I take very little photographs. Which deeply perpetuates the idea that I don’t really go out. And while I’m more reclusive than anyone I know, sometimes I do crawl out of the house in the company of other people. It’s just that I never document it. Rarely ever people behave naturally in front of the camera. Behaviour changes so much whenever I take one out, it’s uncanny. Most people lock down, others begin to act out (frankly, I don’t know which is better – I guess it depends on the person), and rarely ever someone stays as they were. For me, it ruins the mood instantly.

So even if I haul my camera with me, I rarely ever whip it out.

This time was no exception. Only when there was a lull in conversation and people started literally falling asleep from all the food and the drink and the fresh air and sun did I step quietly away to take some pictures of N’s garden.

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Eventually this will grow and cover the entire terrace, which will make it even cooler than it is now. Natural climate control. I love these things.

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