You can see one, in the middle, his flash has just gone off and is about to go off again.
When people used film, I lived a few steps behind this shot, and used to wonder what happened when they returned to Kyoto, Des Moines or Tonbridge and dropped by the developers to pick up thirty-six pictures of the bright blades of Palace Green with a creamy blob in the background. Were they disappointed? Bewildered? Were they all first time photographers, or was it a family joke, ‘Hey, it’s time for Dad’s grass pictures again!’
I liked to imagine they invited friends round to share their tour of famous English foregrounds. A custom lost, now cameras are cleverer than people.
Or just maybe the grass photographers know something about this patch of turf, maybe they look across at those of us snapping the Cathedral and think, ‘Why are those suckers taking pictures of that old pile of stones, don’t they know what they are missing? Just wait ‘til the Des Moines Green and Lawn Society get an eyeful of this.’
Time is a temperamental mistress. She can increase your pain, or obliviate your joy.
It's very strange what one comes across in antique shops. Somehow there exists more creative freedom in the combination of weird old stuff than any novelty I can think of.