The damp greyness of this morning precluded any plans that I had for photography, not through a lack of light but through a lack of volition. I couldn’t be arsed. I thought that a highly spiced kick in the butt might get me motivated which thought invited the wicked Mr.Chilli into my stream of consciousness. Once in, he can only be removed by the administering of chillied heat. My head was filled, like a rattling cocktail shaker, with the litany of ingredients for a fiery Bloody Mary. Each exacting ingredient fell into place until I came to Mary and Mary, being vodka, was missing. There was no Mary in the house, I was bereft of Mary. Mr. Chilli was unmoved, instead he guided my hand into a dark corner of a cupboard and closed my fingers around the neck of Maria, el Fino. Dry sherry makes a wonderful Bloody Maria, a fact I learnt on the rooftop bar of the Castellana Hilton in Madrid, during a misspent youth – in fact whilst working on a Nescafe advertising shoot for a Japanese agency. That particular shoot involved taking pictures of the sun rising in each of several locations around Europe. My plan was to party through the night so that I would be there when the sun came out to play. It was a bad plan as I usually fell down as the sun came up, thus the introduction to the reviving Bloody Maria. This morning was not a moment like that as I would still be waiting for a glimpse of the glowing orb through the dense cloud and rain. This morning was just a moment when chilli was aposite to my mood and Mr.Chilli came a-calling.