Danger Man

As all intrepid photographers know, sometimes you have to risk your life to get the shot.  And, as all idiots know, sometimes you risk your life inadvertently, and fail to get the shot into the bargain.

I was sitting on the downstairs loo, absently contemplating the familiar scene in front of me, when I was struck by the way the light was falling onto a parchment lampshade.  It looked like a little group of spectral figures, a cluster of Lowry-esque spirit folk.  Nice!

Now, a lot of photography boils down to being bothered (I nearly wrote being arsed, but it seemed inappropriate). You see a potential picture, and the good photographer slams on the brakes, jumps off the bus, shouts "Stop!" or "Hold it like that, but lose the octopus!" -- whatever is necessary to get in front of the potential picture.  Having a camera with you is pretty useful, too, and saves a lot of misunderstanding. In this case, it was merely a case of abandoning the original project, pulling up my trousers, and fetching a camera from another room.

Now, the only problem with this potential picture was the lightbulb sticking out of the lamp.  It was one of those energy-saving fluorescent bulbs, which I find aesthetically unpleasing, like something twisted out of a balloon by a drunk at a children's party.  So, I unscrewed it, and tried various angles to get the Lowry spirits into a pleasing composition and focus -- not easy, with your hands inside a lampshade.

Anyway, once I'd finished, I started to screw the bulb back in, only to have it break in my hand.

Uh oh!  Something about the mercury content of energy-saving bulbs pinged to the front of my mind, and I immediately carried it to the kitchen bin, dropped it into a foil takeaway carton sitting handily on top of the rubbish, folded it over, and washed my hands.  I then hoovered the floor, just in case any bits had fallen down.  Your man in a crisis!

Just to be safe, I thought I'd look up "dealing with broken energy-saving lightbulbs" on the Web.

Now, I don't know about you, but whenever I read the words "Evacuate the room", my concern level goes from "mild" to "elevated".  Although I hadn't actually put the bulb up a nostril and inhaled, I'd pretty much broken every other safety guideline.  It was then just a question of whether to call an ambulance, the fire service, the police, or simply to get some perspective.

I decided to do the latter, and I'm glad to say I'm still here, a day later.  I did resist the temptation to look up the symptoms of mercury poisoning, though, as I knew from past experience I would immediately begin to experience them.

But, don't panic, my friends.  According to the sanest advice I read, you would have to break about five bulbs in a confined, unventilated space to experience any problems.  So, take my advice and don't practise your juggling with low-energy lightbulbs whilst sitting on the loo.  Do it in the garden and you'll be fine!

N.B. on reflection, photographically, what I should have done was use a longer lens, and resume my original seated position.  All possible cracks about "bog-standard photography" have already been made.