A camera is like a baby. Or can be.

I treat my camera like a human sometimes. No, I don't speak to it or feed it (unless you count memory cards) but I do care for it and nurture it.

My camera quite regularly gets a clean. This is not to keep it in tip top shape but more to make it, and me, feel good. A loved camera is a happy camera.

And, when I leave my camera out of its case, I am always watchful and vigilant. Sudden shouts of "watch the camera" issue forth when someone nears it or worst of all, tries to sit on it.

In fact, that aforementioned scenario is NOT the "worst of all". The worst of all is when someone tries to pick it up and pretend that they have suddenly developed both a passion and a skill for the art.

Well they haven't developed anything of the sort. They don't possess the yearning for perfection, the drive and ambition and the fundamental skills for the fine business of photography.

And, if they think they want to start developing anything of the sort, they can darn well

get their own practice camera to learn on. I'm all for giving instruction, and I will happily provide it free, but lending my camera out to a mere novice is taboo and will not be entertained.

And as my camera is my baby, so each night she is packed away in a safe place away from prying eyes and straying hands.

Oh, I know nothing short of a dunk in the bath or a fall from a great height is really going to harm my camera. And I know that pressing a few buttons here and turning a gfew knobs there is never going to hurt.

But, like a father and his child, there's an instinctive protector within me.

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