Mourinho must be sacked.
Unfortunately.

Nada te turbe.

Mercy and truth have met together, righteousness and peace have kissed each other.

OK, some progress. I’ve now worked out how to do black and white. Still can’t work out how to get the red emphasis though. But I like this result.

(UPDATE – I’ve now found the sunset setting. One of those things that was too obvious to be seen…)

Getting there.

I’ve been indulging myself hugely in photos these last few days. The light has been remarkable; I hope some of that has come across.

And he’ll take you down to Vaudeville Valley, with his hand up smothering your screams
And he’ll screw you down in Tin Pan Alley, in the city of a billion dreams

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

(Dylan Thomas. I have often worked in the room he worked in. One day a little of the fairy dust might rub off…)