There’s a window of maybe twenty minutes where a street like this works. The sky still holds blue. The sodium lamps are already on. Ten minutes later the sky goes black and you’re just shooting lamps against nothing. I got this one somewhere in the middle of that window, standing on the tram tracks at the bottom of Jaffa Road with the Holy Trinity domes sitting at the far end of the street like a full stop.

The stall had everything a photographer thinks they want. Whole crabs on crushed ice, whelks in their shells, three grades of oyster, lemon wedges cut that morning, parsley banked up like hedging. I shot the counter twice, wide, both frames from standing height. Both were mush. Too much of everything and no reason for the eye to stop anywhere. Then I bought one oyster, the vendor handed it over in a paper tray, and the picture was already made.

Everybody photographs this square. There is probably no square in Europe with a worse ratio of photos taken to photos worth keeping. I stood there anyway, with the sun sitting somewhere behind the Týn towers, and shot into it. The light was wrong. That’s the whole thing. Late afternoon, sun behind the church, every façade on that side of the square dropped into shadow while the sky stayed loud. The camera hated it.

A leopard walking straight down the middle of a dirt track, head low, eyes locked on the lens. It is the frame everyone wants and the one most people blow, because the animal is doing the one thing telephoto gear handles worst: closing distance along the axis of the lens while the light is flat and the vehicle is still rolling. Focal length is a distance problem, not a prestige problem The reflex is to buy the longest lens available.

Count the frame. Four sets of legs planted in the dirt, and most of the people standing behind them are holding their cameras in their hands anyway. Nobody is doing anything wrong. That is just what a workshop looks like in the ninety percent of the day that isn’t the shot. The tripod is the most bought and least used piece of equipment in the hobby. It gets carried because the packing list said so, and because there is a lingering sense that serious photography happens on sticks.

There are at least four different light sources in this frame and no single white balance setting is correct for any of them. The residential streets below are running on old sodium, somewhere around 2000K, which is the deep amber you see across most of the lower half. The port is lit with newer floodlights, considerably cooler and closer to neutral. Office windows are fluorescent green. And the searchlight cutting across the bay is xenon, up past 6000K, which is why it reads as blue against everything else.

Golden hour advice assumes you control the clock. Event photography doesn’t work that way. A race start goes off at noon because the organiser sold noon to a broadcaster, and you shoot the sponsor arch, the stewards and the podium hosts in whatever light is falling at that moment. In this part of the world that means a near-vertical sun, a scene brightness range around ten stops, and shadows with edges hard enough to cut on.