Some things thrive on neglect; my black boy peach tree for example (does anyone need jam, sauce, chutney, etc?). Other things need regular use to keep them ticking over; cars, coffee machines (I tell myself that anyway), my jogging.
Sadly, in true consumerist style, I have hoarded cameras and have not loved them all equally. Diana Mini (that's her up there, getting sniffed by a $2 Cow Mini) was a brilliant bit of kit: she was fun, temperamental, emotive, and I used her for work and play. She created some brilliant mood/vibe shots for Under the Red Verandah (pre-quake even, collectors items?), she came on assignment to Wellington with me and got splashed by the Cuba Street fountain, and she single handedly chewed through the stash of 35mm film I was harbouring in my fridge like a jar of Speculoos you can't quite bring yourself to finish.
What's more, her extremely difficult aspect ratio meant getting my pictures printed in little diptychs, so I had to remember what my last frame was and what I might shoot next to pair up with it. She was quite the character and I was looking forward to rekindling my friendship with her....
Until I discovered her tiny, chintzy, almost joke-like shutter had seized half open. On closer inspection I noticed moisture in the works, as if she'd either sweated too much during our last encounter, or cried in the interim due to neglect. Either way, she was done.
Mournfully, I shortened her strap and added her to the toy box. I only hope 35mm film is still around by the time my daughter is old enough for me to explain it to her.