Nothing to write home about

Last weekend, I took my final trip to the Kroller Muller museum. Dumbfunk and keksofant came along with us. We ate pancakes, rode on the free white bikes you can pick up at the gates to the Hoge Veluwe, whizzing along in the dappled sunshine. And when we found the sculpture garden we got out our cameras and spent a few hours wandering the extensive ground and snapping away.

The Hoge Veluwe is one of the few areas of natural landscape in the Netherlands. The sculpture garden in the heart of the park, set in more of those dappled woodlands we’d been riding through, contains works by some of the finest sculptors in the world. There’s a Hepworth and Moore, even a Rodin.

Somehow among all that beauty, it was hard to get the right shot, but we enjoyed ourselves, strolling and chatting, laughing and snapping. The grounds are so big there are signposts to lead you to the pieces hidden deeper in the woods.

One sign caught our eye: “jardin d’émail”.

The email garden.

I should have remembered one of the most extraordinary pieces in the place, the hidden gem that you always seem to stumble upon at the end of the visit. But instead as we joked about what it could be I imagined a quiet lawned garden, equipped with benches and tables, with solar power points and wifi.

At a time when I am beginning to wonder what life will be like in June. In our move to England, and the temporary accommodation we’ll be in for the first few months, I only have a couple of requirements. A kitchen so we can cook. And an internet connection so I can work. And with this warm spring weather, the idea of an email garden, a tranquil place with wifi is my idea of heaven.

Then I remembered what the email garden really was. Émail is a French word meaning enamel. I kept quiet, so as not to spoil the surprise for the others, but then I knew it would make the perfect spot for my self portrait of the week.

And even though Dumbfunk didn’t have any sunglasses and we were standing on a huge reflective white surface he valiantly stood guard over Vlad, protecting it against the excited kids who scampered around. Keksofant made the perfect body double as I set up my shot.

There was a moment of calm when I took the portrait - everything seem to go quiet and still. I’m sure it didn’t really, but I experienced it like that, in the split second before the shutter snapped and a child scampered in front of the camera. Life goes on around me, as I prepare to leave. But there is something still and quiet at the centre - a sense that this is absolutely the right moment.

If you look closely you can see a scampering child, closer still and you can see the moment in my smile.