It was a will she, won’t she kind of morning as I weighed up my desire to carry on our Black Country canal challenge walk with Hamish the Springer against the steadily rising temperature on my weather app. I’m not built for the heat and, wearing a permanent fur coat, Hamish certainly isn’t either.

With my non-working day swapped to Friday, the world – or more accurately, the Black Country – was my oyster. Where to goo?

A couple of weeks earlier I’d spotted a free mindful photography workshop run by Dudley Adult and Community Learning taking place at Dudley Canal Trust, which is helpfully and strategically positioned dahn the cut. After chatting to a very nice Black Country mon, Jack, he’d reassured me I didn’t need to attend both sessions to join in. Typical me, though – I’d started a text to say I was coming, then completely forgotten to press send.

What the hell? I thought. I’ll just goo dahn the cut and see if they’ll let me join in. If they didn’t, at least I’d have a funny story about being chucked out of a mindful photography workshop. Me? Overdramatic? Never.

I regaled Louise, the course leader, with this tale when I arrived. As it turned out, I was the only one there at that point, so chucking me out was definitely off the agenda.

Once everyone had arrived, we started by exploring the building, looking for reflections, patterns and leading lines. It was fascinating, but I’m a wench who needs to be by the water, so I was chomping at the bit to get down to the towpath and see the ducks.

Once outside, we all wandered off in our own directions, phones in hand, occasionally regrouping to admire an interesting reflection, compare patterns or simply comment on how bloody hot it was.

It was a lovely way to slow down. Instead of rushing to the next lock or bridge, we really looked. Things I’d probably walked past dozens of times suddenly became photographs waiting to happen.

Back indoors, where the air conditioning transformed us from Sweaty Betty to Vanilla Ice, it was time for show and tell. It was brilliant seeing how differently we’d all interpreted the same place. The same wall, the same water, the same boats – yet every image told a different story.

I’m usually quite a solitary canal botherer and photographer, so it was bostin to spend a couple of hours with a small group of lovely people who all just wanted to tek some piccies dahn tha cut.

To round off the session, one of the participants, who is studying for a Masters in Mindfulness, asked if she could guide us through a short three-minute mindfulness exercise. After spending two hours focusing our eyes on seeing, we closed them instead, concentrating on our breathing and simply being in the moment.

It felt like the perfect ending.

As I floated out of the main door, across the car park and along the Birmingham New Road in my trusty – if slightly rusty – chariot, I realised how important it is to do something purely because it brings you joy.

I could have gone up Brierley Hill Market for fruit and veg. I should probably have been dusting. There was definitely a mountain of washing waiting for me at home.

Instead, I’d followed a whim.

I’d spent a couple of hours doing something that is completely mine – something I love and something that feels deeply connected to who I am. And somewhere between the reflections on the water, the quiet conversations, the click of a camera shutter and three minutes of stillness, I found myself completely…

Lost in the moment.

The dust is still there. We’ve still got no fruit and veg in the house. I nearly tripped over the washing basket when I got home.

But who cares?

I’m a mindful photographer now, bab.

And when there are mindful moments waiting to be found dahn the cut, that’s exactly where you’ll find me too.