When I went home for Christmas my Father dragged out an old camera of his. Apparently he used to have lots of fun habits including rally driving, motorbiking, and using hip leather-bound cameras. Brilliant coincidence.

I’ve never really used analogue and the camera’s got a separate light-meter which was lovely but prompted two pages of badly written notes in case I forgot everything the minute I took it out by myself. I’ve now progressing to the photo-taking speed of a bumbling tourist, which is progress. I left the flashgun and bulbs at home, because they’re fuzzy magnesium one-use-only and I don’t trust myself with analogue. My only previous experiences of it include watching my Father hide inside a heavy velvet curtain to change film. I always looked at film pots with some sort of awe.

But it’s lots of fun, and I’m very proud of the camera in a strange way. Although it occurs to me that I have to take the film out at some point.