You could say that I’ve always liked taking photos. When I was younger I somehow managed to get my grubby mitts on one of my dad’s cameras. It was one of those old school ones that were wide and thin and didn’t have a wind function, rather a slide to move the negative on.

So I went about taking a whole roll of film of nothing but the carpet. Snap snap snap until it was all used up. Dad couldn’t figure out what I’d taken photos of and I insisted that I hadn’t taken any…

Going with him to drop the film off to get developed was the longest, most agonising trip ever. I held onto some hope that the film wouldn’t reveal the fact that it was in fact I who had used up the film. (Being the oldest child by four years sure has its disadvantages when you’re trying to scam your way out of something when you’re six.)

Once they were printed I remember my dad and the photo guy looking at prints trying to figure out what the swirls of brown in the photo could possibly be.

Such a naughty child.