FALLING SOMEWHERE AS RAIN

It’s late November, Winter is fast approaching and the first frosts have begun to settle on the land. On days like this, when the days are short and the nights interminable, it’s good to have a small window on another day, bright and hopeful. Memory can be fugitive, the mind unconsciously editing perception to present a desired outcome, to camouflage the unpleasant or to accentuate a fleeting moment. This is why I love photography, as it provides me with a comprehensive visual diary, to compliment my own record of the days. I am often criticised for constantly taking photographs - mostly with my phone - and often of apparently senseless or meaningless scenes. My argument - often unvocalised, is that I can capture things in passing that would ordinarily go unnoticed, especially on a car or train journey. But for every 10 or 20 shots I take, I may get 1 good one, or at least a shot which encapsulates a sense of the moment. I will use a variety of different camera apps to capture the shot...

 A few years after my parents passed away, I was sorting out some old photographs. Historically, we had always had about four large albums, which held all the family photos dating back to about 1960. Prior to this, camera's were not something my family were able to afford, as far as I could tell and the ones we did have were something of a precious novelty. Having two sisters, the albums were divided up between us and the one I had contained mostly photographs of my own childhood, which was an idyllic time and leafing through the snaps, could quickly transport me back to that wonderful era. Most of the photographs, I was familiar with and recalled almost every instance of the shot being taken, but amongst them all, I came across a small square print of me and my dad, standing ankle deep in the sea at what I reasoned must be West Kirby beach on the Wirral.  Seeing it, I wept openly - something I had struggled to do properly at the time of my fathers death, or later - but someth...