It started with a wardrobe clear-out. Before I even thought about sorting through any clothes, I first had to conquer the ever-growing mountain of boxes and folders that teetered threateningly every time I opened the wardrobe door. On closer inspection, most of it was rubbish. Old magazines, empty cardboard boxes and bags of long-forgotten solo gloves. A few old bank statements, which were swiftly shredded without further investigation. Then, deeper still, packs of photos.


I love finding old photos. There’s something about opening the folder without having any idea what you’re going to find; the action of pulling them to the front one at a time, flipping past the numerous out-of-focus brown splodges to get to an actual picture of an actual person. Swiping through images on a phone screen will just never be the same.


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