It was the night of my band performing a banishing ritual on a cold October night a few years back. My wife couldn't attend, and then some other people dropped out, so in the end, it was just our friend Amy who braved the cold and joined me for a pre-gig pint at a pub near the venue.
I'd driven to the photo shop the other side of town just before soundcheck, just before they closed, to pick up a roll of Portra 400, and the chap or lady behind the counter (I can't remember who it was now, though I've since got to know them a bit) took a roll out, loose in its canister, and charged me about £8 or whatever it was. I was excited to try it, as it was the first time I'd ever used Portra, having read so much online about it, and it was also the first time using my new camera, a Konica C35 AF2 I'd purchased off eBay, again after reading a few positive reviews of it online.
So as I was waiting for Amy to arrive, I quickly took the film out from the canister to shove it in the camera, when what did I find but a roll of Portra 160 instead. Oh no!, I thought, oh well, I'll have to remember to set the ISO on the camera back down to 100 (it didn't have a 160 option), but just at that moment Amy arrived, and in the distraction of the moment, I finished loading the film and forgot to change the ISO.
Well, anyway, these things happen. The gig went ahead, we banished the Brexit demon (fingers crossed) at the gig, and then headed down to Brighton beach to burn an effigy of Mr Punch with some lighter fuel in a metal bucket. It's a long story, but not relevant to this.
It was only a day or two after that I noticed my mishap, as I was walking my dog in the autumnal park near my home. I decided to ring the camera shop immediately and ask their advice, and they said it would probably be fine, you know, don't shoot a wedding or anything, but they'd probably just send it to be pushed a stop or so, and it would probably turn out fine.
In the ensuing days, I took one of my kids to a pub, sat him on a throne-like chair there, and took this picture of him with my beer.
Then, at some point soon after, my wife got a phone call to say her terminally-ill father was on his last legs, and she should fly out to Texas to be with him immediately. So we scrambled some money together and flew her out there. While she was gone, it was my good friend's wife's 40th birthday at our local pub. I went, Konica in tow, telling them I'd be official photographer for the occasion.
Soon after that night, a weird thing happened. The sky went all yellowy-orange. Saharan sandstorm mixed with something or other and anyway, the whole of England lost its mind as an eerie tinge transformed the atmosphere.
Anyway, I drove my wife to the airport and said goodbye by some autumnal trees in Windsor on the way.
A temporarily single dad, I took my kids and dog for a walk. But I think the very next day, my wife rang me from Texas, to say I needed to come out ASAP too, and to bring a suit. There wasn't long left.
So after some more hastily arranged money, I found myself flying solo to Dallas Fort Worth. So I drank some whiskey, and the light through the plane window on it looked lovely.
And then I found myself unexpectedly in Texas, in a staggeringly hot November, with just eight shots left on that roll of Portra 160 being shot at 400.
We waited for the inevitable, which took ages, actually, and we felt guilty to enjoy ourselves too much.
And then we went out to stay at a lakehouse out of town to give them some space, and I took this, my favourite film photo I think I've ever taken.
I love the colour of the sky, the sun illuminating her auburn hair and her smile, the detail of the fishing line through the eyelets on the fishing rod. I wish that thing top left wasn't there though. A lesson in framing, though I didn't know it was going to come out so well, of course.
And then on the day he passed away, we went out to a rose garden. It was blisteringly hot.
And then my father-in-law passed away, and there were no more photos to be taken.
I've never experimented with pushing Portra 160 since this, and the Konica C35 AF2 died during a ski trip the following year, when I took a turn too fast and landed on top of it on the piste in Samoens, France.
But there was something special about this roll. I think it's the favourite I've ever had developed. I don't know if it has to do with the pushing, or the camera I used, or a combination of the two.
I still remember the feeling when I got the photos back from the camera shop, and showed the fishing at sunset one to my son. That's what I love about film photography, those moments of surprise and revelation, that some things do turn out pretty good.
Amy - cold, but happy.
I'd driven to the photo shop the other side of town just before soundcheck, just before they closed, to pick up a roll of Portra 400, and the chap or lady behind the counter (I can't remember who it was now, though I've since got to know them a bit) took a roll out, loose in its canister, and charged me about £8 or whatever it was. I was excited to try it, as it was the first time I'd ever used Portra, having read so much online about it, and it was also the first time using my new camera, a Konica C35 AF2 I'd purchased off eBay, again after reading a few positive reviews of it online.
So as I was waiting for Amy to arrive, I quickly took the film out from the canister to shove it in the camera, when what did I find but a roll of Portra 160 instead. Oh no!, I thought, oh well, I'll have to remember to set the ISO on the camera back down to 100 (it didn't have a 160 option), but just at that moment Amy arrived, and in the distraction of the moment, I finished loading the film and forgot to change the ISO.
Well, anyway, these things happen. The gig went ahead, we banished the Brexit demon (fingers crossed) at the gig, and then headed down to Brighton beach to burn an effigy of Mr Punch with some lighter fuel in a metal bucket. It's a long story, but not relevant to this.
Here's Amy, spitting red wine onto the fire, as a confused child looks on.
It was only a day or two after that I noticed my mishap, as I was walking my dog in the autumnal park near my home. I decided to ring the camera shop immediately and ask their advice, and they said it would probably be fine, you know, don't shoot a wedding or anything, but they'd probably just send it to be pushed a stop or so, and it would probably turn out fine.
Autumnal park.
In the ensuing days, I took one of my kids to a pub, sat him on a throne-like chair there, and took this picture of him with my beer.
Mmm, beer. (He doesn't drink. Yet.)
Then, at some point soon after, my wife got a phone call to say her terminally-ill father was on his last legs, and she should fly out to Texas to be with him immediately. So we scrambled some money together and flew her out there. While she was gone, it was my good friend's wife's 40th birthday at our local pub. I went, Konica in tow, telling them I'd be official photographer for the occasion.
It was "go as your favourite musician" fancy dress. This is Janis and... Neil Young?
Bjork and Fatboy Slim.
This would have been such a great photo of Asian Kurt Cobain if it wasn't the end of the night and I wasn't drunk and holding the camera strap in the way.
Soon after that night, a weird thing happened. The sky went all yellowy-orange. Saharan sandstorm mixed with something or other and anyway, the whole of England lost its mind as an eerie tinge transformed the atmosphere.
Me, confuddled by the sky.
No flash sky. This was the middle of the day.
Anyway, I drove my wife to the airport and said goodbye by some autumnal trees in Windsor on the way.
A short-lived farewell.
A temporarily single dad, I took my kids and dog for a walk. But I think the very next day, my wife rang me from Texas, to say I needed to come out ASAP too, and to bring a suit. There wasn't long left.
That haircut is my handy work.
So after some more hastily arranged money, I found myself flying solo to Dallas Fort Worth. So I drank some whiskey, and the light through the plane window on it looked lovely.
Though the camera didn't want to focus on that.
And then I found myself unexpectedly in Texas, in a staggeringly hot November, with just eight shots left on that roll of Portra 160 being shot at 400.
My wife and her step-nephew Trevor welcoming me.
We waited for the inevitable, which took ages, actually, and we felt guilty to enjoy ourselves too much.
A walk in downtown Winnsboro, TX.
My step-mother-in-law, in the midst of a tragi-comedic moment.
And then we went out to stay at a lakehouse out of town to give them some space, and I took this, my favourite film photo I think I've ever taken.
My actual mother-in-law, fishing at sunset on Lake Winnsboro.
I love the colour of the sky, the sun illuminating her auburn hair and her smile, the detail of the fishing line through the eyelets on the fishing rod. I wish that thing top left wasn't there though. A lesson in framing, though I didn't know it was going to come out so well, of course.
And then on the day he passed away, we went out to a rose garden. It was blisteringly hot.
My mother-in-law and sister-in-law in the Tyler rose garden.
And then my father-in-law passed away, and there were no more photos to be taken.
I've never experimented with pushing Portra 160 since this, and the Konica C35 AF2 died during a ski trip the following year, when I took a turn too fast and landed on top of it on the piste in Samoens, France.
But there was something special about this roll. I think it's the favourite I've ever had developed. I don't know if it has to do with the pushing, or the camera I used, or a combination of the two.
I still remember the feeling when I got the photos back from the camera shop, and showed the fishing at sunset one to my son. That's what I love about film photography, those moments of surprise and revelation, that some things do turn out pretty good.
