Pepys said that a diarist lives three times: once when he lives it, again as he writes it down, then once more as he looks back at his work, many years after. Of course, it should be noted that in fact he is living three different lives, in a way: the life as it lived, the life as it is recalled and seen through the glasses of reflection and opinion, and the life as it is recalled and (mis-) remembered.
Something similar happens with photos. Certainly, I'm experienced the third life currently, as I am digitising the thousands of negatives I have hoarded away from my university years and later. I recall, as photography editor for the student magazine, thinking I was a pretty damn good shot with a camera, and looking at the results once they were back from the developer ( a tiny specialist photo shop in the wrong end of Bangor High Street), that what I'd taken were damn good pics.
It is only with the hindsight of many years that I can see how crap a lot of them were. underexposure, overexposure, fogging, out-of-focus crap, pretentious, sub-Athena poster posed stuff - all there. But amidst the dross, jewels: a wonderful set of pics from a Michelle Shocked gig; a lovely shot of someone looking out, byond the frame, onto what I recall was a garden full of snow; shots of friends from the 92 Reading festival; and more.
It's going to take me absolutely ages to trawl through and sift out the best shots, and I'll be putting some of the best on here. Here's a few to be going on with, including one of my most favourite shots ever, Cara Greczyn looking distinctly annoyed while holding a water pistol.
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