One September evening I walked between Place Bouffay and rue des Petits Écuries with the Nikon FE and a roll of HP5+. Box speed—400 ASA. No pushing. No stand development. Just me, tired eyes, and the hope the city would be kind.
It wasn’t always.
Some frames failed outright. Missed focus—my eyes couldn’t lock the split-image patch in the dim light. Others blurred from camera shake at 1/15th, handholding like a fool. I won’t pretend those shots have hidden merit. They’re gone. But the ones that landed? They held more than I expected.
Because Nantes at night isn’t dark. Restaurants pour light onto wet cobbles. Shop signs, streetlamps, even those little menu stands outside cafés—they all feed the scene. I’d guess the focus, press the shutter, and move on. Later, scanning the roll, I found detail in shadows I thought were lost. Not because I’d exposed well—I hadn’t—but because HP5+ gathered what was there even when I fumbled.
That’s latitude in practice. Not a spec sheet promise, but the difference between a usable negative and a blank one when your hands shake and your eyes fail. I didn’t push to 1600. I didn’t need to. I just needed a film that wouldn’t punish me for being human.
The December shots are more traditional street work—grey skies, low sun, the light you expect. Even the coffee cup photo owes something to Instagram. I won’t deny it. We absorb what we see online; it seeps into our framing without us noticing. No shame in that—it’s just how we learn now.
But the September shots that worked feel more like my own. Standing in Place Bouffay as evening deepened, watching light pool around tables and bounce off stone—I wasn’t chasing a look. I was just there, squinting, hoping. And HP5+ met that without fuss.
I’m not claiming mastery. I’m claiming a few good frames out of a roll that also held misses. That feels honest. Cities don’t go dark—they transform. And sometimes, even with bad eyesight and shaky hands, a simple roll of film gives you just enough to keep walking.
All photographs shot on Ilford HP5+ at 400 ASA, developed in standard chemistry. Nikon FE, Nantes—December 2025 and September 2025, Place Bouffay and rue des Petits Écuries.
I came back to Alnmouth not just to see my parents, but because the place has become part of me and maybe in some very small way we had become part of Alnmouth.
Each visit is different. Sometimes I’m chasing “the” image. Sometimes, like this year, I’m just learning how to sit still. This is the tale of the other part of Summer. The UK part of Summer. The Northumberland part of Summer. Going home to visit my parents, and show them the children. It was a Tuesday, I know this because I checked the metadata on my phone. My mother had decreed that she would go with Virginie (my wife) and the children to Morpeth to do some clothes shopping. I would have a day with my father.
It was to be a quiet day with a father and his son catching up and putting the world to rights as we often do during our weekly telephone calls. Which reminds me, I must call on the way home from work. He often talks about walking around the village and always bumping into people he knows. A hello here, a hello there…
More than anything it was a day out with my father. Which is rare, so I decided to take advantage of his company and ever present wisdom. Whatever was to happen I had my X100F with me to capture everything.
He decided that we were going to go for a walk in the village as he is wont to do. I wanted to pay my respects to Scotts of Alnmouth as I do every time I come to Alnmouth. We follow each other on Instagram and always say hello when I’m “in town.” It costs nothing to say hello and you never know, it might make that person’s day. It may even make your day! With an espresso and black currant muffin, I bade farewell to Scotts of Alnmouth for the year telling them “See you next year.”
Dad just wanted to drop into the village shop to say hello too — because he’s a lovely man, and that’s simply what he does. My father had a spot he wanted to show me. It overlooked the golf course, the beach, and out to sea we could make out Coquet Island and its lighthouse.
When I was younger,
the idea of sitting on a park bench,
just sitting there,
would have been impossible.
Yet the man I am at 53?
I revel in it.
When you only get back once a year,
you realise you might have only weeks left
with your father.
And those moments—
silent, shared, ordinary—
become sacred.
There’s no need to talk.
Even when we do.
Just being next to this man is enough.
I see myself in him too.
The way we walk.
What we pause to see.
Just those small things.
My future?
My future, I suppose, is to become him — the one on the bench someday, a son beside me, saying hello to people in the village because it costs nothing. I could do worse.
When I first started out, I’d take my film down to the photographer on Newland Avenue, near where I grew up, and he’d make what everyone called a contact sheet. The strips of negatives got cut, slotted into a frame to keep them flat, and exposed straight onto a sheet of photographic paper. Thumbnails of everything from the roll, all in one place, so you could work out which frames were actually worth printing.
Lightroom’s my contact sheet now. Same idea really, I import the whole take and go through deciding what’s worth developing further. Different tools, same decision.
What’s that got to do with telling a story? Everything, actually. A contact sheet is where the story starts getting built, because a narrative needs a shape, a beginning and a middle and an end, and so does a set of photos from a day out. Looking at the whole roll at once, you see how the shots sit next to each other, not just whether any one of them is sharp. Which ones you choose to develop isn’t really about which are technically best. It’s about which ones actually tell you what happened.
That’s roughly how I pick what goes on this blog too. A shot of my mate JD mid haircut, or my dinner right before I demolish it, they’re doing the same job: filling in a piece of whatever the day was. I try not to forget the photo of dessert before I eat it. Miss that window and all you’ve got is a plate with cake crumbs on it, which, as a photo, says nothing.
Back to the idea of an arc, though, because that’s the bit that matters. When I head out for the day I usually start with a few throwaway shots just to get my eye in. Sometimes I’ve got a plan. Usually I haven’t. Mostly I’m just trying to catch the feel of wherever I’ve ended up, a café, a church, a pub, whatever’s in front of me. Each shot leans on the last one, and by the end of the day there’s a sort of thread running through the roll, even if I didn’t plan it that way.
Paid work’s different, obviously. If I’m hired for an event I’ll sit down with the client first and talk through what actually matters to them: what the venue’s like, whether there’s awkward lighting or someone’s got mobility issues to work around, which moments they’d never forgive me for missing. Having that list of must-haves, the Kodak moments I mentioned in the last post, gives me something to hang the day on.
Say I’ve got a wedding booked. I know I’m shooting the bride getting ready. I know I need to be at the venue before the couple turns up. I need the rings photographed before they’re on anyone’s finger. I’ll want portraits of the guests milling about too. Planning all that out in advance is the only reason I’m not a nervous wreck on the day itself.
Just married
Not every story needs a series, though. Sometimes one photo does the whole job. It holds what’s in the frame plus everything that isn’t: the emotion, the context, sometimes a proper mystery.
Take an empty café table in soft morning light, half a cup of coffee gone cold, a notebook left open. That’s a story on its own. Who was sitting there? Why did they leave? What were they writing? The photo doesn’t answer any of it. It just hands you the question and lets you sit with it.
Different people will read that image differently depending on what they’re bringing to it. It’s really a conversation between whoever took the photo and whoever’s looking at it. I set the scene, choose the light, press the button, but it’s the viewer who finishes the story in their own head.
Same goes for people. A portrait of someone staring out of a window, somewhere else in their head entirely, makes you wonder what they’re thinking about, or where they’re going, or what just happened to put that look on their face. It’s more than a face in a frame at that point. There’s a whole narrative sitting underneath it that words wouldn’t do justice to.
Am I sure about this cake?
Telling a story with a camera isn’t really about the picture-taking bit at all. It’s about deciding which moments are worth keeping and finding a way to shoot them so they carry more than what’s literally in frame. Sometimes that takes a whole roll. Sometimes it’s one frame and you’re done.
Next time you’re out with a camera, don’t just take pictures. Ask yourself what you actually want someone to feel looking at this later, whether that’s a quiet morning in a café or a wedding with two hundred people watching. Look back through your old photos sometime too, in order, like a reel rather than a folder. It changes how you see them. Might even change how you see the next roll you shoot.
This was another Ian and Kate day. Similar in concept to the Ian and Killian day, but a day where I can dedicate myself solely to Kate. She’s fifteen now of course, but I should spend more time with her. If she’ll let me of course. At the time she was only seven—simpler times where I could make her happy with just a nice tea, a boat trip across the river, and just wandering around exploring the intricate streets of an old fishing village on the “bords de Loire.” There are no cars in the narrow streets, and the children can run wild.
This day was one spent in Trentemoult, that rather colourful village that you can see here. The colours are intense and provide a great backdrop for portrait photography. So of course I went in with a film camera and black and white film. Which only goes to show that when you photograph a location, however colourful, and take away the distraction of that colour, you have to really concentrate on composition, texture, and forms. I couldn’t rely on colour for my photos today. But I was sure that I could reveal some good photos despite that.
So what do you do? You just try and capture some moments of your daughter messing around and being a perfectly normal seven year old. I tried to capture her exploring the streets and being absorbed by the whole ambiance of the place. She became part of the scenery, and blended in perfectly.
I was just there purely to observe and record the day on film, with one eye in my camera and the other on Kate. It was a good day.
Looking back at those moments reminds me of how quickly time seems to slip by without me realising that I am getting older. She of course is slightly older, and possibly slightly less “insouciante” or carefree, but my love for that girl is still as strong as ever.
My usual approach to black and white photography is to shoot directly in black and white, either using black and white film or the Acros film simulation with my X100F. When using the X100F on this UK trip, my EVF displayed the black and white shot using Acros with a red filter—my go-to simulation. This method puts me in a black-and-white “frame of mind” from the outset.
However, this time I decided to break from my usual practice and experiment. I did something I normally advise against—starting with the intention to create color images and only considering black and white later. I chose the Classic Chrome film simulation instead of Acros, focusing on capturing the vibrant colors of the Northumbrian countryside. It was all about breaking free from my black-and-white routine. Both color and black-and-white photography have their place, but for this trip, I wanted to prioritize one over the other. Still, wouldn’t it be intriguing to compare both approaches?
Back in France, as I prepared the images for my black-and-white Instagram feed, I began to wonder if some of the colorful shots might also work in black and white. Initially hesitant—given my emphasis on shooting with intention and purpose—I decided to embrace the experiment. I was breaking one of my own rules, yet the idea intrigued me.
Reviewing the color shots, I considered which might translate well into black and white. I look for images with texture and varying tones rather than just color. My composition is usually solid since I’ve already edited my color images, including reframing and straightening as needed. With digital RAW files, converting to black and white and producing different versions is straightforward. As they say, the goal is to produce images that reflect how they made you feel, not just how you saw them. This is why I convert my images to black and white—they capture more of the emotional essence.
Opening Adobe Lightroom on my PC, I saw the familiar images on my screen. My editing approach may seem finicky, but it’s effective. While the simplest way to convert an image to black and white is to slide the “saturation” slider to the left, this often results in a flat, lifeless image. Instead, I use a more nuanced approach to control various color tones in the black-and-white image. This technique helps preserve depth and character, ensuring that each image maintains its visual impact even without color.
Here’s how I approach black-and-white conversion in Lightroom:
Black and White Profile: Sets the overall tone and mood of the image.
Clarity: Enhances texture and detail for a more dynamic appearance.
Contrast: Adjusts the range between light and dark areas, adding visual interest.
Color Sliders: Modifies the luminance of specific colors to bring out different tones in the black-and-white image.
Highlight Tool: Adds subtle vignetting and balances highlights for a polished finish.
So, why convert to black and white after shooting in color? For me, it offers a classic, timeless aesthetic, and challenges me to create a “better” image by focusing on composition and texture without the distraction of color. This approach pushes me to craft photographs that rely on fundamental elements, enhancing their overall impact.
Impact is at the heart of photography. While I cherish the colors of the Northumbrian countryside and am eager to learn how to use color more effectively, I also deeply value the strengths of black-and-white photography. It’s about transcending color to create images that resonate through composition and texture.
But there’s something more personal about these black-and-white conversions. Perhaps it’s because I broke my own rules this time around, allowing color to take center stage and letting the black-and-white images emerge later. These images weren’t planned with black and white in mind—yet, despite that, or perhaps because of it, they feel even more special to me. Sometimes, going against what you think you know leads to unexpected results. And, in this case, those results resonate even more deeply.
Isn’t impact what we strive for in our photography? Don’t get me wrong—I love the colors of the Northumbrian countryside and am on a quest to learn how to use color more effectively. But I do believe in the strength of the fundamentals offered by black-and-white photography. Sometimes, breaking your own routine brings surprising rewards.
Welcome back to another look at the film archives. This time, I’m sharing a few black-and-white street shots from an October Saturday in Nantes, likely taken with the Praktica MTL3 and HP5 Plus film. These outings with my son Killian, which we called ‘Ian and Killian days,’ became a cherished routine, a time for us to reconnect amidst the busyness of life.
He was 17 then, a weekly boarder at his lycée in La Roche sur Yon. On the weekends, we’d often head into Nantes, following the same familiar programme: a visit to the barbershop, a meal at the Sugar Blue café, and finally, a drink at the John Mc Byrne Irish Pub. In the photo, that handsome chap in the barber’s seat is Killian—a little reminder that it wasn’t always Kate joining me on these trips. These outings were a way to stay connected, despite his growing independence. Even with him being only 17, I still felt that sense of responsibility. Once a Dad, always a Dad.
As we went through our usual routine, I found myself facing the familiar challenge of capturing these moments on film. The low light inside the barbershop always made me second-guess whether I could get a decent shot without using a flash. But over time, I learned to trust the Praktica and the HP5 Plus film. There’s a rawness to film photography, especially with Ilford’s HP5. It adds a certain grit and texture to the image, something that digital just can’t replicate.
That’s what I love about film—the imperfections. The grain gives it character, a certain honesty that smooth, polished digital photos lack. It’s not about creating something flawless but about preserving the authenticity of the moment. This shot of Killian in the barbershop, for example, may not be technically perfect, but it’s real. It’s us, it’s Nantes, it’s one of those ‘Ian and Killian days.’
Looking back at these photos, I’m reminded that sometimes, it’s the imperfections that make an image truly memorable. Quite the day, right?
Last week’s journey through the film archives took us to Nantes, specifically the Île de Nantes. While you’ve seen my photos from that day, I’m excited to share my daughter Kate’s photos with you.
Are these images works of art deserving of a gallery? Perhaps not, but they represent a delightful exercise in spontaneity. Captured by a seven-year-old “playing” with a camera, they offer a unique glimpse into how my young daughter sees the world. There are no rigid rules of photography or composition here—just an extension of her eyes. These photos are raw yet delicate, showcasing the world as she perceived it at that moment.
These photos mean a great deal to me, particularly the one she took of me with that glorious moustache! I’ve often discussed how the journey and process of photography can sometimes be even more meaningful than the final destination. That day was a significant part of that journey, and reflecting on my own first photos from that age fills me with nostalgia.
Do you have a place, be it real or imaginary, that just haunts your mind? You think of it, and you are transported there instantly. The smells of the grass, the sounds of the river, and the odd car driving past you wondering what the heck you are doing? Hepple is my special place. It is a place where I feel at peace and that all is right with the world.
I’m thinking back to an article I wrote a couple of years ago called Hepple for Photos, Not Gin. I was with my father and had my Canon 6D Mark II with the 16-35mm F4.0 lens and the 70-300mm zoom lens. This year, however, I had my X100F with just the 35mm f2.0 equivalent lens, and I was with Killian, who, surprisingly, was a little tired and decided to curl up on the back seat for a snooze. His loss…
This is the place, this stretch of road, that I have been looking forward to for 2 years. The weather was clement, and I can assure you that the place is still as beautiful as ever. I wasn’t going to have the choice of lenses this time; I would have to see the scene in 35mm and make do with it. No zooming, no switching lenses—just a little constraint. And you know what? I was fine with that!
The lack of zooming and my sleeping son allowed me to walk around the area a little more, exploring under the tree at the end of the road and at the bottom of the hill. These were views that I had not seen before. It only goes to show that we might think we know a place, even in our memories, but it still has so much more to offer us.
I parked just before the bridge, as I usually do. Everything was still in place: the stiles, the trees, the river—just as I had pictured it in my mind. It’s when looking at the countryside like this that I am convinced there is a creator behind all this creation. The beauty of it didn’t just happen by chance.
The noises were made by the flowing of the river and the breeze in the trees. I had this feeling of calm. I could take photos of that place every day and not get tired of it all. I might even go so far as to say I could have died here and died a happy death. I had found my peace.
Killian had found his peace too and was still asleep in the car. A micro sieste, he said. He might be 25, but he reminded me of the small boy who was once my son.
I can’t be the only person on this earth to feel this?
The Scenic Drive: A Journey Through the Northumberland Moors
The road from Alnwick to Rothbury takes you over the Northumberland moors and through steep valleys, giving you real taste of the British countryside. It is not only magnificent in the early morning light, but it has this way of taking your breath away at each bend in the road.
You might just have gathered by now that I was in the UK this summer, visiting my Parents in Northumberland. You may also have gathered that I wasn’t having the best of sleeps and was thus up a little earlier than most. You may also have gathered that I decided to go light on photography equipment this trip compared to last year, only taking my X100F with me to take photos. You may also have gathered that this trip was not just about photography but spending some quality time with the children, especially my son, who hadn’t been to the UK for a while. You may also have gathered that my son joined me on a couple of these photography jaunts. Right! I think we may have set the scene.
Photography on the Go: Minimalist Gear and Techniques
We were both in the car by 6am, having breakfasted and taken our collagen in yorkshire tea to make it at least a little palatable. This is an epic drive that I try to do at least once when I’m over. When you see the photographs, you’ll understand why. Like Bamburgh, I had to meter for the highlights knowing that I would be able to get back details in the shadows back home in Lightroom. The 35mm F2.0 equivalent lens of the X100F was fine to capture enough of the scene, and if I wanted to zoom, then it would mean zooming with my feet.
Capturing the Landscape: Heather in Bloom and Morning Light
Fortunately, there are plenty of places to stop by the side of the road on this route, which is a good job because at each turn everything changes. The sun was coming up on our left and filling the valley with light, and the top of the hill cast a shadow that I would have to compensate for later.
The road continues with views of the heather, which was in bloom and the pink added a wonderful contrast to the warm colours of the morning reflected on the landscape. It certainly felt a real privilege to be there and take it all in. We passed Cragside but decided to continue on to Rothbury.
A Taste of Rothbury: Discovering the Local Flavours
We managed to find a space to park in Rothbury, and out of the corner of our eye, we saw a bakery. An English bakery, but a proper bakery. No pain au chocolat or croissants, but sausage rolls, meat pies, even a haggis pie. We settled on sandwiches in proper bread cakes and millionaire’s shortbread as a sweet treat. Next, we just had to find a bench to sit on and eat our picnic. There’s just something about eating a sandwich in an English village in the sun. I daren’t imagine what the winters are like! Possibly a bit nippy…
Looking Ahead: Plans for Otterburn and Beyond
But there we sat, the two of us, munching away, deciding to go to Otterburn for more photos and possibly a rug, but that, Dear Reader, is a story for another day…
Good evening, Dear Reader. Welcome to the UK. I couldn’t not go to the UK without writing about it and taking the odd photo. I wrote about the anticipation leading up to this trip in the Off to the UK article and talked about the cameras I might take with me in the Olympus Pen EE S review article.
The Road to Lesbury: A Cross-Country Adventure
The drive up from the Vendée up to Calais went surprisingly well. As we passed through Rouen, we started seeing UK registered cars driving in the same direction. As we drove up through the north of France, we saw more and more UK cars. So getting used to UK driving, the closer we got.
We arrived at Calais and respected the bi-national family with our two UK passports and our two French passports, except the guys got their passports stamped and the girls were stampless. Thank you, Brexit.
First Stop: Dover and the Journey to Lesbury
We spent the night in Dover and started the trip to Lesbury after a breakfast of champions. I do like a full English breakfast. We were already looking forward to stopping off for our sandwiches at Peterborough service station. On a long trip like this, we all have our landmarks.
The breakfast of champions, and only ever so slightly filling…
The Camera Dilemma: Choosing the Right Gear
The choice of camera was important, as I talked about in the previous articles. I ended up just taking the X100F, praying that I would be able to get the shots I needed to record everything.
As any Internet user, I read articles and watch YouTube, and let this guide me. I had read one article about a travel photographer, with the author talking about how he was the Dad travelling with his family and getting up before everyone else to go out to take photos. I could always have a snooze in the afternoon. YouTube tried to convince me to keep things minimal, talking about how the 35mm lens was the best for travel photography on the road. With the X100F, I have exactly what I was after.
Arriving in Lesbury: Settling In
We arrived at my parents’ house to say hello, go to the loo, and show them that we were still alive and kicking and that despite the odd moment of stress and intensity on the road, we hadn’t killed each other. We followed my Dad in the car to the rental in the Old Vicarage in the next village of Lesbury.
The house was amazing and felt very luxurious. My parents had prepared a starter pack with the essentials so we could survive until we did our shopping. Yorkshire tea was in that pack, so I knew I was home. We had our first night’s meal with my parents at their house, so I didn’t have to worry about anything. What a great way to start our holiday.
Early Mornings and First Impressions
I’ll be honest with you. I didn’t sleep very well and was always awake early. When I say early, I mean early. We’re talking about 5am wakeups. But this was also part of the plan. Get out early and get the good light.
My first breakfast in the house was Yorkshire tea, muesli, and fruit. Start eating healthily and starting the way you mean to go on. As I looked out of the conservatory, I could see rabbits grazing on the lawn and the robot mowing the lawn. It was going to be a good day, and I was going to wander around the village taking the first photos of the trip.
In my last venture into the film archives, I talked about how there was a time that my daughter hadn’t yet seen me the way I see myself and how she actually still liked me, before turning into a teenager. This is the second part of that special day.
We had explored the Jardin des Plantes and discovered what they had to offer. This of course builds up an appetite in a young lady, and convinces her that she really needs to drink something Daddy. And why couldn’t we go to the Altercafé (now the D3) at the Hangar à Bananes.
So what else was I to do but drive us to the Hangar à Bananes. You will have seen the Hangar in this article, and you will now be completely up to date and know nearly everything there is to know.
Don’t forget that this is a girl who gets an idea into her head and then just goes through with it. That idea is so rooted that it is nigh on impossible to change that idea. I knew what was coming. I would order a chocolate brownie, and Kate would have an Orangina. I could have a beer. How gracious of her.
She had been my model for most of the day and even a top model needs a rest, and just has nothing left to give a photographer. You just know when enough is enough…
There was a time when my daughter wasn’t a teenager. There was a time when she quite liked her Dad, and she would accompany me everywhere. It was good being that child’s hero. It was a more innocent time. It was a time when she actively tried to spend time with me. It was a time when she didn’t see me the way I see myself…
One of her favourite places in Nantes was the Jardin des Plantes, a huge botanical garden in the middle of Nantes just across the road from the station. I could talk about the fact of it being a haven of peace in the bustling city. I could talk about it being an oasis of green in a sea of concrete. I could talk using clichés ‘til the cows come home…
These photographs are not clichés, but real attempts of capturing a specific moment in time allowing me to travel back through time. And looking at these images, I’m definitely back in time.
Let me introduce you to my daughter from 2016. She was a 7 year old that already knew what she wanted but was slightly more subtle about it. She would suggest that we go into town. That I could take my camera. That we could go to such and such a place. That we could do such and such a thing. And all this as if it were completely natural. And I was a very willing victim.
This time she suggested going to the Jardin des Plantes. She would take her camera (my old Sony bridge) and I would take my Olympus Trip 35. I used the Olympus Trip quite a lot at that time and its ease of use, the zone focussing, and general lack of buttons to press, made it quite the fool proof piece of kit.
As usual, I let her lead the way. This was here outing after all, and kept a respectful distance, so I could photograph her and record her for posterity. The Jardin des Plantes has not only plants, the clue is in the title, but also is the backdrop to the Voyage à Nantes, and certainly was that year.
I think the images speak for themselves and I’ll let you peruse them at your leisure. They were taken on Ilford HP5 Plus film shot at box speed.
