Tag: nostalgia

The Enduring Elegance of Vintage Cameras: A Personal Journey

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I often find myself discussing the concept of “vintage” with my father during our phone calls. I live in France, while my parents are in Northumberland. The term “vintage” means different things to different generations. For my 25-year-old son, vintage clothing is anything from the 90s—he even sports a few of my sweaters from that era. At 52, I’m beginning to see myself as slightly vintage, with a style that has evolved into something more classic and refined compared to my younger years. And to my 15-year-old daughter, my father, who grew up during the war, must seem positively ancient.

So, what does this have to do with photography? For me, a camera from the 1990s feels relatively modern, while those from the 80s and 70s seem older but not quite ancient—much like myself. Using these older cameras in my photography practice forces me to slow down and be more deliberate. Just as my style has become more refined with age, these cameras have an enduring elegance and charm. They may be from a slightly bygone era, but they still capture images with timeless grace.

Incorporating this vintage technology into my work isn’t just about using old equipment, however enjoyable working with what could be considered museum pieces may be; it’s about embracing a process that demands patience and mindfulness—concepts that are somewhat foreign to this younger generation. Each shot taken with these cameras becomes a deliberate act, mirroring how I approach life and photography. The result? A deeper connection to the process and a greater appreciation for the unique quality of film. This slower pace allows me to savour each moment, akin to how my evolving style reflects a deeper appreciation for life’s subtleties.

In a world increasingly dominated by digital immediacy, there’s something profoundly satisfying about the slower, more thoughtful pace of using vintage cameras. They may not be the latest technology, but their classic design and the deliberate process they require make them a joy to use—much like the evolving sense of style and perspective that comes with age. The emotional impact of working with these cameras is profound; they carry the weight of history and personal connection, enriching my creative process and deepening my engagement with photography.

My own “vintage collection” began with an SLR from the 1980s: an East German Praktica MTL3 that served me faithfully until 2009. After it finally gave up, I quickly replaced it with another. From there, I delved into exploring more iconic cameras from the 1970s and 1980s. At that time, they were still relatively affordable before the hipsters discovered film photography and the prices inevitably started rising.

My exploration didn’t stop there. I began to seek out cameras from the 1960s and even the 1950s. The oldest camera in my collection dates back to 1949! It’s quite vintage, even for me, though perhaps not so much for my father. Each piece of my collection is a link to a past era, offering a tactile connection to history that digital tools can’t replicate.

There was a time during the digital age when people sought to recapture the film aesthetic, and right on cue, apps like Hipstamatic, Instagram, and VSCO began to emerge. These digital tools embraced the nostalgic look of film, offering a nod to the past while thriving in the digital present. Yet, this digital simulation can’t quite match the authentic experience and emotional resonance of using actual vintage cameras.

This led me to a thought: if I truly wanted to capture that film aesthetic, why not use actual film and cameras from the eras I admire? I have always been drawn to “old” things, having loved exploring a special drawer at my grandmother’s house filled with genuine relics—not just my grandparents’ old possessions. My fascination with older technology, particularly when it’s still functional, remains strong. There’s an undeniable charm and satisfaction in using equipment that carries a legacy, offering a perspective that both honours the past and enriches the present.

So just because something might be old, it might still work and open a whole new world to you that you didn’t even suspect existed! It might, however, have something of a quirky nature, but once you get over that, the world is your oyster.

my daughter contemplating cake
portrait of a young girl

The Opening of the Film Archives – Trentemoult October 2016

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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.

Browse the full Film Archives →

The Opening of the Film Archives – Kate July 2016

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I am a father.  I am the father of a son, and have been for the last 25 years.  I am a father.  I am the father of a daughter, and have been for the last 14 years.  I am a father.  More traditional than modern, but definitely a doting and loving father of both children.  I am a photographer.  Both children have had multiple photos taken of them over the years.  However, the subject of bedtimes has always been contentious.  They say you have to be rigid and follow an established routine.  They say that for the good of the children you have to respect this routine to the letter.   They are obviously not parents.  They are obviously completely disconnected from reality.  They obviously have their heads buried so far up where the sun don’t shine.

As a father, I’ve learned the importance of picking your battles, especially when it comes to bedtime routines. This particular night, with my 7-year-old daughter wide awake, a fight wasn’t the answer. So, I grabbed my Praktica MTL3, loaded some HP5 pushed to 1600, and turned a potential meltdown into an improvised photoshoot. We ended up in the bathroom – because teeth brushing was still non-negotiable – but the resulting photos captured a moment of pure magic.

Let’s talk about technical details: the Praktica MTL3 is the model that I learnt my craft on.  It’s solid.  It’s fully manual, and gets the job done admirably.  The lens is an F1.8 Pentacon 50mm, with a lovely depth of field.  I pushed the HP5 to 1600 to be able to take advantage of all the available light.  

Kate posed for me and thoroughly enjoyed herself.  Teeth brushing.  Calling somebody very important on the Fisher Price telephone.  And pulling a face to tell me off.  Some things just don’t change…

Photography is not the technique or the camera, or worse still, the settings used.  It’s about capturing that “Kodak moment” albeit with Ilford HP5.  It’s about the shared memories.  It’s about the nostalgia of looking back on family life that can never be recaptured.  It might seem mundane to you, but to me it’s priceless.  And looking back at these family photos, it just reminds me how much I love both my children, and am fortunate enough to have captured these fleeting instants.

The UK Chronicles – Preface

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Off to the UK

Good Evening, Dear Reader. You might not be able to feel the same excitement and trepidation as me, but I can assure you it’s palpable. I’m not talking about the Olympics, or the opening ceremony, which was very, very French. I’m talking about my upcoming annual leave. I will be going home to the UK for 10 days. I will be going home. Home is where the heart is, and as my mate David Frank once reminded me, you can take the boy out of Hull, but not the Hull out of the boy. How right he is. Even after 30 years of living in a foreign country, and despite having become somewhat “continental,” the UK is, and always will be, home.

Heading Home: Embracing Nostalgia and Anticipation

The physical preparations are not underway yet, but the mental ones certainly are. We will be driving up to Calais from the Vendée. It is a drive that over the years has become vaguely familiar, and I have the images in my mind of the various stops along the way, and the signs that I will be looking out for. My wife is a professional driver, and I will be relegated to helping out when she becomes tired and needs a rest.

The Road to the North: Familiar Drives and Service Station Delights

I don’t know about you, but when I’m in my car, I’m in a familiar environment, and it feels a little like having a part of my home with me. The controls for driving are second nature, and I don’t have to think. As I have mentioned, I am a creature of habit, and despite not being alone whilst driving, and the possibility of a mad screaming harpie, I mean wife, sitting next to me, I’m still looking forward to the trip. For the first time in 4 ½ years, my son will be coming with us, so I’ll have some masculine back-up and will feel less dominated by my daughter and wife.

We will have a stopover in Dover, and take the now familiar road up to Northumberland to see my parents. I’m actually looking forward to the service stations in the UK, especially one near Peterborough, that has a kind of Food Court, which includes Marks and Spencer. I’m looking forward to biting down onto a prawn cocktail sandwich, and a Wensleydale and carrot chutney sandwich. I know it’s not the “gastronomie” that the French might talk about, but to me, it’s about the nostalgia of the thing. It’s part of coming home.

Home Away from Home: Comfort in the Driver’s Seat

But, I hear you say, Dear Reader, you haven’t talked about cameras or photography yet? And you would be right. Thank you for allowing my little trip to nostalgia land. So, let’s talk about cameras for this trip. There is, of course, the X100F, that is the travel photographer’s camera par excellence. It’s compact, it works, and gets the job done. It’s what I will probably be using nearly 80% of the time. The 35mm F2.0 lens has me covered for nearly all situations, and if I take the telephoto conversion lens, then I’ll be even more covered.

Capturing Northumberland’s Beauty: Gear and Location Plans

Do I already have plans for where to take photos? Mayyyybe…

I have already a largish selection of photos of the village of Alnmouth, that you should be able to find on this site, either by using the search bar, or looking at the tag list at the bottom of every article. But, believe it or not, Northumberland is not just about Alnmouth. I know. Mind blowing.

I would like to get some shots of Dunstanborough Castle (for which I might even have to take my Canon 6D Mark II and various lenses, but I’m not sure about that yet), Beadnell, Seahouses, the Farne Islands, Holy Island, Craster, Bambourgh Castle. There’ll be beaches, islands, birds, seals, boats, and harbours. I even thought of going down by Amble and maybe stopping off in Walkworth.

That might mean a Canon bag, with lenses and filters, and possibly even a tripod. Decisions, decisions. Do I need more room in the car, and will the family gang up on me if I take more photography kit with me? There is a difference in volume and weight, of course.

Weathering the Storm (Or Not): Temperature Contrasts and Photographic Possibilities

I suppose it all depends on the weather. One tends not to visit the UK for the great weather. Here in my little corner of France, it’s supposed to be getting up to 36°C today. Not in Northumberland, though. I’m expecting 20°C and maybe lows of 14°C. Much more comfortable, and almost human.

Conclusion

So “home is where the heart is” is still something that resonates with me.  Thirty years a foreigner, and yet as a lot of us immigrants, we’ll never be completely at home in our adopted country, we are condemned to never feel fully at home in our home country.  We will be “continental”.  Our very essence has changed. The nostalgia for a past that has moved on since we left is another of our penances.  Maybe that’s why I do so much black and white photography; a way of trying to capture this bygone time.

Also in this series: Preface  ·  Lesbury  ·  Alnmouth  ·  Bamburgh  ·  Alnwick  ·  Rothbury  ·  Hepple  ·  Chesters  ·  Return  ·  B&W Footnote  ·  Summer I  ·  Summer II  ·  Summer III  ·  Summer IV

The Opening of the Film Archives – Le Hangar à Bananes July 2016

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Continuing our journey through the film archives, we find ourselves on the Île de Nantes, home to the iconic Hangar à Bananes. Let’s rewind to July 2016, when I captured this vibrant scene with my then favourite Canon AE1. Once a shipbuilding powerhouse, Nantes had cleverly repurposed its abandoned infrastructure into a bustling hub. The area is now home to the fantastical Machines de l’Île, the historic Chantiers Navals, the towering Grue Jaune, and of course, the Hangar à Bananes itself. Back then, the Hangar was a hive of activity, buzzing with picnics, impromptu barbecues, and lazy afternoons under the summer sun.

My goal was to capture that unmistakable “Summer Vibe.” As always, I started with the architecture, drawn to its striking modern lines, a refreshing departure from the stark brutalism of the 1970s. The clever use of texture and the innovative design of the apartment buildings particularly caught my eye.

That summer, the Voyage à Nantes festival had a brilliant idea: communal barbecues for everyone. Genius, right? You simply brought your food, and they provided the grills, charcoal, tables, and chairs. It might not be Texas, but the French know their way around a barbecue, and being the food lovers they are, they go beyond the usual sausages and burgers. It was a true testament to what a public space should be – a place for everyone to gather, share, and simply enjoy themselves.

Then there was the dancer. He was just filming himself with a GoPro, but the way the sunlight caught his movements and the glistening sweat on his skin was mesmerising. It was a fleeting moment, the first and only time I’ve ever photographed a dancer, but it left a lasting impression. There’s something undeniably captivating about the human body in motion.

My wanderings continued to the edge of the island, where the mighty Grue Jaune – now a “monument historique” and a symbol of Nantes – stands tall. Walking past and through this enormous yellow crane was an awe-inspiring experience.

Along the riverfront, the Anneaux de Buren, a series of massive rings, stretched out in a mesmerizing pattern. At night, they transform into a dazzling display of vibrant reds, blues, and greens – a photographer’s dream, offering endless possibilities for capturing leading lines, geometric shapes, and unique framings of the cityscape.

And of course, no photo series of mine would be complete without the obligatory bike shot. It’s a bit of a tradition for me.

Even now, in 2024, the Hangar à Bananes still exudes that same “Summer Vibe.” It remains a popular spot for after-work drinks with friends and colleagues, boasting a variety of restaurants, bars, the HAB Gallery, and the infamous “Warehouse.” While the area can get a bit dicey later at night, it’s perfectly safe and enjoyable for a daytime visit or an early evening soirée.

The Opening of the Film Archives – Clisson May 2016

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Introduction

Welcome back to the film archives.  Today I’m going to share some photos of the first reel from my “new” Canon AE1.  Well, not new, but certainly new to me.  The Canon AE1s were produced between 1976 and 1984.  It is one of those iconic cameras and at the time I must have paid about 50€.  When I say iconic, I really mean iconic.  It is a shutter speed priority camera using Canon’s FD lenses. I used it an awful lot that summer.  I liked it so much that I even bought a second one that I ended up giving to a photographer friend. 

Colour

To some people of my generation they represent their first cameras, and were so popular.  Talking of popular, the photographs from this part of the archive are from the very popular and photogenic town, Clisson.  Also you will have noticed that the photos are in colour.  Which only goes to show that not all film photography is black and white photography.

Clisson, as you can see in the photos, is one of those beautiful French villages that oozes Gallic charm.  It also exudes a certain Italian charm, and is known for its Italian style architecture.  

Canon AE1

I have both a Canon AE1 and AEI Program. The AE1 is the big brother of the AE1 Program, and doesn’t have a program mode, but as you can see from the photos it still works a treat.

FeatureCanon AE-1Canon AE-1 ProgramDifferences
Release Year19761981AE-1 Program released 5 years after AE-1
Exposure ModesShutter Priority AEShutter Priority AE, Program AEProgram AE added to AE-1 Program
MeteringCenter-weighted AverageCenter-weighted AverageNo difference
Shutter Speeds2s – 1/1000s2s – 1/1000sNo difference
Viewfinder DisplayLEDsLEDsNo difference
Film Speed SettingManualManualNo difference
Self-timerYesYesNo difference
Depth of Field PreviewYesYesNo difference
Motor Drive CompatibilityYesYesNo difference
Other NotesFirst Canon SLR with microprocessor; revolutionary for its timeSimplified controls for easier use; appealed to wider audienceAE-1 Program aimed at beginners and enthusiasts
As you can see there’s not a huge differece between the two. The major difference being the Program option, and the other allowing for easier changing of the ASA film sensitivity setting.

On the day in question I must have parked just next to the river and concentrated on this picturesque  area.  You can see the castle, the bridge, and the river, all making for a peaceful spring moment.

I think the film was Fuji Superia, and I just wanted to use colour.  Thetones are slightly muted and warm, and the flowers, trees and plants were just screaming out to be photographed.  I remember the excitement of loading the film into this “new” camera, and the novelty of simply using an iconic camera.

Here is what fuji tells us about the film:

FUJICOLOR SUPERIA X-TRA400

An all-round general purpose, high-performance, high speed color negative film delivering truly fine-grain. Superb for snapshots or action, in low light with flash, outdoors or indoors. Ideal for general use with compact zoom lens cameras.

  • Excellent skin tones
    For beautiful, clear people-shots.
  • Fine grain
    Great results even when enlarged.
  • High-speed
    Superb results, whatever the shooting conditions.
  • Sensitivity and Film Sizes
    ISO : 400
    Film Sizes : 135 : 36 exp.

 When using digital, it’s so difficult to get that particular film look, and using film and an older camera just changes your whole outlook.  The fact of not having your image straight away leaves you with that anticipation that we all used to feel when we sent off our films to the lab.

Give film a try.  There are still cheap film cameras out there, and your photography experience will be totally different.  I certainly appreciate it.

Has Spring sprung, or is it just springing?

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In my little corner of France, the weather has been a little on the rainy side.  We had a good week at the end of January, but since February, somebody, somewhere, without knowing the ramifications of his words, must have said, “et bah, on a besoin d’eau hein….”  God obviously granted this person their prayers and we have been rained on for the last few weeks!

It all began with a brief respite at the end of January, a fleeting interlude of sunshine before February just started urinating on us from above. It’s as if someone, somewhere, uttered the magic words, invoking the heavens to shower us with their blessings. And shower us they did, with rain pouring down like a pissing cow (as the French so poetically put it) that had been on the lash all night , couldn’t find the loo, and could no longer keep it in.

Yesterday, we were visited by none other than Louis, the storm, and not the child of the Prince of Wales. His presence was felt with each gust of wind and every raindrop that tapped against the window.  This was proper rain.  The kind of rain that makes your Yorkshire more elderly aunts would tell you that you might want to put a coat on, but told off by your Northumbrian grandmother if you dared use an umbrella.  It was a different time…  I would dash out to do my quality control for the timber deliveries at work whilst trying to dodge the heavy showers and not get blown over by the 50 mph gusts of wind.

But amidst the downpour, signs of Spring’s imminent arrival emerge like treasures hidden in plain sight. No longer do I awaken to the frosty chore of scraping ice off my windscreen; instead, there’s a gentle warmth in the air, a whisper of hope that dances through the rain-soaked streets.

As I make my way through the soggy pathways, I can’t help but notice the subtle changes taking place. The blackthorn bushes in the hedgerows begin to bloom, their delicate blossoms a testament to nature’s resilience. Daffodils peek out from gardens and roadside nooks, adding splashes of colour to the grey canvas of the day.

And despite the forecast calling for more rain, there’s a sense of optimism in the air, a feeling that Winter’s grip is loosening and Spring’s embrace is just around the corner. It’s a feeling that stirs something deep within, a sense of anticipation for what lies ahead. As you can see in the photo, it doesn’t rain “all the time.”

We still aren’t in 100 ASA film weather, except if you only want to shoot at F1.8, and when in 400 ASA we can start to go over F8, at least during the day.  You thought I wouldn’t talk about photography?  Really? At least I can go out and catch the rain on film.  Sunnier days are brighter, but the melancholy of rain is just as special and poetic.

So, dear readers, as we navigate the unpredictable dance of Spring’s arrival, let us do so with all the warmth and humour of old friends reunited. For whether it be the son of the Prince of Wales or the ghost of various Kings of France, when Louis comes knocking, it’s bound to be a royal affair.

Happy Not Dead Day 2024

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As the years go by, birthdays become less about childish excitement and more about a blend of nostalgia, forced fun, and a dash of introspection. My recent birthday weekend was a testament to this bittersweet evolution, a journey that took me from childhood memories to present-day, all while grappling with my inner aversion to “my” birthday celebrations.

A Childhood of Festive Delights

I’m still not good with birthdays.  After 52 of them they have turned from an exciting day with wonderful birthday parties organised by my mother and Aunty Colette helping out, with a homemade and home decorated cake, various bottles of pop, and hula-hoop crisps.  This was the 1970’s after all.

Adolescence: A Shift in Celebrations

In the 1980’s this evolved into being asked what kind of cake I wanted by Matron, choce of fruit or chocolate, that would be shared amongst all the boys at school, and receiving Thornton’s toffees sent in a parcel by my grandmother, to  going out to the cinema with a friend, and getting run over crossing the street, but thankfully not injured, to preparing a dinner for friends.

France: Embracing a New Cultural Tradition

Everything changed when I moved to France in the 1990’s. Birthday celebrations evolved from lively parties to intimate gatherings amidst friends, where the focus shifted from just cake to the simplicity of shared meals and heartwarming conversations.

The Familiarity of Family Gatherings

The 2000s and 2010s saw a familiar rhythm to my birthday celebrations, with the occasional variation in cake flavours and dining arrangements. However, the arrival of my own children introduced a new dimension, as they now eagerly embrace the role of party planners, injecting their unique energy and enthusiasm into my special day.

A Begrudgingly Enjoyable Birthday Celebration

My most recent birthday weekend was a testament to the bittersweet blend of forced fun and begrudging acceptance. Friday night found me in my favorite pub, sharing stories and laughter with my son, an attempt to appease his desire to celebrate. Saturday was a day of family bonding, as I took my daughter and her boyfriend into town, dropped them off, went throught two rolls of film, and then enjoyed a quiet evening at home cooking with my son.

In between indulging in my passion for photography, capturing fleeting moments of joy amidst the forced festivities. I also sought a moment of reflection during confession, seeking solace amidst the overwhelming attention. The night ended with a hearty meal prepared with my son, a small act of rebellion against the excessive birthday fanfare.

Sunday dawned early, as I embarked on a day of exploration, venturing to Saint Nazaire for an early 6am start and performance at the Folles Journées, a celebration of clasical music. The day concluded with a heartfelt moment at mass, surrounded by the love of my family.

Monday Morning: A Gratitude for the Past and a Renewed Perspective

As Monday morning approached, I carried a mix of emotions – the warmth of cherished memories, the exhaustion of forced celebrations, and a growing appreciation for the love and attention from my children. I was ready to face the workweek, armed with the knowledge that birthdays, despite their uncomfortable nature, could be occasions for reflection, connection, and a touch of forced fun.

Older and Wiser, Yet Still a Grouch

Do I feel older and wiser? Definitely the former, and to some small extent, the latter. Children, and especially older children, have this uncanny way of reminding you that you are evolving, despite loving every bit of you. It’s a humbling experience, and at the same time a display of love. I am veritably lucky to have them.

As I write this, a part of me still cringes at the thought of birthdays, but another part cherishes the memories they create and the love they represent. So, while I may never fully embrace the birthday craze, I’ll continue to participate, albeit with a touch of begrudging acceptance and a sprinkle of nostalgic fondness. After all, birthdays, like life itself, are a journey of mixed emotions, unexpected turns, and the enduring power of family and love.

Happy “Not Dead Yet” day to me! Still there to annoy the shit out of you, be really foul mouthed, and be completely inappropriate with everyone…
But I do love you all! Some of you I even like!

My Facebook

Capturing the Essence of Nantes: A Street Photography Journey with the Pentax ME Super and Kentmere 100 Film

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Dear Reader,

This is less of a tutorial than the last four articles but more a “how I approach the subject” kind of article. You can read about something I seem to do a lot of and have experience of. I’ll be talking about my film photography phase from this summer when my X100F was still dead

Have you ever felt that familiar tug of nostalgia while strolling through a city that reminds you of your hometown? For me, Nantes, with its maritime heritage and busy streets, brings back memories of Hull in East Yorkshire. Those of you from Hull will see the irony in this, wondering how the heck a town can be like Hull, but it has similarities… If you know, you know. It’s a city that feels like home, and it’s just a short 35-minute drive from where I live. Come with me through the streets of Nantes, with the Pentax ME Super and Kentmere 100 film.

Exploring Nantes Through My Lens

Nantes, like Hull, boasts a rich maritime history, or is it the other way round? As I set foot in the city, I can’t help but feel the past staring me in the face. The first thing I do is head to my favourite spot, Parking Feydeau. It’s become somewhat of a ritual for me. I park on the same floor, in the same space — predictability eases one worry when you’re out capturing moments, or as my son says, are you autistic Dad? The cheeky little bugger. No, I’m just me! An old Fuddy-Duddy.

As I step out onto the street, I take my first light reading with my camera. It’s a bit like taking the city’s pulse, getting the vibe for the day. My starting point is usually Quartier Bouffay, near the castle , and the fact that the pub is close by has nothing to do with anything! From there, I seem to find myself in front of the Sainte Croix Church. Sometimes, it’s for confession; other times, it’s just to warm up, both physically, spiritually, and visually.

Just as walking the streets of Nantes is a physical workout, and with a camera it is akin to a visual workout. You’re constantly observing, framing, and capturing scenes as they unfold. Rue des Carmes or the path leading to the Castle are some of my more frequent routes, but I’ve been known to start my journey at Place Royale, especially if a visit to my barber is in order. My beard and length has often been a debate between my mother and I. She prefers the shorter, therefore neat and tidy beard. I seem to like a little more length, going for the Father Christmas look. From there, I can explore the Rue de Calvaire or aim for the Tour de Bretagne. Should I choose Rue Crébillon, it will take me to Place Graslin, and I end up in the very French and very stylish Cours Cambronne. They do do a nice courtyard do the French. Sometimes I will head to Quai Président Wilson, to the Hangar à Bananes, where I go to the HAB Gallérie. The added bonus is that parking is free in this area, and after all as Tesco’s would have us believe, every little helps. Again, the fact that I have an address for a beer and a piece of cake has nothing to do with anything, and I will, of course deny everything!

Moments and Encounters: The Heart of Street Photography

As an older gentleman with a slight limp, courtesy of arthritis, I’ve come to understand the importance of comfortable shoes. Fortunately, I do happen to posess some comfortable shoes, allowing me the extra bit of ease whilst wandering around the streets. I’ve also done the odd reckie of spots where I can sit down— be it for a meal, people-watching, sipping a cup of French expresso that packs one heck of a caffeine punch, or, on rare occasions, enjoying a decent cup of tea, but as we are in France this a much more challenging endevour. The French can just be so French now and again. Ah, tea — that drink that is a hug in a mug.

Navigating the streets of Nantes with a camera in hand and a discerning palate for food has become somewhat of a habit for me. Some of the things I hold dearest to my heart, tea, and cake. In France, we encounter the “droit à l’image,” a set of laws governing the right to one’s image. Some people may feel uncomfortable having their photo taken, and I’ve seen it manifest in numerous shots of people’s backs. However, these unwitting contributors add a recognisable element to the urban landscape, showing human interactions in the city.

I recall an incident when a passerby accused me of taking his picture without permission. I had a 28mm lens, and he was merely an infinitesimal part of the scene I was capturing. Reassuring him, I explained that he was not the focus of the photo, and that I had only noticed him when he started yelling at me. So much of a muchness. It was a lesson in navigating the sometimes touchy waters of street photography in a culture sensitive to “the right to one’s image.” As it turns out, compassion is the universal language, but so is muttering under my breath when out of earshot.

Another way I combine photography and life in Nantes is through my visits to the local barber. Whenever I’m in the chair, I discreetly document the atmosphere of the shop. The photos I take are subsequently given to my barber, forming a visual record of his small business — it’s good to be good, and it’s my small way of supporting local businesses. As is drinking tea and eating cake. Nothing to do with my tummy, and nothing like Whinnie the Pooh…

The Pentax ME Super and Kentmere 100 Film: A Street Photographer’s Dream Team

Why do I choose the Pentax ME Super for my street photography outings? Well, it’s a matter of practicality and style. First and foremost, it’s compact — a small camera, and in my pocket another lens and a couple of rolls of film. In the world of street photography, less is often more. It’s a “Keep It Simple, Stupid” approach, and I am a great fan of simple.

But it’s not just about size as in many domains; it’s also about subtlety. A massive DSLR with a conspicuous zoom lens can be intimidating, both for the photographer and the subjects. With the ME Super and prime lens, I “zoom with my feet.” This set-up forces me to engage more intimately with my surroundings especially with the 50mm lens, and the result is a more authentic perspective of the city. Plus, let’s face it — the ME Super is just a really cool looking camera and its vintage appearance just oozes kudos and style. It makes me feel like a true photographer, even though I’m merely an observer of the city.

Now, let’s talk about the Kentmere 100 film. It’s practical and easy to find. This film stock is budget-friendly, a nicer way of saying cheap (Fomapan is another cheaper film stock too), which, if you have seen the prices of Kodak film, is a very convincing argument, yet it reminds me of more renowned Ilford films. One year, I decided to exclusively use HP5+, a faster film. Switching to Kentmere 100 or any other 100 ASA film gives me a finer grain, and I can still expose at F2 and 1/2000th of a second for that silky depth of field that just makes everyone go weak at the knees in “good” light. Bokeh whores I’m talking to you!

Street photographers often aspire to capture the kind of timeless black and white aesthetic seen in the works of Doisneau, Cartier-Bresson, or Vivian Maier. While we may never fully replicate their images, using black and white film, allows us a head start on our digital brothers. I’ve always been drawn to this style of documentary photography. Street photography, for me, isn’t just about street portraiture; it’s about observing the street and documenting it in a classic way — classic, much like myself, or should I say, old-fashioned? Whatever it may be, it’s certainly not modern and up-to-date, just like Yours Truly, but that’s fine too! We all have our place.

Tips for Aspiring Street Photographers

Now, for those of you who aspire to explore street photography, let me share some tips. Remember the phrase from the cover of “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy”: DON’T PANIC! When you’re working with a film camera, such as the Pentax ME Super with its 36 exposures, don’t expect to get 36 keepers. However, consider each photo that doesn’t quite hit the mark as a valuable visual note.

These notes help you study your subjects and how the scene changes with shifting light. Practise, after all, makes perfect. Don’t think that any photographer publishes all their shots; in fact, I curate and edit my photos carefully before sharing them on my Instagram feed. It’s all part of the learning process, using each “less than perfect” shot to refine your craft. And each photograph is a journey towards the ultimate photograph.

Dont forget those comfortable shoes, which, as I mentioned earlier, are essential. You’ll be walking and standing a lot, so prioritise comfort. Again, reduce your kit to the minimum. The less weight you have to carry, the fewer excuses you’ll have to sit down and maybe have a cup of tea and a piece of cake. But keep that option open, you never know…

I photograph to find out what something will look like photographed.

Garry Winogrand

Conclusion: Capturing the Essence

In conclusion, street photography is about capturing the essence of the city, and with the Pentax ME Super and Kentmere 100 film, I document the life, culture, and people of Nantes. It’s a city with a rich past and a vibrant present, and through my lens, I’ve sought to capture moments that reflect its unique character.

Each click of the shutter is a testament to the enduring appeal of film photography and its ability to capture moments that transcend time. It’s a classic approach in a modern world, much like my beloved Nantes itself. I mean, it’s not Hull, but not many places can rival Hull. If you know, you know.

If you want to dig into the Pentax ME Super itself — its controls, its character, and why it works so well for street photography — I’ve written a dedicated review: Why the Pentax ME Super Is the Perfect First Film Camera (Even in 2026).

So, Dear Reader, whether you’re a seasoned street photographer or just beginning your photographic journey, I encourage you to explore the streets of your own city or a new one. Embrace the art of observation, document its nuances, and don’t be afraid to capture this essence of the world around you. It’s a journey that rewards both the observer and the observed.

Thank you for joining me on this photographic adventure. I invite you to share your own street photography experiences and engage in a conversation about this beautiful art form. Until next time, keep clicking and exploring.

The Contradictory Contradiction

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I have a friend here who said that I am always contradicting myself and that it isn’t logical and how can I say two things at the same time, and I replied that the two things, although contradictory in appearance, are both as true.  That person is a production of French education with philosophy as the subject that all French teenagers go through to learn how to think the way the Education Nationale tells them to think, under the guise of learning all about freethinking and critical thinking.  I, however, am a lot less French despite what some people might like to think, and I will think any blooming way I desire, with or without contradictions.

I’m not talking about my mental state, for once, but photography.  I love both digital photography and analogic photography.  I am bewildered by modern technology and could be classed as a geek, and yet the experience of using old technology that is obsolete for some gets me all excited as a small child waiting for Father Christmas, but being told by their mother to go to bed, otherwise, he won’t come.  It didn’t stop me from waking up at the crack of dawn, and I think my parents might have regretted the decision to buy me a guitar for Christmas and hearing me playing at some ungodly hour of the morning.  As a 49, fat middle-aged gentleman, I can understand them, but my 6 or 7-year-old self didn’t and couldn’t imagine the disturbance that I had caused them.

Oh, how times change!  While I’m on the nostalgia train going to the “good” old days, I have vivid memories of a drawer at my grandparents’ house, where my mother was brought up, and in whose room I would be staying.  Inside this drawer, many “old” things just fascinated me.  It could be my grandfather’s old plumbing ruler or golf tees.  It could be anything but it was an entrance into another world for me.  My grandmother’s kitchen, because at that time, my Grandfather wouldn’t be in the kitchen, was a place where everything was from the 1930s and it all just fitted together.   There was the Anderson shelter, which had been turned into a proper pantry, was a relic from the Second World War where they would have sheltered from German bombs falling on the town and trying to stop my Great Uncle’s shipyards from operating correctly.  My Great Aunt would drive around in an ambulance taking care of casualties.  Amazing people from an amazing time. 

What does this have to do with photography?  Not a huge amount, but is that a problem?  Oh yes, it tells you about my fascination for the old and very new.  I have “a number” of cameras, the eldest being from the 1940s and the newest from 2021, with nearly every decade being represented in-between the two dates.

So I was going somewhere with all this.  Ah yes, lately I seem to be getting back into film again.  In the last but one article, you may have seen the photos from the Mamiya, which is a relatively modern camera being from the early ’80s.  Well, this time, I’m still using a camera from the 1980s, the Pentax ME Super.  For once, I wasn’t using Ilford HP5, which is my “go-to” film.  No, I decided to be different and get out of my comfort zone, and use a new film.  I say new film, I mean Rollei has been around for donkey’s years, but this was a “new to me” film.  May I introduce you to Rollei RPX 100.  I never use 100ASA film, but was turned by Fomapan 100, which you can see in the photos from the Hangar à Bananes.  A fine-grain film, especially when you compare it to the grain from HP5 even when shot at box speed, let alone 800ASA or even 1600ASA.

The film was developed in ILFOSIL 3, and I thought it was great.  I tried in town and country and was thrilled.  The thing that pleased me the most was that it kept flat, which means a lot to somebody who has ever tried to scan film. The last time I bought a film I played wild cards, and it was also a lot cheaper than HP5 which is a very convincing argument.  I still dream of Kodak Portra 160, but it is getting more and more scarce, and therefore more expensive.  A beginning of the month kind of film.  Oh look at that, my pay has just gone in…

So yesterday evening I was scanning a film my son had shot on a 1960s Kodak camera, and thinking about how he has changed since 2016 when I picked up my Fuji XT2, a slightly more modern mirrorless digital camera. I hadn’t used a modern camera in quite a while and it almost felt foreign to me, and yet familiar at the same time. My fingers seemed to find the controls without looking very far, and it felt very natural.  Maybe my love of digital and analogue isn’t that contradictory after all?

Now it’s time to show you the results of the Rollei RPX 100.  I liked it and am happy I bought more than one roll.  The camera, as I think I said earlier, was the Pentax ME Super.

CYSO City Youth Symphony Orchestra (Hull)

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Right, this post might be a little introspective and even border on the nostalgic.  Mother, you have been warned, read on at your own peril. 

This week has been a good one.  In fact, it’s been a really good one.  Last weekend I was on holiday and it seems to have been nothing less than a Godsend!  For those of you who know nothing of me outside photography, you will now learn that I work in a factory in France that makes doors.  Yes, I work in a French Doors factory, even if that corny gag might get me shot at dawn.  Every Summer we would get four weeks holiday during August.  The whole factory just shut down for the month.  For those of you who have just got over the initial shock from that statement I will continue.  We’ll pick the others up later on.  We shut down for the month of August as do our clients, and the majority of country. Now we only get three weeks. Ah well… August is probably one of the best times to visit Paris.  They’re all on holiday and visiting their families in the provinces or following the latest holiday trend darling! 

That was the status quo and we all know it and it was good.  But, little did we know, Covid was just around the corner getting ready to bitch slap us all.  As a result of the first lockdown, the management thought, well, we need to work the first week of August “to be there for our clients” and the remaining week would be taken at a later date.  That later date was last week, for the week of the Ascension.  For those of you who aren’t Catholic or even Christian, the Ascension is when Jesus went back to heaven and said “I’ll be back,” but not “Hasta la vista Baby.”  That was somebody else.

Anyway, back to the subject in hand.  I have had my week’s holiday and it was very lovely.  Just what I needed.  This last week has been just as good.  The time at work has flown by, and yes I’m up to date on everything.  What has changed?  I have started walking my son’s dog.  1, because I can.  2.  Because I think she enjoys it, and seeing her getting all excited when she sees me putting on my shoes is a real ego boost.  We get into the car and I drive off to our local forest where we walk and take in Mother Nature.  Well kind of, because it’s a managed forest and the trees were planted mostly by man, but who cares, it gets me outside.  The dog is called Molly, and she’s a cross between a Spaniel and a Teckel, which means she loves sniffing everything and following trails. 

I used to identify uniquely as a “cat person” and today I am deciding to do my “coming out” as bi-petual.  I like both cats and dogs.  Yes another horrifying shock for my poor parents.  I’m really getting into this dog walking thing.  We have a few circuits that we enjoy.  The Forêt de Grasla, the Mare aux Canards, which, when I first heard my daughter talking about going first sounded like to my deaf ears Maracena, which I always thought was in Brazil, and behind the village in the vines.

The number of paces that I do a day has gone up from 7000 to a peak of 16000 yesterday.  Could this be a sneaky way of that dog telling me that I’m fat, that I shouldn’t eat as much, that I should give her some of my food instead, and move my booty?  Who cares?  It seems to be doing me good!

Where was I?  Ah yes.  Those of you who have eagle eyes, and who read the titles of my articles will be wondering what do France, dogs, holidays, and fat people have to do with a Youth Orchestra, or Hull even?  And you’d be right.  You might argue that the title was nothing more than pure click bait, and you will want to assassinate me on Twitter.  I’m not on Twitter, so unlucky you! 

So music…  Some of you who only know me with a camera in my hand and do not read all my posts, might not know that I lead a double life.  I dabble a bit in music.  Another contender for Understatement of the Year 2021.  I’ll try and go through as quickly as I can prepare the terrain for the main bit of this article and not the waffle at the beginning and my mind wandering and wondering.

When I was 6 years old I saw the guards parading on Horseguards Parade in London, and declared that one day I would do that.  I was in awe of the music, and I was hooked.  I started learning the horn at boarding school, and when boarding school was no longer the best place for me, I came home to Hull (the last word in the title).  You see, I’m getting there…

Well just a couple of days ago I was added to a Facebook Group by an old teacher of mine.  The Group is called “City of Hull Youth Symphony Orchestra (CYSO) Memories” which is for those of us fortunate enough to have played in the orchestra or one the City Youth Ensembles, and who went through the musical education system in Hull.  You end up seeing some familiar names spring up as do the flowers in the hedgerows on the way to work.  Recollections of concerts, and above all the hard work that went into them.  The work that non-musicians don’t get too see.  People talking about the well known character, GHS.  Geoffrey Heald Smith who managed to achieve legend status in many ways, not all good, but for music he was amazing.  He had this passion for music that he was able to “distil” in us.  The individual instrument teachers would come into your school and give you lesson whilst you were at school.   I have heard him described as a bully, an amazing musician, a legend, a source of fear, a drunk, a teacher, a conductor, an inspiration, a man of his time.  Take your pick, he was all of the above and more, and had a great impact on a whole generation of musicians in my home city.  He made an orchestra out of the teachers and would visit the schools to play for the pupils and try and get us interested in music.  These were like a breath of fresh air for me, but depending on his sobriety of lack thereof, things could be “difficult”.

When I was 11 I was in a new school in Hull after three years of boarding school.  My main preoccupations were, avoiding getting my head kicked in, avoiding being bullied, being accepted, and living through the general shitstorm that was going on around me.  1984.  Crap year for the miners, but not just the miners.  I was fed up of everything and let’s say that my early tutorage from my new horn teacher wasn’t going the way I wanted it to go.  Luckily, that changed.  I was about to give up, and my mother was distraught.  She called in GHS to speak some sense into me and to convince me to carry on.  He came to the school and we sat down and talked.  I seem to remember him telling me that sure, I could give up, and another child would take my instrument and my place, or I could continue and be part of something bigger than myself. Those 15 minutes changed my life, and I will be forever grateful to the man.

I would continue with my teacher, and I would like to thank Mr Oglesby for his patience, and his dedication to turning me into a horn player.  I joined the system and as I learnt my craft, I moved from training orchestra, to junior orchestra, and the junior wind band.   I passed my Grade V and became eligible to try and audition for the City Youth Orchestra.  It was a very good school for me as a musician and helped install a discipline that I carry with me to this day.  Practice, practice, practice.  No passengers allowed, somebody can always take your place.  Of course, egos were made and broken.  I remember one concert where the principal trumpet was replaced by a pro, as he hadn’t turned up for enough rehearsals.  It was no nonsense, and you learned not to talk or fidget during rehearsals.  The City youth Concerts took place in the City Hall, which was one of those Concert halls from the beginning of the century, built in 1909, and as a child was very awe-inspiring.  It was massive to me, and I remember being told to sell tickets for each concert, as we had to fill the place. It has a capacity of 1200 seats!

During my days in the orchestra, symphony orchestra, which became the concert orchestra, the symphonic wind band, and the Swing band, in the late 80’s I would be in the music centre about 5 days a week, be it for Aural and music theory training, orchestra or ensemble rehearsals.  There was so much talent in those orchestras that as an unsure and awkward teenager trying to deal with my childhood, I felt so inadequate.  There were people that would go on to become professional teachers, musicians, orchestrators, who all just seemed to ooze talent.  I was probably that weird kid who played the horn, that meant well, but was on the periphery.  Sure, I had mates that I would talk with but was by no means as talented as some. They are, however, whom I think of when I think about my musical youth.

I remember concerts, tours, getting up to no good in Switzerland but managing to be OK despite my turbulent youth.  There were rites of passage, which contributed to make me the musician I am today.  I no longer live in Hull, as all the French photography may indicate, and I now live over here in France and have done since 1994.  That’ll teach me!  I remember my first rehearsals in the local orchestra in Noisy Le Sec, and the professional horn players who would teach us and guide us, said they knew that I was English in the way that I approached music.  I did it without an ego, and knew my role in the section and was a section member and not and frustrated soloist.  I knew that I was there to serve the music, and not for the music to serve me.  I was also a lot more disciplined that my French counterparts, who are always talking, fidgeting etc, but are not as bad as the Italians are.  Even my present musical director seems to see me as the pillar on which the horn section can rely on.  I’m still not a fan of being principal horn and generally play second horn.  My favourite position will always be 4th horn which is the bass of the section, the motor, and gives a base on which to carry the other three.

So…. Off to Paris tomorrow with my son for an epic Ian and Killian day. I might even take a camera along and get some photos.

À la recherche du temps perdu…

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At the moment I seem to be suffering from nostalgia. A longing for things past that I wish were present. Not in the sense of the good old days in the way certain of my countrymen seem to feel Brexit will bring. It is of course impossible to bring back the past. And in some respects I’m very happy about that. Those of us who have been through puberty will be quite thankful not to have to repeat the experience.

I’m talking about the nostalgia where the mind wanders. Where the mind meanders through the memories that are stored there. Some, quite rightly too, are suppressed, and not to be delivered on a plate to some head shrinker. Others rock us like babies in our cribs. Days where things seemed to be different and before we made those decisions, wise or not, that made who we are today. And those decisions that were made for us by others, and that we wished had been made differently.

My mind is in the past. That past can be yesterday where I was very grateful to have the warm air from the car heater hitting my face, or it could be my very origins, where a 16 year old girl was forced by her elder brothers and sisters to abandon her child and give him up for adoption.

Smells can trigger these memories that seem to jump back at us and surprise us. The smell of ink for fountain pens, bees wax, and incense, that take me back to boarding school. Or the smell of lasagna that takes me right back to sitting in front of the TV when I was a teenager, avoiding tensions with my parents. The smell of bitter beer that accompanied those first visits to pubs. The woff of cigarette smoke that reminds me why I gave up smoking. The smell of ground coffee and hot pains au chocolats which signalled breakfast on a Sunday. The smell of military clothing. I’m sure mud has a smell. The smell of cordite and gun oil when out on the ranges. The smell of nappies from when I would change my son. The smell of good pooh and bad pooh. Yes, it does exist. The smell of wood when I worked on machines making door frames, to the smell of metal. Yes, metal does have a smell. I work in a store in the factory where I stock hinges, screws, etc

Taste can work in the same way. If you’ve read any of the other articles, you will have heard about my weakness for cheesecake. But I was just trying to recapture a dessert that my mum used to make and would sometimes disappear from the freezer. If anyone says anything I will deny everything and blame it on my imaginary friend…

But I think the moment that brought it on this time was when my old German teacher, known to everyone as Slick Rick, and even to this day remains particularly slick, sent me a section of an old school photo that I appear on. I was 16. About to sit my GCSE’s. And thought that I could still do what my mum wanted me to. I didn’t of course know what she wanted. To be honest, neither did I. I had an idea, but it wasn’t set in stone yet.

A right motley crew, and it seems so long ago…

At 16 I would never have imagined the life that I have now. I now live in France but at the time saw myself living in Germany. My German was better than French thanks to this brilliant teacher who managed to install a rare passion for the language. At the age of 18 my German was practically fluent and I felt so much at ease. But time has a strange way of sending you down another path. Some call it destiny, some karma, some a vocation. I have no idea. But here I am in 2019 transported back to 1988.

Yup, nostalgia gets me everytime and I wonder where that lost time went.