I had to find a picture of me in 1969.
I’d like to tell you that the my tendency towards OCD means that my photographs are organised into boxed categories including Childhood, University, Before Children, After Children and Bangkok. Sadly, while my compulsive behaviour means I have to have all the light switches facing the same way, and I have push my Thyroxine out of the foil in the right pattern, my photographic memories are thrown higgledy piggledy into a large trunk.
Still, having given my self permission to slump on the writing front, I identified today as the day to go through my photographs. So this morning I set up: labelled up some containers with the above categories. I took my IPod through to listen to podcasts, and opened the box.
Oh it was horrible. It’s a lovely job if you have all the time in the world; you can sit leafing through the memories you’ve made. However, if you have to find a certain picture by the close of today, amongst 47,212 other photos… it’s not so nice. Still, about two hours in I found it:
Now… what I’m wondering is that if I’m under half way through the box… have I got to carry on and finish sorting the photos?