I had been stuck in the house for years: encased in four walls, unwilling to loosen my grip on safety and security, frightened to face the world. And yet now when I was beginning to find my way back to life, when all I wanted to do was leave this place with a camera and take photographs, the fog laughed at me as I gazed out of the window hoping for a shaft of light to cut through the all enveloping damp. I waited and waited, stared at a screen in disinterest, whiled away the time with too much tea, until I could no longer wait.

I took my camera and a single lens, lightweight, unencumbered by bags and paraphernalia, a single lens reflex slung over my shoulder on it’s vintage strap. I wandered the backstreets and shortcuts that I wandered as a teen, retraced my memories, meticulously considered each image that I captured, let the cold numb my skin as the fog seeped in.