Memory can feel somewhat vague and intangible yet simultaneously specific and distinct. It can come in many forms: from wafts of slightly burnt toast that take you back to the very table in the conservatory of your grandparents’ house, or the feeling of the scratchy collar on a jumper that reminds you of early mornings getting ready for school. It’s playing out a slow-motion scene in your mind which feels like a slightly hazy yet crystal clear movie, the main character always more naive and untainted than yourself, who listens but does not speak. Nothing matters but the memory of the moment itself. There is no background bustle, no untuned radio and no stress that the jeans you wore that day, didn’t look right.

Flicking through these old film photos felt very much like taking a long, indulgent bath, dipping my toes into warm bubbly water just to reminisce and fall into the past. Nothing will replace the feeling of holding the memory physically right there, in my hands, knowing it was once carefully taken and developed by my own grandad. Whilst these photos are personal family keepsakes, I believe there is a beauty to looking back through analogue film photographs which can spark memories within your own lives.