The Mists Of Time

It’s a miserable day and I’m sick to death of sorting my room out, so I spend a chunk of the afternoon scanning some old negatives. The photographs were taken almost forty years ago on a short holiday in Robin Hood’s Bay. I can still remember, getting up early in the morning and watching the tiny fishing boats out in the bay, drifting in and out of the mist. Time hasn’t been particularly kind to the negatives, but that doesn’t matter – the grainy bleakness somehow suits the four pictures.

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