I think I was ten – maybe 11 – when I got my first camera. It was a birthday present from my mother. Funnily enough, I remember being disappointed. I'd been hoping for a guitar. I was right into music. But photography?
Looking back, I suspect that part of the problem was that my mother had something of an obsession with photographing 'important family moments' as she called them. Birthdays, Christmases, weddings – even funerals – my mother was there telling us to 'Say cheese'. And it wasn't as if she was a particularly good photographer. Even today, her family albums serve as examples of how not to take photographs.
Much to my mother's disappointment, I hardly used the camera at all. It mostly sat in the top of my wardrobe, along with a couple of other gifts that I hadn't really wanted.
But then something happened that changed my life.
The Christmas after I turned 15, my Aunt Sophie came to stay. She was a proper photographer. That was her job. She got paid to take photographs for fashion catalogues, as well as for the occasional magazine.
After supper on the first night she was with us, she showed us some of her photographs. They were very good. They were clever. They were beautiful. And, more importantly, they were interesting. They were nothing like my mother's photographs. I remember being knocked out by them.
I also remember being knocked out by one of her cameras. It was a digital SLR, the first I'd ever seen. It had nowhere near the pixel rating of a modern digital camera. But that didn't matter. It was instant! No more waiting days or weeks until you'd used up the whole film. No more trips to the Snap Happy store down on the high street. No more waiting for a couple more days while the film was processed. (And no more forgetting to pick up the prints because, well, by then the whole thing had taken so long that you'd sort of lost interest.)
It was just point ... shoot ... and look at the results. And, if you didn't like what you saw, you just trashed that shot and took another.
'Your mother tells me you're a photographer, Harry.'
'Not really,' I said. 'I've got a camera. But I don't really do much. Not really. It takes too long.'
'Then try this one,' she said. 'Here, I'll just set it to auto everything.' She handed me the DSLR and, ten minutes later, I was deeply and madly in love.
In some ways it was a good thing that my 'birthday camera' had had so little use. It was also a good thing that I'd kept the original packaging. Within a couple of hours of the local camera store opening after the Christmas break, I was down there using my low mileage film camera as a part-exchange on a near-new digital.
I won't pretend that I became a master of photography overnight. My early efforts were only slightly better than my mother's. But, freed of some of the more tedious parts of the process, I concentrated on the stuff that I thought mattered. Within a couple of years, I'd put together a portfolio that was good enough to get me into the photography programme at one of the better art schools. And, three years after that, I was ready to take the photography world by storm.
My timing was about as bad as it could be. The world was going through one of its periodic economic setbacks. The people who normally hired photographers weren't. And for a 20-year-old newly-qualified snapper without any real experience, even freelance jobs were few and far between.
'Talk to Soph,' my mother said. 'She might know someone who needs someone. She might even need someone herself.'
By then Aunt Sophie had set up in a studio only about half an hour from our village. I gave her a call and explained my problem.
'Yeah, the well is certainly a bit dry at the moment,' she said. 'But come out to the studio. We'll have a chat. See if we can work something out.'
Aunt Sophie's instructions took me off the main road, down a secondary road, on to a country lane, and then, finally, down a narrow farm track. Just when I had decided that I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere, I found myself outside some sort of barn. I could see three cars parked outside. And I recognised one of them as Aunt Sophie's beloved old Jag convertible.
I parked my car and made my way along the path that I hoped would lead to a door. It did. The door was partially open and, inside, I could see Aunt Sophie, all alone, cleaning a lens. 'Aunt Sophie! Hi!' I called out.
She looked up and seemed surprised to see me there. 'Oh, Harry. Of course. I forgot you were coming today. Never mind, I'm nearly finished.' She carefully put down the lens and gave me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. 'Gosh, you've grown,' she said.
I couldn't help noticing that one of the two laptops on the floor next to her camera bag seemed to be on a porn site. I must say that was a bit of a surprise.
Then another surprise. Two women appeared from another part of the building. One, a big-breasted woman who appeared to be in her late 40s, was completely naked. Well, she was wearing a pair of high-heeled shoes of the kind designed to be worn only in the bedroom, but that was all. The other woman was slightly younger and wearing one of those short, pocketed aprons. I assumed she was a make-up artist.
'Is this better?' the younger one asked.
Before Aunt Sophie could say anything, the older woman suddenly noticed me. 'Ooh, is this my stud, Soph?' she asked. 'Yum, yum.'
Aunt Sophie gave her a stern look. 'Celia, Tamara, this is my nephew Harry,' she said. 'He's a photographer.'
Naked Celia licked her lips. 'Very nice,' she said. 'Are you going to do my close ups, Harry?'
Aunt Sophie's stern look became even sterner. 'Celia! Back in your box!'
'I'd rather have Harry in my box,' Celia said. And just to make sure we knew what she meant, she gently tapped her hairy pubic mound a couple of times.
Aunt Sophie turned to me. 'There's a kitchen through there, Harry,' she said. 'Go and make yourself a cup of coffee. I'll just finish up here, and then we can a chat.'
Ten minutes later, I was just finishing my coffee when Aunt Sophie came into the kitchen. 'Sorry about Celia,' she said. 'She gets a bit excited when there are good looking young men around.'
'That's OK,' I said. 'She's a bit of a full-on character, isn't she.'
Aunt Sophie just smiled and started to make another pot of coffee. 'Now, I suppose you're wondering what all this is about,' she said. And before I could say anything, she continued: 'As I said on the phone, the well is a bit dry at the moment. There's not that much work about. And what there is, is not paying as well as it used to.'
'Tell me,' I said.
'Fortunately – although that may depend on your point of view – a chap for whom I used to do a lot of fashion work decided to get into the mature erotica business. He set up a subscription website and several of other things, and he seems to be doing quite well. In fact, he seems to be doing very well. I guess people can always find a bit of spare change to pay for their pleasures.
'Anyway, he asked me if I thought I could do some erotic shots that had a bit of quality about them. I told him I couldn't see why not. Personally, I've always enjoyed a bit of good quality non-violent erotica. And don't look so shocked,' she said.
I didn't realise I was looking shocked. But perhaps I was. I hadn't really given too much thought to my aunt's preferences in the realm of the erotic. Although I was beginning to.
'Anyway,' Aunt Sophie said, 'I gave it a go. And, fortunately, he liked what I did. To cut a long story short, we came to an arrangement. He set up this place. And now I keep him supplied with fresh pics for his website and some other things. In between times, I get to do my normal stuff – when it's available.' She paused. 'Surprised?' she asked. 'Shocked?'
Was I? 'Well, I was a bit surprised,' I said. 'I wasn't expecting Celia.'
'Celia? No, nobody ever is,' she said.
'But I'm not shocked,' I told her. 'Not really. In fact it sort of sounds ... well, quite fun, really.'
