05/01/2026
Today would have been my father’s 83rd birthday.
My Left Foot.
I’m always asked what my favourite book has been. I’ve never told the truth - until now.
We started travelling together in 1986. I was six. Africa first, then further afield — New York, London, Antarctica, the Galápagos, the Amazon…
Even though I was the baby of the family, from our first photography expedition I was my dad’s “Me ooold son”. As the years rolled on, so did the extra added o’s. (I inherited my theatrical-ness from somewhere). Folks.
These were the before-digital days. Photographs revealed themselves slowly — the whir of the slide projector, the 2am glow of the light box, the faint chemical smell still clinging to the film...No previews. No ctrl-Z. Just a quiet wait to see what the world had given you. Back.
We photographed side by side. Same places, same light, similar instincts. When the films came back and we sat at the light box, there was an obvious problem: whose was whose?
So we made a rule.
The first frame of every newly loaded roll was a photograph of our left foot.
My father loved the idea so much he gave it a name: “My Left Foot”. Over time it became an archive of its own. Decades of carelessly-taken photos of left shoes.
I trust the meaning will land. I miss you dad, you would have been 83 today.
- M
