This is a photo essay that will be updated at 10 year intervals, life permitting.
September 2007. I was sitting on a bog standard bog seat and spied the contents of a waste bin.
In the bin, a crumpled newspaper, with a face peering out that I could not quite put a name to.
Wrapped inside the black and white pages, a bloody sanitary pad.
A creative thought and a series of images flashed through my mind and across the ages.
Queues outside Northern Rock bank.
The Snow Queen.
Blair t-shirt (man arrested).
There I was a Guardian reader turning pages in a darkroom, 2007.
Here I am in 2018, reading the Financial Times Weekend supplement in an autumnal garden.
I am about to lose my balance: a sprained ankle and possibly a fracture.
As my foot is elevated, I wrap away the swelling and bruise in newsprint.
I recall a satirical drawing with Donnie Trump and Theresa Maypole.
Another thought and image flash guns in the era of Fake News.
Through comic tears and social fears, I am not really sure who I'm addressing this "to".