Well, yesterday was my first real photography gig.

I was lucky enough to be asked to be one of the official photographers for Torbay Pride, which was both exciting and slightly surreal if I’m being honest.

So I thought I’d share a little bit about it with you.

Now, side note.

Whenever I’ve performed my poetry in the past, stage fright has absolutely battered me. We’re talking not sleeping properly, not wanting to eat, feeling sick, and generally being a nervous wreck until the event was over.

Yesterday was different.

Apart from an unrelated PTSD wobble, I was surprisingly calm. No sleepless night. No stomach doing gymnastics. No overwhelming urge to hide under a duvet and pretend the world didn’t exist.

Progress, perhaps?

I even broke one of my own unwritten rules and changed my plans on the morning of the event.

Normally I hate doing that.

The original plan was for Mrs Bob to drive me as close to the venue as she could get, despite all the road closures, then either wait around somewhere nearby or drive the fifteen miles home and come back later.

Instead, I looked at the map and realised the train station was practically next door to the venue.

The train was cheaper.

The train was easier.

The train won.

Sometimes common sense sneaks in and catches me off guard.

Once there, I ended up making friends with another photographer who wandered over to chat because of my DSLR.

To be fair, it does stand out.

It’s over fifteen years old, has a white body, and looks positively prehistoric compared to some of the modern kit on display these days.

But I love that camera.

It’s a lovely retro beast that keeps delivering photographs I’m genuinely proud of while I work out whether I actually enjoy photography and whether I’m any good at it.

Spoiler alert.

The answer to both appears to be yes.

We ended up choosing similar shooting spots and spent a good while chatting while grabbing some great shots. As I had an official pass, people seemed to assume they did too, which worked out quite nicely for both of us.

Then I got to do my favourite kind of photography.

Walking.

Observing.

Blending into the background like a wallflower with a camera.

I’ve always preferred those genuine moments. The laughter, the conversations, the expressions people don’t realise they’re making. The second people notice a camera, something changes. The moment becomes a performance.

I’d rather capture the story.

One of the highlights of the day was being allowed between the stage and the barriers.

Now that felt special.

A genuine privilege and one I won’t be forgetting any time soon.

Unfortunately, my knees and back are keen to remind me that I’m no longer twenty. So after several hours on my feet it was back to the station, back on the train, and back home to begin the long process of sorting through and editing images.

Which, as it turns out, I enjoyed almost as much as taking them.

I also learned something else yesterday.

As much as I love poetry, I think I’m happier behind a camera or a pen than I am standing on a stage reading my scribbles.

There’s something about quietly creating that suits me better.

So I think I’ll stick with the description I gave someone yesterday.

“I’m a poet, cosplaying as a photographer.”

Stay safe,

BC