That first look at the Barclay Perkins brewing records. My fingers scorched red. The brewer living on through his impeccable copperplate. A moment in time, scratched out by quill on paper.
There's nothing like that electric jolt from the past. A connection with someone who died generations before my parents were born. Yet speaking to me.
Archive research has changed my life. For the worse, my family would probably say.
Collecting hasn't been easy. Every brewery or archive visit is a frantic flurry of photography. Living remotely, time is always short. I envy the lucky bastard, living in London, who can wander down the London Metropolitan Archives on a whim.
Being honest, I hate archive research. My back aches. Are the photos in focus? Can I get everything done in time? When can I piss off down the pub?
Analysing what I've harvested, you might imagine would be the fun bit. And it is. Just a shitload of work. Not that I'm complaining. Well, I am. Not stopping, mind.
Buckets. I've forgotten why I chose that as a title. Must have been some reason - why change it?