Shut up about Barclay Perkins - Archive dust
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Dropping by the London Metropolitan Archives on Monday was a strangely nostalgic experience.
Big chunks of my writings are based on documents I snapped there. I knew it was a while since I'd been there. Checking the dates of the photos, it was 6.5 years. What? I still haven't quite processed them all. What a lazy git I am.
Smells evoke memories more than any other senses. First Truman's log up, it hits me. Covers my fingers, progresses up my nails, dirties my shirt. And that smell. Archive dust.
Sends a shiver down my spine every time. No matter how many times I have to rush to the bog to scrub my hands.
The first sniff of a brewing record at the LMA on Monday took me back and up and all over. In a funny fun sort of way.
Then I remembered I had several hours of taking photographs like a lunatic. That's not so much fun.
Torture over, washing the archive dust from your fingers is another ordeal.
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