On the exact day of my 331/3rd birthday I signed my first record deal and, in a fit of grandiose delusion about imminent stardom, ceremonially hurled more than a decade of my photographic work into oblivion. This was before digital backups, naturally. My entire archive existed physically: a room heaving with prints, transparencies and negatives, all of it dutifully dispatched to history’s landfill. It took more than one skip to erase the evidence. A tragedy, really. Also an absolutely world-class idiot