When I was about thirteen I had a friend called Ian who was a couple of years older than me. I say friend but in reality he just used to beat the fuck out of me. I'd put up with the beatings because he had a CB radio and for about two weeks in the summer of 1980 I was obsessed with CB radio's.
We would sit in a old Ford Escort at the end of his drive next to an old caravan that was even more beat up than me and talk complete bollocks into the handset. We seldom spoke to truckers who were trying to out run the police. No for some reason the demographic group that liked to use CB radio in North-West England at the time was fat sounding housewives with twenty Benson's voices.
They would have names or handle's like Angel or Mother Bear, never just Debbie or Pauline. Over time you would get to hear the same names popping up again and again. A hierarchy emerged. When some people were "on air" there would be loads of other CBer's trying to talk to them, where as I would sit there lamely shouting "come back" till I was blue in the face and red in the arm where Ian had suddenly remembered to give me another dig. Ultimately I got fed up with CB radio (and casual violence) and moved on to my next two week obsession, fishing.
What's this got to do with photography? Nothing, and everything. What with blogs, social media and photo festivals it takes me back to CB radio. "The online photo community" I keep hearing it called. Do me a favour "The online photo community" is often little better than a couple of little dicks sat in an old motor chatting shit.
This ones for SB.
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