For years I’ve carried around a photo of the old American Cinematographer Manual foot-candle table on my phone — the one that lists how many foot-candles you need for a given ISO/ASA/EI at a given f-stop.

Last weekend I had the privilege of joining a workshop run by the Association of Camera Operators (ACO) at Sunbelt Rentals here in Manchester. The focus was the geared head - that mythical set of wheels you’ve probably seen behind the scenes on classic films.

I’m pretty sure we’ve all seen it — either in a Curry’s store in the mid 00s or in our parents’ front room: Dad stood in front of a brand-new TV, remote in hand, turning the sharpness all the way up because “you can see more detail,” then cranking the saturation until everyone on screen looks like they’ve just come back from a fortnight in Marbella.

This August I had the chance to film at The Quail Rally and Motor Sport Gathering in Carmel, California — one of those dream shoots, especially for a petrolhead, that reminds me exactly why picking up a camera has allowed a shy kid from Barnsley the chance to travel and see the world.

Good composition is deeply subjective. Despite all the formulas, rules and framing guides we’re taught, I have always felt composition is more instinct than instruction. Some people have it, and — controversial as it may sound — some don’t. My dad for example, he couldn’t frame a picture to save his life - considerable amounts headless holiday memories.

There’s something about Hammer Horror that sticks to your ribs. All fog and folklore, decaying aristocracy and candlelit corridors—those lurid British nightmares where Peter Cushing stared down evil with an academic’s cool and the impeccable Christopher Lee loomed through the shadows like a gothic monument on stabilised head.