‘Sixteen,’ I lied. Truth was, I was fifteen, just. And while it was fine to work at that age, my aunt didn’t like me broadcasting it. ‘I don’t get paid much.’

‘So? I used to be like you once, didn’t have two pennies to rub together,’ he said, fire in his eyes. ‘But I did something about it. And you can too if you set your mind to it.’

The next day was a rest day. I got one day off a week and usually spent it walking around London alone, visiting the free museums and attractions. But that day, I pulled on my hand-me-down winter coat and stomped out into the cold armed with a wood-effect Filmo camera I’d ‘borrowed’ off a documentary-maker. He’d been so distracted drinking the night before he didn’t notice me sneak it from his side. I was planning to return it to him when I finished. Well, to the hotel’s lost property anyway, in the hope he’d mention its loss to reception. Sure, I felt slightly guilty. But at least he’d get it back. There were many things in my fifteen years I’d loved and lost, never to be seen again.

The night before, I’d barely got any sleep, playing with the damn thing and trying to figure out how it worked until I finally cracked it at 3am.

As I stepped out of the hotel with it in my bag, I thought of the techniques Reg had mentioned in his book:

Shoot tight. Zoom in on a stabbing hoof. A pecking beak. Two stark wide eyes. These shots can be used to create a story in the editing room.

Get down to the animal’s level, even if it means lying in dirt on your belly.

Film with the sunlight on your back if you want to see the animal’s true colours.

I must have looked a right sight that morning, lying belly down on London’s grimy paths, camera pointing out towards the Thames as I filmed a grey heron diving into water. Or lying on a bench and looking up to the sky to film pigeons in flight. Of course, I wished I was in Alaska instead, filming polar bears, but this would need to do. As I made my way back to the hotel, I walked with my head held high despite the grime all over my skirt. This was the most exciting thing I’d done since leaving home.

I found Reg seated at his usual spot in the hotel’s restaurant at lunch, sipping tea as he read another book. I don’t think he recognised me at first without my black and white waitress uniform on, my long hair down when it was usually up.

I nervously placed the camera on his table. ‘I set my mind to some filming, like you advised.’