The two 60km/h signs in the photo are found when you drive north over the Story Bridge, on the edge of the Brisbane CBD, and take the Fortitude Valley exit. The road heads down past the signs and sweeps to the right and under the road heading in the opposite direction.

Like I've said before, circles are dominant shapes and I liked the symmetry of the two round signs opposite each other. I knew they lit up at night and thought they would look good at dusk, when there was still enough light on the surrounding landscape so that it just showed up in the photo - but the signs were very much the dominant aspect of the photo.

With that in mind, I fetched my tripod and made my way there late one afternoon.

I set myself up and took a few shots of the signs on their own and a few wider shots of the signs with a bit of peripheral landscape in shot. Cars were constantly driving down the road and past the signs and this looked quite good, the bright red of their tail lights piercing the dark blue light of dusk as they braked to take the bend just past the signs. A slow shutter speeds would blur them sufficiently as a contrast to the sharp (in focus) 60km/h road signs.

The only problem was that cars were also driving past me in the other direction (from the road passing above the signs) at a steady rate. This really pissed me off because every time a car drove down through the signs where I wanted it to be, traffic would inevitably pour past me in the other direction and get in the way of the photo I was wanting to achieve.

I managed to get a few okay shots but was a bit nonplussed by it all. I knew it would look good if it all went to plan but it just wasn't working for me. Plus I was losing what light I had to work with. Anyway, it was around dinner time and I had to be somewhere...in front of the TV with a plate on my lap! It wasn't like I had to get something that night and I could always come back. I fired off a few more frames for the hell of it and packed up.

The following day I downloaded the photos and had a look through what I'd taken. None of it grabbed me until I half stumbled across the photo you see before you.

The panoramas I take are shot on a 35mm digital SLR (Nikon D5000), so I envisage the panorama crop within the whole of the 35mm frame (I've become good at cropping photos in my head). Sometimes I'm looking for one thing when I see another within the frame and often times I don't notice something because of all the extraneous information within the 35mm frame. This was one of those occasions.

As I was going through the images I saw this photo had in it one of 'those' cars that was pissing me off by driving in front of me when I was trying to get the photo I was really wanting. As a result, I didn't take any notice of it because it wasn't what I was looking for.

I went through all the frames and, from the comfort of where I was, wondered if I could really be arsed going and re-shooting it if I had to. The answer was leaning toward 'no' so I had another, slower, look at all the photos I'd taken. Maybe there was one in there I could live with...

I methodically went through each shot again - 33 frames in total. As I got to around frame 30 I started to think 'reshoot' and my mind began wandering. I got to this frame and was about to his the 'next' button when, through my glazed eyes, I noticed the blur of the car's headlights and the fact the 60km/h sign was disfigured through the car's back window. I cropped the photo in my head and thought, 'that looks interesting...'.

I opened the file in Photoshop, cropped it for real and, 'hey presto', I had my shot. It was totally unexpected but I was going to take it nonetheless!

While it wasn't what I was wanting, the effect of the 'stop-pissing-me-off' car - blurred headlights and distorted 60km/h sign - had worked wonders. What made it even more amazing was that as the light dropped I had started using a 5 second shutter delay so there was no camera movement on the tripod, and the car in the photo was, in effect, captured by chance.

To see more photos like this, go to www.giuliophotography.com.au

Gear used - tripod, Nikon D5000, 80-200mm f2.8 lens, 1/20 sec f5.6

There's nothing like adrenalin to get the creative juices flowing. So many times I've been on jobs when I've had no inspiration what-so-ever, then the adrenalin has kicked in and, before you know it, a masterpiece has appeared out of nowhere (masterpiece might be a bit 'over the top', but you know what I mean). The photo you see here was one of those times.

Every new year's day the one job that remains the same is photographing the new year's day baby i.e. the baby that was born as close to midnight on Jan 1, thereby being the first baby born that year. Photo editors write that job down as soon as they get the following year's diary.

On January 1, 2000, I was working a newspaper shift in Brisbane. The new year's day baby had already been photographed and I thought I was in the clear. Then a late call came through. The not-so-big Redland Bay Hospital had recorded a large number of births and I was to go and get an additional photo for the 'new year's baby' story.

I grabbed my gear and headed for Redland Bay. Being late in the day, edition time was looming, so I couldn't waste time. Get the shot and get back!

I had no idea what to expect and when I arrived I was confronted with 8 babies. The old addage of 'never photograph children and animals' was running through my head - what am I going to do with 8 babies???

They can't pose for me. They'll look where they want and do what they want - smile, cry, sleep, yawn, all of the above - no matter how much 'look at the birdy' I do.

The new year's day baby is easy when there's one baby and a mum/dad/family. The mum/dad/family can pose for you and then it's a case of waiting for the baby to do what you want (and the mum/dad/family can tilt the baby's head etc where it needs to be).

As is the case with most things in life, 'less is more' - 8 babies with 8 sets of parents was shaping to be my worst nightmare. What was I going to do with them all?

So, I walked into the hospital and 8 sets of parents looking at me expectantly. I could see them thinking, 'He's a professional photographer. He'll know what to do...'.

At times like this the old addage of 'if you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit' really came to the fore. Without showing any of the ever-increasing panic surging through me (what the hell was I going to do for a photo?!), I assessed the situation in as professional a manner as I could. This meant standing back, then walking a few paces to the left and right, assessing the scene as if conjuring ideas. The scene in my head? Blank, blank, blank (think Homer Simpson).

I could sense unease among the parents. I think they also knew the '...brilliance...bullshit...' addage and suspected the latter was unfolding before them.

Still with no ideas and grasping at straws, I suggested the parents lay all the babies on the couch in a circular style arrangement.

"I'll try photographing them from above," I lamely told the assembled, in the hope that getting them to do something might stall things long enough for me to come up with an idea.

The babies were arranged and I stood on a chair to get some elevation. It looked kinda cute but at the same time it was a bit 'ho hum'. Eight newborn babies in a circle doing nothing in particular - big deal! I needed something to happen. And with that, something did.

As I looked through the camera, a set of hands appeared in the side of the frame and lifted a baby's head. I peered over my camera to see one of the parents doing what parents do - showing concern for their newborn baby. They pulled their hands away and, trying to show restraint, I remarked, "Can I get you to do that again?"

They placed their hands back on their baby's head and I looked through the camera. One set of hands looked really nice. Now, what if all the parents did the same? It would look great! Fantastic even! I had my Eureka moment!

Trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, I said, "That looks really nice."

Then, looking over my camera once more, I said to the other parents, "Can I get you all to reach in and hold your baby's head?"

I made it sound like this was the photo I had intended all along. In reality, my knees went weak and I nearly fell off the chair with relief.

I fired off several frames (including the photo you see here), grabbed all the details I needed, thanked everyone and bolted for the door.

The following day I searched the pages of the paper to find my adrenalin-fuelled 'masterpiece' had been reduced to the size of a couple of postage stamps on the 'new year's day baby' story.

Ho hum.

Gear used: 35mm f2 Nikkor lens, Nikon F4 body, Fuji 800ISO film, around 1/60 sec, f5.6 (available light)

When I arrived in Scotland I'd never heard of the 'old firm'. So, three months after stepping off the bus in Edinburgh, I found myself working for the Scotland on Sunday (SoS) newspaper in Airdrie one Saturday in November, 1992, when the boss called. I was being diverted to Celtic Park in Glasgow to photograph what was to be my one and, unfortunately, only, old firm match. I had no idea what to expect.

A brief history lesson...the old firm is the collective term (with differing origins - Google it) given to Celtic and Rangers, or Rangers and Celtic, depending on which side of Glasgow you come from. At the heart of the old firm is religion - Celtic's origins are Catholic and Rangers, Protestant, and never the twain shall meet. As a result, when Celtic and Rangers meet on the football pitch, it is more than two teams playing a game of football. The term battle isn't too far short of the truth and the religious divide between the teams means it is one of the most intense rivalries in football. Not only Scotland, but the world. In some quarters the line between rivalry and hatred is blurred and, while things may have mellowed in the years since I left, there are still elements of hatred between the two sets of supporters. The old firm rivalry started in 1888 and is as much a part of Glasgow's history since then as anything else.

Upon arrival at Celtic Park (Parkhead) I duly picked up my photographer's bib and made my way onto the pitch. Even before kick-off the atmosphere was electric. The crowd - I'm not sure exactly how big but well in excess of 50,000 - was in full voice. I chose one end of the ground and assumed my position in front of what turned out to be the Rangers support.

The design of what is now the old Celtic Park meant that the low stadium roofs acted like a megaphone and the crowd noise was projected out into the middle of the ground. As a result, I was surrounded by noise until the moment the Rangers team ran onto the pitch. As more and more of the crowd became aware that their beloved team was arriving for battle, the roar increased until it sounded like a jumbo jet was taking off behind me.

Soon after the Ranger team appeared, the Celtic team ran out and the noise level rose to beyond deafening. Even though I was a newcomer, I had shivers running up and down my spine. I'd never felt anything like it before and I haven't since.

Another brief history lesson...when I arrived in Scotland, I had no money. In fact, I only had enough for a one way ticket there and some left over to buy camera gear in New York on the way. I had nowhere near enough money to buy a decent telephoto lens and could only afford an 80-200mm f2.8 zoom lens. When it comes to photographing football, this is a piddly lens. It barely reaches past the edge of the goal box. In time I bought a telephoto lens (two, in fact) but early on I had to resort to goal mouth action and hope nothing major happened in the middle of the pitch or beyond.

So, on that day at Celtic Park, I was sat alongside the other photographers like the 'new kid on the block' that I was...looking highly inadequate.

Not having an ample telephoto lens meant I had to be creative elsewhere. Preferably within about a 30 metre radius. Due to this, my attention turned to Andy Goram, the Rangers goalie directly in front of where I was sitting. The old firm passion also extended to the players and Goram reacted to everything that was happening down the other end of the pitch, especially each time a Rangers shot on goal missed the mark. He was quite animated and I knew he might make a more interesting photo if Rangers scored.

I trained the camera on Goram, watching his every move and reaction. Between him and the crowd, I could gauge what was happening outside the tiny piece of Celtic Park I was concentrating on.

I can't remember when it was - I know it was during the first half because I had to leave at half time to get my films back to Edinburgh in time for edition - but suddenly there were several short gasps behind me. At the same time Goram began twitching as he watched the play from a hundred metres away. I made sure I was focused on him and listened. He suddenly stood on his toes and his hands tensed. The crowd fell behind me fell silent as they collectively took a long, deep gasp. It was, in fact, only a fraction of a second but it seemed much longer and, even though I wasn't watching, it was long enough that I knew what was about to happen. Rangers were going to score.

As the ball connoned into the back of the net at the other end of the stadium the massive gasp now bellowed forth on a level that defies description. For many in the crowd behind me, their lives revolved around this moment. The sheer, unadulterated joy released in that instant was like an explosion and I had to do everything possible to keep my camera still.

Despite wanting to turn around and see what was going on, I remained focused on Goram. He was my story. At the same moment the crowd exploded, he turned to his left and, in what seemed to be slow motion, started running straight at me with his arms out wide, like a plane accelerating down the runway. I pressed down hard on the motor-drive of my camera and slowly pull-focused as he moved towards me. With each stride the expression of joy on his face grew larger. After a few paces, and with his arms still spread wide, he turned like a plane banking away after lift off, and weaved his way back to his goal and the Rangers support.

I was in a sea of emotion, both from the Rangers support and also myself. I knew I had something no one else had - they were all focused on the other end of the field - but wasn't exactly quite sure what. It looked good through the camera and I was excited, I know that. So much so that I didn't even make it to half time. I knew I had a great photo of some sort and left. Looking back now, I wonder how we ever managed not being able to look at the screen on the back of the camera like we can now.

All the way back to Edinburgh - an hour's drive - I wondered what it was that I had. Then the doubts crept in. Had all the frames been in focus? Had I been too over-excited and missed the shot? I didn't think so...I hoped not...

When I finally got back to Edinburgh I somewhat nervously put the films through the processing machine and waited. As they emerged from the other end I impatiently tried to see what was on the films as they moved slowly (too slowly!) through the dryer. They finally broke free of the machine and I held one of the films up to the light, hurriedly passing it through my hands. The series of shots I was after - the ones that mattered - weren't on it. I threw it on the bench and grabbed the other film, repeating the process. I stopped when the familiar figure of Goram doing his plane impersonation appeared. I moved them closer to have a look. A smile broke out. They were sharp. They were beautiful. Deadline was bearing down but I still umm-ed and aah-ed over which one to use before finally choosing the one you see here. I got the darkroom technician to print a large copy of the photo and took it up to show the boss, who was as excited about it as I was.

That night I sat in the Jinglin' Geordie, the pub across the close from the Scotsman Publications building, with all the other SoS photographers, and eagerly awaited the arrival of the first edition of the paper. When it finally arrived my photo was splashed across the entire back page. It looked amazing and, to this day, is one of my favourite photos I've taken - the red of Goram's top against the grey of the day, his arms oustretched like a plane taking off, the fact it was the one and only old firm match I photographed.

But, most of all, I love it because I was the only photographer to get the photo. And all because I had a piddly lens.

Gear used - Nikon FM2 body, Nikkor 80-200mm lens, Fuji400ISO colour film no doubt pushed to 800ISO, (probably) 1/500sec @ f5.6

Two things before we get started:

1. This is a composite of two photos, so let's deal with the photo on the left first.

2. Please excuse the quality of the image on the left - it's a photo of a newspaper cut-out.

Many moons ago (pun intended...1990, in fact) when I was a staff photographer on the now defunct (Brisbane) tabloid, The SUN, I was working the late shift one night. It was dead quiet and I was getting bored when I remembered it had been one night off a full moon the previous night. Not only that, the moon had appeared to be hanging over the Brisbane CBD.

That night a full moon was due and I thought that if it was hanging over the city like it had the night before, it would make a great photo.

I threw my gear into the car and headed to Mt Coot-tha, about a 15 minute drive. I pulled into a gravel area just below Stuartholme, a girls school sitting atop part of Mt Coot-tha, that had a spectacular, uninterrupted view of the city (now there is a high fence where I pulled up and a large block of apartments on the hillside below where I had been. There is no view like there had been 20 years ago).

The view of the city and the moon that night was, indeed, spectacular. The only problem the city was where it should be but the moon was waaaay up in the sky. My idea of a spectacular photo of the moon hovering over the city was looking shoddy at best.

Not to be outdone, I got the camera and tripod out and took some nightscapes of the city and a couple of the moon on its own. I also took some portrait (vertical) photos of the city with the moon waaaay up above it. I knew they sucked but I didn't want to think I'd come all that way for nothing. Perhaps they'd look better when I got back to the office.

I was wrong and when I got back to the office and processed the film, they still sucked. What's more, the photos of the moon were way over-exposed (too much light) and it looked like a big, round white blob surrounded by black. None of the moon's detail - the craters etc - that was normally visible, was present.

I was about to ceremoniously run a pair of scissors up the middle of the film when one of the other photographers still working reminded me that photographing the full moon is like taking a photo in the middle of the day because it is the middle of the day on the full moon we see. Hence, I should photograph the full moon with my camera set like it was the middle of the day i.e. bright sunlight. It all made perfect sense.

'Hey,' he said. 'You've got a perfectly good nightscape of the city...all you need to add is a moon. Why don't you go up onto the roof of the office and re-shoot the moon. Then we'll make a sandwich.' He grinned broadly when he mentioned the word 'sandwich'.

I grabbed a telephoto lens, took the lift to the top floor and walked up and onto the roof of The SUN building. I then proceeded to re-photograph the moon like it was the middle of the day. Twenty minutes later I was admiring my handiwork on the lightbox in the photographers room three floors below. The moon, as predicted, looked splendid.

With a little help from my 'mentor-of-sorts' we got one of my perfectly good nightscape negatives and one of my simply splendid moon negatives and 'sandwiched' them together so the moon was aligned majestically over the Brisbane skyline. I slid my sandwich into the enlarger and hit the timer.

A short time later I cradled my 'Frankenstein' photo in my hands. My dream had come to life and I almost felt inclined to murmur, "It's alive!"

Now, I'm going to get a little bit technical here, so bear with me.

I'd photographed the city nightscape on a 200mm lens. When I headed for the rooftop of The SUN building, I had a 300mm lens strapped to my camera. The perceptive ones among you will have worked out that for the nightscape and the moon to look the same they both needed to be photographed using the same lens. A 300mm lens has more magnification than a 200mm lens, so the moon in my sandwich - the photo you see before you - is a tad larger than it should be. In fact, probably a lot larger. At times like this one needs to fall back on the old addage - why let the facts get in the way of a good story.

If it makes you feel better as you sit there rolling your eyes, I did feel a little bit guilty at the fact I'd screwed with nature (twice), not to mention my ethical responsibility. But the end result, you have to admit, was pretty damn good, and this was all I cared about as I slipped a large print of the photo into the top drawer of the boss' desk (as tradition dictated in the 'old' days), with a note explaining what I'd done.

I slept well that night and when I arrived at work the following afternoon, I was amazed to see the photo splashed right the way across page 3! Obviously no one had minded what I'd done - ethics, who needs them?!

So, all's well that ends well...except for the fact the story doesn't end here.

A week or so later the boss received a letter from an elderly gent, Norm Crew. In it he stated that he'd been so taken with my photo, he'd recreated it in the form of a painting (time to deal with the photo on the right). The boss, not one to pass up an opportunity, rang Norm and asked him if he'd mind it if the photographer who took the photo of the moon over the city came out and took a photo of Norm with his painting and an actual copy of the photo of the moon over the city. Norm was over the moon (once again, pun intended).

And so, a week or so after 'Moon over Brisbane' had been published, I trapsed out to Norm Crew's house and got a photo of Norm holding a large copy of my photo next to his painting. It was pure tabloid. I even got a photo of me and Norm with my photo and his painting (as you can see). In fact, I can't even remember if that was the photo they ran in the newspaper.

Anyway, what had started out as a simple 'that might look good...' idea for a photo one night had given birth to a Frankenstein and inspired a bloke called Norm to pick up his paintbrush. If only he knew...

Gear used - Nikon F4, Nikkor 80-200mm f2.8 lens (city), Nikkor 300mm f2.8 (moon), city exposure (1-2 seconds, from memory), moon (1/500 f8 or f11), film - probably HP5 400ISO

In 1998 I hitchhiked all the way around Australia photographing everyone who gave me a lift and writing about each hitch (http://soididbook.blogspot.com.au/).

The bloke in this photo, Marc Hubben, was my 29th hitch. He took me from Erldunda, a road house on the Stuart Highway in the Northern Territory (at the turn off for Uluru), to Adelaide. I was with him for a couple of days.

It had rained in the days leading up to Marc picking me up and, as we made our way from the Northern Territory into South Australia, we were greeted with the sight of wildflowers blanketing the landscape as far as the eye could see. It was spectacular and lasted for several hundred kilometres.

I wanted to somehow incorporate these flowers into Marc's portrait but I was shooting my journey on B&W film and a wide shot of the landscape would have looked pretty ordinary.

I also knew I wanted to use one of the car's wheels in the photo (circles are dominant shapes...they can be a distraction or used to your advantage) and, as we sped down the highway, I came up with an idea. I told Marc what I had in mind and he pulled over to the side of the highway.

We stepped from the air conditioned car into the 40+ degree C (100F) heat which hit us like a very hot brick in the face. To make matters worse, swarms of flies descended on us within seconds and it was blustery, so we felt like we were in the middle of a hair-dryer.

Marc could have very easily told me to sod off and climbed back into the car but he stuck it out like a trooper. We were both suffering for MY art.

I found a bunch of flowers I liked but were a little off centre with the wheel and Marc kindly moved the car into position for me, then got out, lay down and wriggled into position.

What amazes me looking at the photo all these years later is that the scene looks so peaceful. In truth, it was anything but!

The ground was extremely hot, the blustery hair-dryer conditions equally so, and the flies kept swarming all over Marc's face. The way we worked it was that Marc waved like mad to get rid of the flies from his face, then I'd shout 'NOW' (without, hopefully, swallowing any flies) and he would pull his hand away.

I had less than a second to fire off a frame before his face turned black with flies (okay, an exaggeration, but you get the idea). Because I was using a Nikon FM2 without an automatic winder, I only had time to take one frame at a time. I got Marc to repeat the process around a dozen times (those flies were quick!) before I was sure I had what I wanted.

I'd noticed Marc squirming a bit while I was taking the photos and thought it was just the heat of the ground. However, when he stood up, it turned out he'd been lying on an ants' nest! Thankfully they weren't the 'bitey' variety, but he danced a jig nonetheless as he brushed them off!

You'll all be glad to know that I later bought Marc dinner as a thank you for his heroic efforts.

Gear used - Nikon FM2 camera, Nikkor 50mm f1.8 lens, FP4 B&W film (125 ISO)