This year marks a century since the birth of the photo booth, and friends and families are still squeezing into them for fun and unflattering snaps - capturing the highs, lows and loves of their lives

I didn’t find early motherhood easy. It wasn’t my daughter’s fault – she was, mercifully, a wonderful and cheerful baby – but I underestimated what a huge shift it would be at an already stressful time. When I was pregnant, we moved to a new town, to a wreck of a house we planned to do up. My mum, who was ill, moved in with us, and then I was the carer of a newborn and a dying parent – at the two extremes of life, but sharing many of the same needs, and often at the same time.

He films people breaking his self-created ‘laws’ of street decorum and posts the videos online – with many viewers expressing their gratitude. So watch out if you’re rushing along on your phone or wheeling a small bag that could be carried ...

It’s a damp, grey morning in Soho, London, and Cameron Roh is standing a metre or so behind a woman who is speaking loudly into her phone outside Caffè Nero. She is breaking his “laws” of “pavement etiquette” and he holds up his phone and presses record. Lost in conversation, the woman doesn’t see him, but still, watching him from a distance, it’s fist-in-mouth awkward. What if she turns around? Is this allowed? Is this even OK?

Suddenly, the woman hangs up and dashes across the road, oblivious to what has just happened. Evidence duly captured, Roh returns to where I am hiding and delivers his verdict, which is marks out of 10 – with 10 being perfect pavement etiquette. “That’s a two,” he says. Her crimes? “On her phone, sudden stop, pretty much in the centre of the pavement, meaning people have to walk around her to get past. No, no, no.” She didn’t see us, but that somehow feels worse; I feel as if we’ve just pickpocketed her. Roh giggles, unfazed. As a self-appointed pavement vigilante, this is what he does.