I have the worst luck when it comes to cameras. When I was in India, I nearly broke my camera on three separate occasions. The first time I dropped it off a balcony, the second time I spilt a bottle of gin over it and the third I am not really sure what happened, but it certainly stopped working. All three times it initially seemed to have given up for good, but it always came back fighting within a couple of days. Then within a week of arriving back in the UK, I had lost it at a music festival.

Then there was the time we were crabbing in Ireland. I was leaning over the shallow pier, dangling some sausage on a string to lure the crabs in. Whoosh, all of a sudden the camera was in the water! At the speed of light Ian leaned over and grabbed the camera before it managed to sink to the bottom. The memory card was miraculously still functioning, but the camera itself never quite recovered.

There have been countless occasions where I have been prevented from taking photos due to a lack of working camera, but there has actually only been one time when I lost photos that had already been captured.

It was February 2011. Ian and I had been through a tough couple of weeks in Liverpool and made a last minute decision to get out of the city for a short break. We booked a B&B in Blackpool for the night and headed off to the nearby seaside town on the train. We had such a great time and snapped so many photos, but unfortunately they were never to be seen again.

When I discovered that I had once again lost my camera, I was devastated as I realised that the photos had never been backed up. But I soon came to realise that while the photos might be gone, I still have the memories.

I remember arriving at the train station in Blackpool, full of excitement for what the day might hold. I remember nearly turning the wrong way five or six ways on the way to the B&B, but getting there in the end. I remember quickly checking in and rushing out to explore a new town that I hadn't visited before.

I remember walking hand-in-hand up all three piers, battling the cold winter wind just to say that we'd seen it all. I remember the stalls lining each pier, full of carnival style games, and being sucked into one on the promise that everyone is a winner. I remember ending up with a prize that was worth less that the amount we spent on the game, but feeling like a winner nonetheless.

I remember exploring Blackpool Tower and admiring the street art outside. I remember walking on the tramlines and feeling like daredevils, even though we both knew the tram wouldn't be running until the weather warmed up. I remember heading into the amusement arcades and going on a monorail, armed with laser guns to shoot the pirates. I remember not having a clue how the guns actually worked but having lots of fun trying anyway.

I remember going for a few drinks in the evening, absolutely shattered from the long day but determined to make the most of our one night in Blackpool. I remember quickly admitting defeat and heading back to the B&B for an early night, snuggling up to one another and watching cartoons.

I remember waking up early the next day excited to get out and explore some more. I remember playing mini golf and visiting the Ripley's Believe It Or Not Museum. I remember buying a giraffe teddy in the gift shop and naming him Raffee. I remember letting him have his own seat in Pizza Hut when we stopped for lunch.

I remember the bittersweet journey home, disappointed that such a wonderful time was over, but grateful that we'd had such a wonderful time.

I have so many great memories from our two days in Blackpool, but most of all I remember being happy. Grinning-from-ear-to-ear, over-the-moon happy. And no camera could ever have captured that.

Have you ever lost your travel photos?