'I TAKE A FEW PHOTOGRAPHS, TO CHECK MY EXPOSURES. MY CAMERA DOESN'T WORK. I CHECK MY OTHER CAMERA. IT DOESN'T WORK, EITHER. MY LIFE FLASHES BY'

It's the night of the general election, and I've been dispatched to the Marian Hall in Birr, Co Offaly, to photograph the rise of Brian Cowen and the fall of Tom Parlon. Every hour we are being told that it will happen any minute now. Eleven hours later and, at last, it's really time.

I'm standing in the gallery, looking down on the count, which is so heaving with party faithful that the fire brigade arrives. It's bedlam. Time to make a judgment call. I ring my picture editor and explain my plan.
It's a gamble, I say. The strongest picture will be if I stay put and, from above, photograph Cowen surrounded by his family and followers, but it will only work if he looks up. My picture editor says to go for it.

I push my way to the balcony. I look down. All I can see is the back of Cowen's head. I'm quietly panicking. It's 10.55pm. The paper has to be printed.

The returning officer calls for silence, then announces the first result. I start to take a few photographs, to check my exposures. My camera doesn't work. I check my other camera. It doesn't work, either. My life flashes by. I'll never work again.

My heart is pounding. I turn to the man next to me, whose name is Paul Barber and who has brought his camera along, although he's not a professional photographer. I yank it from his hands, ram in my memory card and turn towards Cowen, who is now deemed elected - and being carried aloft victoriously.

I have only one shot. There is no motor drive on this camera, which is so small compared with my own that it feels like a mouse in my hand.

Cowen turns to the gallery for a split second before the crowd swallows him up. Bang. One shot. My phone rings. It's my editor. "You got the picture?" He had explained my plan to the newsroom, and they cheered as they saw Cowen on TV, turning to the gallery. "Send, send, send. You have seconds before we go to press."

I push my way out to my car, put my laptop on my knee and, still shaking, insert my card. "New hardware found" reads the screen. I curse. After fiddling, one image appears. It's Cowen. He's looking straight into my lens. I feel as happy as he looks. I send it. My mobile rings. "Ya daisy. Well done."

I'm still in the car, trying to breathe, condensation rolling down the windows, sweat rolling off my forehead, my heart still pounding. Why do I do this, I think. What is it that makes me want to be a photographer? I still don't have the answer.