Let’s be honest. The world just isn’t a very nice place anymore, is it? I know that’s a common proposition, but I feel my cliché is slightly less obvious. I’m not talking about international relations, or foreign policy, the war on Darwin, Islamic cavemen cutting off the clitorides of young girls and then sewing up their labia so that the grown men they are gifted to in wedlock may forcefully break them during the consummation of their marriage.

I’m not talking about any of that. I’m talking about something far worse, in fact. Have you ever considered the amount of stress you go through in one day in order to complete what should be the simplest of tasks?

Take this example from my life, for instance. Recently, I noticed that my Internet wasn’t working as expected. This being Britain, I obviously expected the usual dog shit Internet service we are forced to put up with, but recently standards were slipping, and the faecal tang of my current Internet experience was from a far less handsome creature. Read more »

In 2005, my at-the-time girlfriend used to live at the top of a long, steep, main road. It was a conduit between areas, and as such, attracted a lot of traffic. One particular road-goer at the time would catch my eye, and has, subsequently, changed my life in a way that affects how I interact with and view the world to this day.

He was an old man, no younger than 80, and he used to cycle up the road most days. It was the kind of sight most people take no notice of, but there was a life message contained in this geriatric pedalist, and I spotted it straight away.

To say the old man struggled up that hill is an understatement. He was about the same age as Noah, and looked in about the same physical condition as a first edition Bible. Hunched over the bike at such an extremity, he could practically see underneath the saddle. He used to meander left and right on account of it being impossible to stay in a straight line at such a slow speed. His face was always contorted and locked in a permanent painful grimace as he made the climb past where I used to stand and watch him. This was almost every single day, and every time I watched this spectacle, the more I learned about him, and more importantly, the more I learned about life. Read more »

I get irritated quite a lot in life. The tiniest things really send me over the edge. Take headphone chords for instance. If anything catches them and pops the buds from my ears, I can, for a split second, become irrationally mad. Some might say slightly psychotic. It’s an inward manifestation that lasts only a few seconds, but that few seconds contains the anger of twenty illegal wars. Few are privy to that information.

Few things, though, I’ve realised, irritate me quite as much as motivational slogans. You know the ones: “greatness is within”, “to believe is to achieve”, “overcome the obstacles before they overcome you” etc.. You can pretty much make them up. All of them are meaningless, all of them are stupid, and some are even potentially dangerous..

The first slogan is what actually inspired this blog update. I’ve suffered from a bad back of late, my nocturnal photoshop activities combined with a woeful piece of shit folding computer chair have led to me developing a posture akin to what can only be imagined as a 90 year old man indiscreetly thumbing through newsagent pornography (just to clarify, I’ve undertaken only the posture and appearance of this apocryphal wrong’un, not the activities; I shop online). Just imagine that kind of sloping, Notre Dame-esque posture, remove the seedy raincoat, slap some underpants on, and you have accurately conceptualised me as I write this now. Read more »

This is Lillesden School for Girls in Kent. Originally a private residence built in 1855 by the banker Edward Lloyd, it was sold after The Great War and turned into Bedgebury Girls Public School where it played host to myriad games of pattycake and hopscotch until finally closing in 1999 and reopening seconds later as a joyous little deathtrap for explorers like me.

This building nearly took my life, were it not for the steely British pluck I have alluded to in previous updates, I may very well have not been here to write this today. Read more »

That is a picture of a moo cow. You can tell it’s a cow by the way it looks. Just got back from a two day getaway to Dorset. Weather was lovely, did lots of walking, etc..

We stayed in a small town called Lulworth which is just on the coast near Durdle Door. I took quite a few shots from the trip, but unfortunately, most of the landscape shots occured during midday, which anyone will tell you is a bit crap for landscaping, on account of the sun being directly overhead. Dorset has some of the most beautiful countryside I’ve ever seen in my life. Spectacular rolling hills that give way to endless crystal clear blue water. In the height of summer, it must be an amazing place for a getaway. I’ll definitely go back at some point. Dorset also, rather inexplicably, has Hoodies. I saw groups of roaming youths dressed like Moss Side truants randomly wandering this otherwise idyllic town. It looked a bit out of place amongst the infinite amount of old people and never ending lines of children exiting coaches on School trips. It was a bit odd. There can’t have been anywhere selling Adidas for 40 miles, but these kids obviously had some good contacts.

Dorset also has cows randomly dotted everywhere. That is a Dorset cow.

I’m going to say Dorset one more time for SEO purposes.

Thanks (Dorset).

I shot a wedding recently, my last one, as a matter of fact. I don’t need the money anymore, and to be honest, I find them way too stressful. I don’t mind pressure, but weddings cause emotional pressure, which isn’t very conducive to a normal sleeping pattern in the run up to the big day.

And so I dedicate this blog post to anyone who shoots weddings for a living–you are a better man or woman than I (Definitely a better man, though I do look great in a dress).

Wedding photography, is, pressure wise, the photographic equivalent of invasive surgery. Were it not for my steely spirit and stalwart British resolve, I very well may have floundered during this most recent yomp through the salt mines. Read more »

I can’t think of a blog update; my creative juices have been subdued of late. I’m not saying previous blog updates were great or anything, only that normally I have no problem talking utter nonense on this page.

But, I had to post these pictures, because I haven’t updated in a while. So yeah.

A few weeks past, one early Monday morning, an ear-splitting baritone wrenched me from my stupefied moonshine slumber. Like Jesus through the streets of Golgotha, I clawed my way out of bed with a feral hangover. The banging on the door thumped my delicate eardrums like a 2nd crack at Omaha Beach. In a move borne of desperation, I clawed at the lock like an Alsatian trapped in a house fire; my conscious mind had yet to switch on, and so it was left to my smaller, but only slightly less primitive, animal brain to navigate the intricate technicalities of my Banham. Succeeding in opening the storage cupboard, I decided it was now best to turn my attention to the front door.

Further clawing ensued before the light poured in, searing my eyeballs medium-rare. Squinting into the divine light, which, in my state of post-inebriation, seemed hot enough to sunburn Satan, there stood before me the silhouette of what was, unmistakably, a man. Fuck-ing Citilink.

With neither the strength nor willpower to end his life, I accepted the 8am wake up call and with the pen clamped in my fist like an icepick, I stabbed an inept signature into the electronic invoice, silently praying that his van had been clamped.

The box contained a meager offering. Nothing more than a 20 degree grid for one of my lights. It was made worse by the fact that it was actually a 30 degree grid, and thus, completely useless to me. Thanks Warehouse-Express, I owe you little.

But no matter, I recently used it for the first time in a portrait. There they are above. The guys name is Marcus and he’s an up and coming DJ/Producer who has just signed to a major dance label.

The second shot is just a test shot, but I put it up because I like the way it came out.

Today we’re going to discuss criticism, it’s varying forms, and when to take it seriously, and, more importantly, when not to. Criticism is central to bettering yourself in any endeavour you undertake, and if you are trying to improve in any aspect of your life, doing so without constructive criticism is almost impossible.

Also, I think I stole this topic from another blog; I can’t remember for the life of me if that’s right, but if it is, and you own the blog, send me an email, and I’ll link you in this post, because your update is probably better than mine. I write this today because I was just going through some pictures I’d posted on a website, and I noticed that the majority of posts were overtly positive, but still vague enough to really apply to any image you have in your head. Read more »

Have you ever done something so stupid, so unfathomably idiotic that the compulsion to share it and rid yourself of the full burden is equaled only by your desire to never let a soul know, lest they cast you aside in eternal laughter?

Happened to me earlier this week. I can’t tell you what happened, although I desperately want to, and I can’t even hint at it, for the hint alone would cast the most shameful light upon me. I would be a laughing stock. Sorry, I just realised how redundant this update is.

Let’s talk about Urbex, or Urban Exploration. I’m pretty sure this is my passion. I absolutely love it. Nothing I’ve ever photographed is as emotive as an empty derelict building. The mould on the walls, the peeling paint, the holes in the floor, plant life reclaiming entire rooms and sometimes entire buildings. The human inference of objects left unattended for years or even decades…

Light seems to behave quite differently in a derelict building. Take the picture above for instance–I’m pretty sure that didn’t always look that spooky, and I’m pretty sure you couldn’t just walk into any old bathroom and get a shot that looks as spooky as that.

As you can see, the only light source is the window, but, there’s other elements not readily visible that give the shot a certain melancholy. There’s a very thin film of mould and a dirt buildup on the outside of the glass which is diffusing the light as it enters the room. Once it enters the room, rather than bouncing everywhere and giving an even spread, the light is being soaked up by a thin layer of grime on the walls, tiles and bath, but the right hand wall is just clean enough to reflect a small amount of light back on the bath rim.

That’s what I love about derelict buildings. The passage of time gives these places a certain character that makes photographing them a real pleasure.

I love Urbex.