Camino.

I walk past houses , window boxes with bright flowers, neat gardens, TV screens that flicker  behind net curtains, warm, comfortable, these are homes, how cosy they seem to me, cosy and impossible. I take a short cut across Queens Park, early evening, the children have gone home, just a few stragglers remain, the rain … More Camino.

Atlas.

I have found myself asking questions of the people I have met over the last year or two, the people that have sparked my interest, I want to know who they see themselves as, what their motivations are, where they have been, where they want to go and even on occasion what love means to … More Atlas.

East & West

This is old stuff, for me to remember. The rain is crashing on the ground outside, thunder is echoing around the mountains, it is early morning, a little past dawn, Daramshala. I lie on the bed and my hand gently traces a line down the back of the woman next to me sleeping soundly. I … More East & West

Here.

I push the pedals on my bike and scoot from Harlesden towards Notting Hill  as I have each morning for the last two weeks since returning to London. As  I fly down Kensal Rise the wind rushes at me & hits me square in the face, I wheel in and out of traffic jams, ignore … More Here.