About me

Born among the pawnshops and used-car dealerships of Long Beach California, I narrowly avoided a life as a penniless street urchin when I was adopted by a mysteriously enigmatic couple who whisked me off to their gated mountain retreat in Santa Barbara soon after my third birthday.

During my formative years I developed a keen interest in fine art and writing that was to provide a solid foundation for nothing whatsoever. I later turned, as many desperate men often have, to the seedy, gin-soaked world of professional photojournalism; spending the best part of my life thereafter chasing ambulances, hounding politicians, exploiting human tragedy and winning awards.

Ten years ago I traded in the perpetual fog of San Francisco for the omnipresent overcast of England, a move that has had people questioning my sanity ever since. At present I live in London and despite my best efforts, I still struggle with the language. Or so I am told. Repeatedly.