Half a lifetime ago, back when newspapers were printed on dead trees and wet process darkrooms were still a thing, I used to be a photojournalist.
I left the business just as digital photography was coming in, setting aside my cameras for computers and trading abject poverty for a steady pay-check.
Yet despite the techie job I now do to ensure that money pops out when I stick my card in a cash machine, I am, will always be and have always been, at my core, a photographer. It is how I define myself to myself.
Here are a few of my pictures.
In 2014 I managed to earn my private pilot license and now most weekends I find myself trundling into the air over a muddy airfield in Essex England at the controls of a light aircraft.
It turns out that flying is even more geeky than IT and for the uninitiated, reading about either field can be as entertaining as listening to your uncle's golf stories.
Regardless, I occasionally jot down some thoughts about flying and learning to fly and the first excerpts are inside.
I move around a lot and not simply to avoid capture. "Home" is therefore an elusive concept. I've been marooned in the British Isles for 16 years but it still strikes me as odd that I live there. London is where I sleep in-between being somewhere else.
Over the years I've written a lot about life here, there and everywhere. It would seem that no matter where I am, there is always some place else I would rather be.
In no particular order, some of that writing is here.