People are absent from my photographs. Can’t take them. And if I did, I would be doing them a disservice. Them or more likely the...

The travel agent in early 1983 had nicotine-stained fingers, an oily comb-over and a frayed, yellow shirt-collar. His eyes said he was...

I have been a big Rory Gallagher fan since I first heard ‘Blister on the Moon’ in Year 11 at school in 1970. Five years later I saw him...

A battered airport shuttle drops us off at 2am in front of the Gateway to India. Mumbai opens her arms to us slowly. At dawn the sun...