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When I was a boy I wanted to be a rally driver. I’d sit in the garden for hours making mudholes for my toy cars. Then, I decided to be a rock star. In my mind I could fill stadia, and I would practice my singing in the bath most nights. Later still, I wanted to be a secret agent. I would set up the camping mattress, with a stick propping it up, and launch dazzling sequences of kicks and chops on it until it fell over. Even now, when I’m absolutely sure no-one is looking, some unsuspecting sofa will come under stealthy attack.



In the end, I did none of those things. I did something much better: I’d been taking photographs all along, ever since I was six, and I simply carried on doing it. I’m still at it, decades later.  I see the most amazing things and meet the most wonderful people. I’m lucky to do it, and I love every minute of it.

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