Let me explain.

At one point in my life, I was a photographer.
Not a casual “I like snapping clouds” type — I mean deep in the murky swamp of strobes, stress, and settings nobody truly understands.

I was adjusting white balance in my dreams.
I once got into a fight with a curtain because it was ruining the ambient light.
I knew 47 ways to say “just breathe naturally” while someone panicked into a turtleneck.

But then… it all went sideways.

The gigs got dull.
The passion fizzled.
The camera started making a low, suspicious hum like it was plotting against me.
And every time I took a headshot, I could hear a tiny voice whispering, “Is this it, mate? Is this what we’ve become?”

So I left.

No tantrum. No blog post titled “Dear Photography: It’s Not Me, It’s Capitalism.”
I just… stopped.
Went to coach humans instead.
Sat in quiet rooms asking big questions like “How do you really want to feel?” and “Have you tried not being in HR?”

It was nice. Still is.
But something was missing — a strange itch in my frontal lobe. A desire to point a black box at someone’s face and say:
“Show me who you are — but, like, in 1/125th of a second.”

Then it happened.

I helped a mate on a shoot. No pressure. Just a bloke with a light stand, a model, and an emotional support biscuit.
And there it was. That old magic. The crackle. The tension. The chaos.
Like discovering your childhood hamster is alive and running a jazz café in Margate.

So now I’m back.

Not as the old me — not the stressed-out pixel goblin trying to be professional.
Just me. Photographing people. Slowly. Weirdly. Honestly. With a camera that may or may not still be haunted.

If you’ve ever walked away from something you loved — not because you didn’t care, but because you cared too much— just know:

You can return.
You can reinvent.
And you can absolutely do it in a dressing gown with a softbox taped to a broom handle.

Welcome to the Blog, I Suppose
A place for thoughts, tangents, and the occasional lens cap in a blender.

Well, here we are.

The inaugural blog post. A sacred digital ritual where photographers traditionally promise to post weekly, then vanish mysteriously after two entries and a sponsored review of a camera bag shaped like a badger.

But not here. Oh no.

This corner of the internet isn’t for gear reviews, pixel peeping, or obsessive comparisons of lens sharpness at f/2.8. Frankly, if that’s what you’re after, you’re in the wrong shed.

This blog is for thoughts. Musings. The beautiful, baffling mess of photography. The bits no one talks about because they don’t fit neatly into a tutorial or hashtag. Like the feeling when someone relaxes for half a second and everything shifts. Or when a photo you took by accident says more than the one you planned for six weeks with a mood board and a decaf oat latte.

There might be reflections on process. Rants about the myth of perfection. The occasional philosophical swerve into topics like: what exactly is a portrait if nobody knows who they are anyway? Or: if a flash fires in a studio and no one's pretending to be confident, does it make a sound?

Expect Hunter S. Thompson energy on very little sleep. Expect surreal metaphors and some wobbly attempts at truth. Expect a complete absence of affiliate links, unless I start recommending tripod heads made of jelly.

In short: this blog is for people who like photography but don’t want to talk about gear all day. It’s for the quiet, the strange, the tender, the raw. It’s for those of us who take pictures not to capture anything, but to lose ourselves a bit and see what comes back.

Come along if you fancy. No promises, no schedules. Just whatever spills out next.

The shutter’s open..