It would give me every amount of pleasure to say I picked up the photography bug through the childhood influences of a parent, friend or relative who owned a half decent camera, let alone a dark room or even the tickle of the bug.  Economic circumstances limited my childhood photographic experiences. Film and its development were luxuries, clicks to be taken on special occasions, our family photos almost all a set of poses.  Yet my memories of such photos all belong outside the frame, to events before and after.  How cute we were, sitting on the grass dressed in our Sunday best in the grounds of the hospital where my father took us to visit my sad, unhappy mother.

That was then.  It was also a time when photojournalists sent shots over the wire of hyper-reality, from a man bouncing about on the moon to the burning highways of Vietnam and everything in between…