“Afternoon boss.” I smile, acknowledge the welcome with a slight nod of the head and sit down. There are 2 people before me and the 3 chairs are already occupied. Intermittent silence is broken with idle chat concerning a variety of subjects, cars, football, local curiosity, disputes, and hearsay. Men getting their haircut can be a curious ritual, but one passed down from father to son.
The bicycle is dismounted, trouser clips, helmet and boots are removed unceremoniously, a warm greeting offered. We immediately venture into the kitchen for lunch. My pet dog Poppy makes a fuss and seeks attention. Ralph’s head is full of the book he has just completed, which has taken him six years to complete and is the first in a trilogy. Ralph Hoyte is a Bristol-based writer and poet whom I have known for almost two decades. He readily poses for the session and to elicit the impact of the different shots I asked him a variety of questions to reflect upon, some humourous and others not so. If you would like to find out more about Ralph’s work then click (here).
Earning an income from the streets of bath city centre. The artist who stands perfectly still awaiting the clinging of coins in the collection box at their feet. The pigeon man who coerces tourist into photographs covered in birds, annoying the locals and cafe owners alike.
It’s very hot and I’m sat in the shade with my back against the wall just watching people and drinking my bottled water. Spanning the view locals get on with their business whilst tourists eat ice-creams. The two worlds seem to tolerate each other but seldom collide.
Paul Reid is the first Director of Black Cultural Archives, which is located in the centre of Brixton, London and founded in 1981. The Black Cultural Archives’ mission is to collect, preserve and celebrate the heritage and history of Black people in Britain. They opened the UK’s first dedicated Black heritage centre in Brixton, London in July 2014. The Centre has an unparalleled archive collection offering insight into the history of people of African and Caribbean descent in Britain. Paul Reid is the Director of the organisation and heritage centre.
The empty screeching late night tube train collides through its tunnels with ear piercing velocity. The empty seats until the lonely musician gets on board for his journey. Another thankless gig no doubt, playing to a half caring audiences unaware of the struggles and the rip-off venues. He looks despondent, but no doubt tomorrow he will continue his search for his personal Babylon.
The hustle of the cafe and smells of coffee and food being prepared, the noise of street life penetrates through the open windows. searching for seats and amongst this background, people find time to contemplate and pause for thought.
He was dancing mindlessly at the side of the stage. His plastic nose and can of beer. I heard him shout three things to the audience in provocation.
Stepping onto the platform and easing themselves into their seats apprehension was etched on their faces. Music beating out a reconfigured 1960s song with a tedious uniformed beat blended perfectly with the whirling scent of fried foods, sugar laced candy floss, diesel engine. The petulant tantrums of the never ending wants of children fought for attention over the screaming seagulls seeking profit from discarded food, whilst the arcade games beckoned another loser. They sat easing their tensions with bursts of laughter until the operator relieved them of their tokens and secured their safety harness. A loud horn signalled and the ride started and for the next 5 minutes nothing else really mattered. Portsmouth Fayre.
They stood above the crowd as I was walking towards the front of the stage. At first they spoke a few words and then smiled at each other. The type of smile that comes from security and comfort, which can only be exhaled through shared love. It was not only the kiss, but the way they held each other. The embrace. A moments silence, I took the shot and the camera fell to my side. They separated from their embrace and people in close proximity were all smiling.
Irregular Frequencies 