Once upon a time, I fancied myself as a grand photographer. I’d gaze at the works of Henri Cartier-Bresson and Mario Testino with a real appreciation of the art of capturing the moment in black and white. Armed with my film SLR, I’d wander the streets of London and try to recreate the essence of place the old masters’ images exude. For years, I’d doggedly deny the galloping of time into a new digital age. The art of photography is lost when you no longer need to think to set up a shot, I thought. I developed my films in a darkroom in Uni from time-to-time, and get lost in the quiet, organized routine of developing. There was real satisfaction seeing your images come alive before your eyes. Slowly and surely, I succumbed.