Read: Fleeting Moments...

Umbria, Italy, 2009. Despite the punishing midday sun, we decide to walk up into the hills of Isola Maggiore. We take the dusty track that leads upwards.

Winter is upon us; it is now often dark when I leave the office to ride home. In the mornings, I travel to work via the Waltham Forest/Hackney Marshes. If

The storm has been raging for two days; the autumn leaves that had been lying on the ground like damp confetti are now in flight. They blow around in violent,

For a fleeting moment, I allow myself to close my eyes… I see myself standing in a narrow street of an Italian mountain town.

As a child, I would sometimes stand in front of the 70s styled fireplace and gaze into the face of the wooden wind-up clock that sat upon the thin

It’s 1985. It’s winter. I am 21 years old and living in a small cottage that I share with my brother and two friends. The cottage is nestled within the

I have come to the conclusion that urban rail travel produces a different set of behaviours from non-urban travel.

I wake up early on another workday morning, and after breakfast I stand in the tiny London garden to drink my first cup of coffee.