An early shot. Written when I was working for my brother (Nibs) as his pub blogger and trying my darndest to subvert the medium whilst still staying within the brief. Always savoured the mental image of the Live Aid crowd fighting for that rickety table by the toilets.
And this week it’s foxes. Something furry going on.
The denigration of our upstanding hirsute brethren.
In Leeds, no one can hear you scream.
Harnessing Dad’s old ruse.
The perils of going classic.
“I’m not Jesus. I’m just a fella.”