You see it happen for a split second, you missed the shot and it stings. It nags at you in the back of your mind as you walk on, frustrated, wondering how good that shot would have been. It’s a feeling I call "three dogs", named after a shot I missed which still sits uncomfortably in the back of my head. It involved dogs. Three of them.

The window. A nervous street photographer's protective shield provides a crucial moment. The subject looks up, at first with mild curiosity, swiftly morphing into a frown. Egg on chin, spinach in teeth, they hurriedly gather their belongings, preparing to chase the weirdo who dared to photograph them mid-chew.

I recently stumbled across an interview I did with Fujilove magazine for their July 2019 edition. I think the interview still stands up so I’ve included it here for posterity. I was also pretty pleased when I was asked to contribute to a publication as good as Fujilove.

Street photography is about capturing unscripted, candid moments in public spaces. It is a genre that focuses on the natural ebb and flow of people interacting with each other and their shared environment. Often the results are raw, curious and unexpectedly humorous. The very nature of capturing these moments, and doing them justice is to do so without consent. This creates a social tension, even if most often this tension is only in the photographer's mind as the subject or subjects are often oblivious or indifferent.

Street photographers often talk about ‘getting the steps in’. Tireless urban wanderers hunting for that decisive moment across 10 different postcodes, glancing at their FitBit as it creeps towards clocking 20,000 steps. The health benefits of this marathon approach are appealing, and the logic of increasing the probability of finding the shot by consistently moving does make sense.