About

In the autumn of 1980, the world quietly acquired a mischief-maker. Raised on nature walks, punk angst, obscure electronica, and synth pop with more eyeliner than sense, I grew up somewhere between woodland stillness and the electric whirr of a cassette rewind.

My earliest fascinations were equal parts natural history and nostalgia - foxes and bunnies sketched in my mother’s childhood notebooks, Sunday hikes spent befriending trees, and later, an inexplicable affection for vintage timepieces that ticked with philosophical intent.

The camera came along for the ride, but these days it tends to loiter in the rucksack - somewhere between a dog-eared book and a packet of trail mix. I still pause for the occasional photo, but more often it’s the moment itself I’m after - the fleeting, the peculiar, the poetically timed.

Books remain my constant: philosophy, folklore, medieval history and the strange horology of human thought. I write to wrestle with time, to bottle wonder, and to cause mild trouble online.

Welcome to the mischief. It’s not always punctual, but it tries to keep good time.