On the exact day of my 331/3rd birthday I signed my first record deal and, in a fit of grandiose delusion about imminent stardom, ceremonially hurled more than a decade of my photographic work into oblivion. This was before digital backups, naturally. My entire archive existed physically: a room heaving with prints, transparencies and negatives, all of it dutifully dispatched to history’s landfill. It took more than one skip to erase the evidence

A tragedy, really.
Also an absolutely world-class idiot.

On my 45th birthday I walked away from the music business - exactly as I’d vowed I would when I first stumbled into it. Against all precedent, I kept the promise. What followed was close to two decades of glorious self-indulgence in Catalonia: dining voraciously, drinking irresponsibly, and embracing the small matter of opening my own restaurant, GROS, somewhere along the way.

And I dug out the cameras again.

And now, somehow, I find myself back in the smoke again. So here are a few of my favourite images. I harbour no delusions about art. These aren’t profound meditations on the human condition; they’re cartoons, really — visual punchlines, private jokes, small absurdities caught loitering in public. Please approach them in that spirit.

And, for the avoidance of doubt, I remain an absolutely world-class idiot.