MY HEAD

AFTER 28 YEARS

3 BOOKS, COUNTLESS EXHIBITIONS, ECT,ECT,

I HAVE AN AGENT.

http://www.2dm.it/

:) X

PRIDE AND JOY

REVOLUTION

A TATTOOISTS LEVIS

"Oh what fun we had" 1994

The attitude to abused children in this country, this idea of good and evil still presides over us all. I've done some dodgy things but I'm not evil. Nature has given each and every one of us defense mechanisms that the powers that be have been trying to eradicate and suppress until they want their young men to die for a just cause like protecting oil off of the Argentine coast for example. Then it's all whipped up into nationalism, and violent men become heroes. Be tough, take no prisoners, the word covert springs to mind. Ever since I have tried to understand my own violence I realized I was brought up on a secret script, one that said I was to be tough, show no pain. Emotions are useless to the cause of macho heroism and your countries need for you to protect it. None of this was directly communicated, it was all passed down in the fables and behavior of your peers and parents and history lessons, the things you saw on telly that showed what it means to be a man, James Bond, John Wayne. Rocky, Rambo. On the streets the hard men that feared nobody, the biggest, the most muscular, they were the ones you looked up to, why? Because somewhere at some time you were taught to be tough. If you were or not naturally that didn't matter, you all had to be tough. Where was our war? We grew up with British Legion Dads that did their two years National Service and then proceeded to ram down our throat's how good we had it, and National Service should be brought back, as they guided their beer guts to the nearest British Legion, a hive for good old British Nationalism and breeding ground for bigots and racists. My father was not called up for national service but my uncle was put in a mental asylum and had his head cracked open when he conscientiously objected... Granddad a fierce communist from the Jarrow march days threw the bible at the court judges when he refused to fight in the second world war, a brave man, some might say a coward, but being brave is about standing up against a belief system on your own when most people just follow like sheep regardless of how they really feel, mustn't upset the apple cart, I'll go to my death just so I don't look out of place.

FRANCA

A CHILD OF JAGO

COLORS 1979

MORE SNOW

AGAIN R.I.P PHIL CRAWLEY

DA BRIDGE

FOOT BALL

YOU NEED ME

DAG'S

MAD MAX

FULL MOON OVER FINLAND

TOP PUMPS

GROUNDHOG DAY 2010

110

R.I.P PHIL CRAWLEY

A VERY VERY RARE BRITISH BEAST ( 7hrs too do 50 mile ?)

STOCKHOLM DEC 2009

BRENT CROSS DEC 2009

DOWN TOWN HELLSINKI DECEMBER 2009

I HAD TOO SHARE MY HOTEL ROOM

TIMO DEC 2009

TRYING TO GET A DRINK IN HELSINKI

FILM SET

DAN THE MAN

SERAFINI ROCK

ARCTIC MONKEYS

FINLAND

LONDON MEADOWS

IPHONE PIC

MUMMY DON'T LEAVE US

CHEEKY MONKEYS

ACTION MEN

The best one I ever did was to poor little Jason Mitchell's American police car, it was big enough to hold a whole action man and made of tin, working siren and all.

His sister Nichola Mitchell was one of my best friends and a secret crush of mine for years, she was in my class in the last two terms of middle school and was in the year above me.

She was part of the intelligent elite at that time so I never really had much contact with her. It was only when we went to our separate secondary schools that we got to know each other and become good mates. She lived next door to Scott Burnell who's Dad worked at Heathrow, Scott was a very good mate of mine and Nev. Up until he went back to Australia never to be seen again.

So that's when I started getting aquainted with Nikki who would be a part of my life for years. Anyway she had three half siblings, and it was one of these kids toys that was the main attraction for me and my destructive mates on that specific day. He stupidly left it outside his house, and the house being the one that bordered on the path that lead into a small wood that lead onto the rail tracks, it was an easy swipe. We nicked one of his action men as well for good measure.

We never thought we would derail a train, we never put anything on the track that would not disintegrate, we weren't stupid. We never put iron girder's or car axle's on the line, we were not interested in damaging the train we were just interested in the damage it did to small objects, especially if those objects were scaled down versions of everyday human life. So here we are with our brave action man strapped into the large American police car made of tin (which pleased Symond no end the yank hater he was,) we waited for the next train to come. This was by far the biggest toy that had been sacrificed , there was an air of anticipation in our small group. The familiar hiss and pinging sound of an approaching train was soon to be heard. I ran out before it came round the corner, which was about a quarter of a mile down the track on the side heading for London. I placed the car lengthwise on the rail, the action man looking serious, but sort of spaced out as well. I faced him so his back was towards the oncoming train that was going to bring about his untimely demise. I thought it was unfair to let him watch what was going to happen to him, it was probably better that he got it by surprise. I mean one moment your the object and play thing of a young boy that may be a little rough with you at times but still loves and cherishes you and spends more time with you than any other member of his household and the next your dragged away from that and squashed by a train for nothing more then feeding sick teenage minds. "He was just on the wrong porch at the wrong time."

We all lay there excited, not breathing, ready to run like the wind if we heard those brakes screeching. Stopping the evening train to Marylebone is not looked upon as a great laugh by the powers that be. Closer it came, the evening summer sun shining down upon our sacrificial lamb. He seemed totally oblivious to what was about to happen. ? Oh well at least he was going to die a true Action Mans death, cut down in his prime, not left to rot armless and legless in some old cardboard box in the loft, like so many of his Comrades, abandoned and forgotten like real life old soldiers.

CAT FOOT

HE FOUND HIS HORN

BRUNOS EYE

FAIR TRADE

A NEW AGE

KENTISH TOWN

EAST FINCHELY

MATCH MADE IN...

DEMONS WERE THERE

GLASGOW

D.J NEVILLE WATSON