A Ukrainian Mother’s Story of Escape from the Frontline to continue supporting the war in Ukraine.

When the full-scale invasion of Ukraine began in February 2022, millions were forced to flee. For one woman from Sumy, a city close to Ukraine’s north-eastern border with Russia now contended on the frontline, the decision to leave came down to one thing: her children.

“I’m from Sumy,” she says simply. She arrived in the UK on 12 March 2022, just weeks after the invasion began. Her journey was shaped by fear, urgency, and the responsibility of caring for her two young children. “I was afraid to go anywhere… I thought only about my children,” she explains. One of them was just a year and a half old at the time. “I was scared to go anywhere at all.”

The UK was not part of a long-considered plan. Instead, it was the presence of someone she trusted that determined her destination. “I chose the UK because I had a friend here,” she says. That connection provided certainty in a moment when everything else felt unstable – a known community. “They suggested for me to come here… they are safe in this place.”

Her journey out of Ukraine followed a route taken by many fleeing the conflict. She first travelled west to Rivne, away from the heaviest fighting. “From Sumy to Rivne… it was a little calmer,” she recalls. From there, she crossed into Poland by bus before continuing on to the UK. “From Rivne I went by bus to Poland… then to the UK.”

Before the invasion, her life had been stable and fulfilling. “Before 2022, the life was beautiful,” she says. She worked in administration at a milk production factory and describes her life as “amazing… usual life.” Despite the ongoing conflict in eastern Ukraine, daily life in Sumy still retained a sense of normality. However, war had already touched her family long before 2022. Her husband had been a soldier, deployed to the front line in Donetsk and Luhansk after fighting began in 2014. “I waited for him… two months, then two months again,” she says, describing the long cycles of separation that defined those years. He died in 2017 fighting Russian-backed separatist forces, leaving her to raise their children alone.

Even with this personal connection to the war, the events of February 2022 still came as a shock. “We couldn’t believe that they could do it,” she says. “We believed that it wouldn’t happen.” Like many Ukrainians, she had grown used to a conflict that felt distant and contained, and never imagined it would escalate into a full-scale invasion affecting the entire country.

Despite this, life had continued with a sense of normality until the morning everything changed. “It was a nightmare,” she says. “We woke up at four in the morning.” The sound of explosions shattered any remaining sense of safety. “We took all our food… and went to the basement,” she recalls. In Sumy, the war was immediate and relentless. “They shot at us with tanks… we were very afraid.” Within hours, her entire world had shifted. “Everything changed at that moment.”

Now in the UK, she is rebuilding her life with the support of those around her. She speaks with deep gratitude about the family who hosted her. “I am very grateful to my hosts,” she says. “They are like relatives to us.” This support has been especially important for her children, who are now experiencing a sense of normal life again. “My children used to sit at home… or in the basement,” she says. “Now they go to school.” The change has been transformative. “They start to speak English more better than me,” she adds, with a smile.

Yet despite finding safety, her connection to Ukraine remains. Like many displaced Ukrainians, she is determined to contribute to the war effort in any way she can. “I would like to do something to make Ukraine win,” she says. Her contributions take the form of community work, helping at local events where food and handmade items are sold to raise money. “I cook… I make flowers,” she explains. “I do whatever they ask me to do.”

Her desire to help goes even further. In the early days of the invasion, she tried to join the effort directly. “I went… and asked them to take me at least as a cook,” she says. But she was turned away. “They said, ‘you have a child, go and stay with your kids.’” Even so, the instinct to contribute remains strong.

That commitment is also reflected in the sacrifices she has made back home. She has offered her own property in Ukraine to soldiers, providing them with shelter during the harsh winter months. “Let our guys live there,” she says. Soldiers often lack basic comforts near the front line, and her home offers a rare place to rest. “They need a place… to get warm, to wash.”

The war continues to shape her life in profound ways. Many of her family members and friends are still fighting. “My brother… my friends… all are on the war,” she says. Like many Ukrainians, she never fully believed the invasion would happen. “We couldn’t believe it would happen,” she recalls.

Now, the war has strengthened her sense of identity and belonging. “Yes… I like Ukraine more,” she says. Distance has not weakened her connection to home, but deepened it.

Despite everything she has endured, her hope remains simple. “I hope one day I can fall back in my home,” she says.

The Leica 50mm f/2 Summicron v5 (11826) – Reviewed on the Leica SL (Type 601) in 2026

The Leica 50mm Summicron is, by all accounts, a legendary lens. It is a focal length many photographers love and is synonymous with street photography, particularly in the early years of the genre. It is an evolution of the lens once used by Henri Cartier-Bresson, demonstrating its heritage and earning it a place in history. But this isn’t why I chose it.

Typically, I’m not a fan of 50mm unless it’s for portraiture. I am much more of a 28mm or 35mm person, preferring to contextualise my images and often my subject within their surroundings. But there are times when a 50mm is just needed. It helps you connect to the subject in an intimate way that a 35mm or 28mm doesn’t allow. The slight distortion at close focus, which is lost in a 70mm or 85mm, gives a sense of vulnerability in the photo without distracting the viewer from the subject’s emotion. All essential, I feel, when telling a story. You have to be in someone’s personal space when photographing them with this lens, and that requires trust. You have to work for that trust to allow the photo to happen.

This lens only works for me because of the context it sits within my kit. I have a set of three Leica Summicron lenses: 28mm (11672), 35mm (11879), and this 50mm. My workhorses are the 28mm and 35mm, with a particular focus on the 28mm. This lens fills in when I need more intimate portraits or when I know I won’t be able to get very close to a subject. For the most part, it stays in my sling bag or pocket.

That’s why I like these lenses. They are all cross-compatible, and once you learn to use one, they function in an identical way. While manual focus, they are super small, reliable, and incredibly tactile, which also makes them very portable. You can bring one or two extras without carrying an entire camera bag. This gives you versatility while maintaining a small kit with fast apertures. This lens really is small, meaning it isn’t intimidating when photographing people, yet f/2 on a 50mm is wide enough to achieve a pleasing depth of field if you want to isolate a subject, particularly when using available light creatively.

Now, I haven’t said this lens is sharp. It is the softest of the three Summicrons I own when wide open at f/2, and it also suffers the most from flaring. That’s not surprising, as the optical formula dates from 1979, even if this particular copy is from 2002. While the 35mm is also from 2002, it performs like a modern lens. The 28mm, from 2016, is a modern lens outright, so there is no comparison.

At f/2, you can see this lens’s age. It shoots a bit like a Canon 50mm f/1.8: slightly glowy and a little soft, but the rendering is still stunning, on a different level from the Canon “nifty fifty”. Stop it down to f/2.8 and it becomes sharp, really nicely sharp. Stop it down further and it just gets better all the way to f/8. After that, some diffraction sets in and it softens again, but I rarely shoot at those apertures. That said, some of the horse racing photos included here were shot at f/11, so feel free to inspect them.

While this lens never reaches the clinical look of modern electronic lenses, I don’t think it needs to. It settles into a niche that suits photographers who aren’t aiming for that look. This isn’t to say you should settle for a cheaper 50mm lens. This lens has a special character, but you do need to be mindful of its glow and softness to ensure you’re getting the images you want.

What this lens offers over many other manual focus 50mm lenses is its ability to focus quickly. This is something I’ve found with all the Leica lenses I’ve used, particularly when adapting an M-mount lens to an L-mount body like the Leica SL (Type 601), which is an unusual choice for many. Other non-M-mount lenses tend to be slower to focus and aren’t built with zone focusing in mind, often lacking focus tabs. These may seem like small details, but they are incredibly important in the heat of the moment.

While this 50mm doesn’t have a focus tab, its focus throw is identical to the other Summicrons: smooth and consistent. This means you can achieve focus even at f/2 very quickly, quicker than with any other manual focus 50mm I’ve used. So when I reach for a 50mm, this is the one I grab, unless I’m in a studio.

I use this lens on the Leica SL (Type 601) – why? I would like a Leica M body, but I also want an EVF. Leica have only recently released the Leica M11 EVF option, and it’s incredibly expensive. The Leica SL (Type 601) is the perfect alternative. It shares a similar sensor to the Leica M240, but with an EVF and the flexibility to use electronic lenses when needed.

That sensor is key. Paired with the 50mm Summicron, the colours produced are stunning: rich, warm, and vibrant in all the right places. Hopefully, this comes across in the photos. This is another area where it stands apart from other non-M 50mm lenses I’ve tried (with the exception of Voigtländer). Those often render colours slightly “off”, sometimes leaning too green. I can’t quite put my finger on it. I don’t like heavily editing colours beyond white balance, so this is important to me. The Summicron just works, and works very well.

Finally, the build quality. It is very well made and still feels like a new lens, even after more than 20 years. I’ve come to expect that Leica lenses have slightly rattly aperture rings compared to other brands. Interestingly, my Voigtländer 28mm f/2 Ultron feels tighter and more solid, likely due to its brass construction and newer age. It would be interesting to see how it holds up over 20 years.

When you buy a Leica lens, you’re also buying something that can be repaired repeatedly. I’ve had mine repaired after drops and heavy use, and it has continued to function reliably. This matters when working in places where replacement lenses aren’t readily available. Even after being dropped, it can still perform to some extent, allowing you to keep shooting. With a small screwdriver, you could probably even make basic fixes yourself in a pinch.

I expect to keep these lenses for many years to come, not upgrading them but continuing to learn their limitations and work within them. This lens forces me to focus on light and storytelling. I can’t rely on it to carry an image on its own.

If you have liked the photos on this post, please follow me on Instagram on the link below and check out some of my other short reads or photos on my other pages. It is greatly appreciated.

Holy Saturday In Jerusalem

As the Orthodox Christian Easter approaches, I am reflecting on last year, when I spent Holy Week in Jerusalem. It is a week of liturgies, vigils, ceremonies, and song, following the final days of Christ as he journeys to Jerusalem and the end of his life before the crucifixion. A week of eminent worship for Christians throughout the world, yet one often overshadowed in the secular world by Christmas.

For the few weeks I had been in Jerusalem, this was the denouement. Holy Saturday, with the Holy Fire in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the site at which Jesus was crucified. I had a ticket for entry, along with diplomats, to view from the balcony above the Edicule. This was a real privilege. I hoped to get photos of the flame moving around the church, but this was not to be. I had been warned about what might be to come, and I was tentative.

 I woke up on Holy Saturday before sunrise and started my morning workout, making the most of the cool air, when I heard cheering, chanting, singing, stomping, and music. As with all these cues, I hesitated, initially thinking something bad was happening, but then I realised it was celebration. I grabbed my camera and dashed down the narrow alleyways to find a large group of lads partying in the street.

It was like a scene from a football team celebrating. Drunk, disorderly blokes singing, chanting, and dancing, with the odd bash and knock against one another, nearly sparking outrage but always feeling just under control. There was a major difference, though. These guys were not celebrating sport. Wearing their team’s tops, they were celebrating the resurrection of Christ, swinging crosses in the air and wearing T-shirts that read, “Christ is risen... Truly he is risen, and we are witnesses to that.”

It is a daunting thing, walking into a large group of lads, made slightly less so by the fact that they were devout Christians, but that “what if” in the back of one’s mind still lingers. I began talking to people, taking photos, and quickly settled into it. Some of the guys had come from towns in the West Bank, using a seven-day pass allowing them into Jerusalem to celebrate Easter week. This was controversial, as not everyone was granted one, and those who had them were on tenterhooks as to whether they would be allowed through the separation wall. As it was only seven days, one had to choose whether to attend Palm Sunday or Easter Sunday, as the pass would not allow both.

As the morning went on, the group swelled. More T-shirts were handed out, and the rowdiness only increased. They had been partying all night, and now the morning wore on. Other people began to gather too.

This was when the police moved through. They grabbed individuals who did not look local and questioned others. The crowd quietened at this point. Tourists and those from outside the area were pushed out. I fell quiet and slipped in next to the guys I had been chatting to. Unsurprisingly, I did not pass as a Palestinian Christian. As the second police officer walked past, he did a double take, looked me in the eye, and asked, “Where are you from?” I replied, “United Kingdom,” and he said, “Get out.”

He was holding an AR-15 across his chest, and his superior officer, who had already passed me, was getting physical with others. I did not argue. I stepped out of the crowd and headed towards the flat I was staying in, waiting to see if I might get another chance to return.

Then someone, I could not see who, tried to enter a doorway just off the small square we were in. The two police officers rushed them. As the door closed, the police forced it open. The person behind it fell to the floor, and the officers were on top of them. A young boy, no more than ten years old, covered them, shouting, “They live here, they live here.” The police were rough, trying to pull the boy away and force entry to arrest whoever they had seen.

Those of us who had been pushed out, along with a small number of tourists, looked at one another and then ran. My flat was around the corner, so I ran there. I had been warned there would be tension, but I did not want to be arrested or removed from the Old City so early in the day.

As I dashed into my flat, I went through the first wire-grilled door, followed closely by a nun who locked it behind us. It turned out she had also been in the crowd and had fled, following me through the small entrance to the flats where I was staying. She had not been allowed back to where she was staying and had already had confrontations with the police. What struck me was that, as a photographer, I could understand the tension between myself and the police, but for a nun to be this panicked was unsettling.

After some time, things seemed to settle outside, so we moved back onto the street, said our goodbyes via Google Translate, and went our separate ways.

When I returned to the group of lads, the street had completely changed. It was far busier, with many more people, and the route was blocked. I needed to retrieve my ticket, and time was running out. As I tried to navigate the narrow streets of the Old City, I kept encountering barriers set up by police in green uniforms carrying assault rifles. I explained my situation, that I had a ticket and needed to retrieve it, but they would not let me through. I do not blame them. I am sure many people were telling the same story, falsely or otherwise.

I could not get through to my contact who had my ticket, which was not surprising. Not only was phone signal poor due to the volume of people on the network, but as I spoke to others, stories emerged about altercations at different checkpoints. Key figures, diplomats, and priests were reportedly not being allowed into the Old City. It was a shambles.

Eventually, I gave up after trying numerous checkpoints without success. I joined the queue of worshippers in the long procession towards the Holy Sepulchre. I was not going to see the Holy Fire inside the church.

The queue through the streets was slow and often stationary. People constantly pushed past, arguments broke out, yet this contrasted sharply with bursts of celebratory singing and chanting.

As we moved slowly forwards, I kept trying to call my contact. His shop was on the route to the Holy Sepulchre, which I was trying to reach, but the pace was slow and the heat was pressing in. My phone finally connected, and I got through to him, but he was telling me he had had a dispute with the police. I could not hear what or why, and then rumours began that he had been taken away. 

Eventually, I reached the shop to find his mother, sister, and in-laws waiting there. There was a police checkpoint just up the street, another at the junction, and one being erected behind us. We were penned in.

This is how we spent the remainder of the ceremony: waiting. People were rarely allowed through the checkpoints. Occasionally, some would try to climb over, prompting the police to intervene, sometimes roughly. Another group of lads, also penned into the junction, continued chanting, jumping, singing, and waving crosses.

At one point, a moment of excitement broke out when one individual, who had been waving a cross, suddenly pulled out a sword and began swinging it above his head in celebration. This was quickly stopped by his friends, who suggested it might not be the most sensible thing to do. The police appeared unfazed by this, an odd contrast to the aggressive way they were handling people at the checkpoints.

 There was limited access to water or toilets. Fortunately, my contact’s shop had both, and people were making use of them. At one point, the police officer who had questioned me earlier came into the shop to use the toilet. We made eye contact, but nothing more. I was worried he might remove me again, but either the shop’s permission or his indifference spared me.

We heard that the Holy Fire had been lit and was not being passed around inside the church. It would not be long until it spread through the streets. Everyone had their candles in hand, waiting for the moment. Everyone wanted the Holy Fire to light their candles and bless them.

When it came, it was electric. The moment the flame came around the corner, the energy surged. The rush, the singing, the cheering. Suddenly, the checkpoints were opened, and the scouts, who traditionally play a major role in the celebrations, marched down the street with banners and crosses, candles ablaze.

The smell of candle smoke filled the air. People passed their hands through the flame to be blessed. The Holy Light does not burn. The energy was like a goal at a stadium. People were ecstatic.

At this point, the tension dissipated. The flame spread through the streets, and suddenly the police were gone. People were rejoicing, chatting, smiling, and relaxed. The streets opened, and movement resumed.

But there was still concern. Rumours about what had happened to the scouts circulated. They had been meant to reach the church much earlier but had not been allowed, and many had not even been permitted into the city. Traditionally, they help organise and steward the event. Not this year.

One father I spoke to said he had been assaulted by police, only for his son to step in to defend him and be beaten himself, a 17-year-old in his scout uniform on a day he was meant to be serving. Another story involved a scout leader I had met in previous weeks, who had a gun pulled on him and pointed at his face by a police officer.

While individual incidents could be dismissed as isolated, the sheer number of them, along with the increase in smaller aggressions towards the Christian community, suggests something more troubling. Local Christians I spoke to voiced concerns about their ability to worship freely. They described a constant pressure to leave, their lives made increasingly difficult. Many already had, seeking a more peaceful existence elsewhere.

Those who remained still held hope. Hope that peace would return and life would normalise again. Easter is a time of resurrection, of Christ dying for our sins and rising again. That message resonates deeply with those still living in hope that they will one day have the space to worship freely, without fear or obstruction.

 My concern, after seeing what I did, is how authorities can treat their own people in this way. It is difficult to see how this improves in the short term. Continued restrictions and pressure risk making the community increasingly fragile and dispersed. These actions are rarely challenged, and many locals no longer turn to authorities to resolve issues, instead relying on their own communities for support.

This, in turn, deepens an “us and them” divide, something we see elsewhere in society, driving division and dehumanisation. Change, if it is to come, must come from the top, shaping a society that sees itself not as divided, but as one.

I saw a people devoted to their religion, devoted to peace, and a people who have remained in this city for millennia. When I spoke to some of the children at the local church adjoining the Holy Sepulchre, they too showed hope and resilience. They were more committed than ever to their faith, determined to carry it forward and to remain in Jerusalem, close to their holy sites.

Via Dolorosa – The way of suffering

These are my thoughts, my experiences and what I witnessed.

Last year, I spent Holy Week in Jerusalem before the US brokered a ‘ceasefire’, which started on the 10th of October 2025. While the injustices suffered by the Palestinian population in Gaza had been widely reported in the media, this overshadowed those suffered in the West Bank, and further still those living on the border of Jerusalem. I wanted to explore what was being experienced by the Christian population in Jerusalem. While diverse, and including many groups such as Armenian, Russian, or European, the majority are Arab, typically Palestinian Christian. They are a minority within a population with limited rights, and they are facing pressure on their daily lives from limits on worship, forced changes in curricula for children, and abuse in the streets.

Today is Good Friday, the day on which Jesus Christ was taken from his prison and forced to walk with his cross to the hill of Calvary to be crucified. Christians retrace these steps on Good Friday each year, stopping at the 14 Stations of the Cross, key moments along the journey where Christians will stop, pray, sing, and pay tribute to Christ. In the story of the New Testament, he died to forgive the sins of humanity. This is particularly poignant, as on this day in Jerusalem last year, I witnessed a number of actions by the authorities or the non-Christian population that I would classify as abuse, namely spitting on religious leaders and Christian symbolism.

While the march to Calvary is a celebration of the selfless act of Christ dying for the sins of others, and many Christians, both local and from abroad, complete this march as part of their Easter celebrations, it was fraught with tension from sunrise. At each station were checkpoints with both local police and police in green uniforms carrying assault rifles, not just a few, but sometimes exceeding 10. Not only were there police, but military personnel had been brought in to help support the policing efforts over the weekend, some rumoured to have come straight from Gaza. Not ideal for managing a predictably peaceful civilian population without a recent history of violence.

These checkpoints, while on the surface serving to help the flow of people through the small city streets, also acted to block, hinder, and intimidate those trying to worship. Sometimes the stations would be blocked or severely impeded so that the flow of traffic and worshippers would not be able to take part.

While roaming groups of military-esque police with assault rifles can be defended for the purpose of safety, and I can agree to some extent as I see similar, though lesser, measures in Paris and even less so in London, there seemed to be a slightly more sinister purpose behind it in this context. It is in this context that we have to consider it, taken together with the actions in Gaza, the annexation of East Jerusalem, and therefore the Old City by Israel (a move not recognised by international law), and the mounting limitations on the number of people able to worship in specific areas imposed by the Israeli authorities (this is not limited to the Old City in Jerusalem). It feels like a pressure cooker, trying to find an excuse to further hinder and hamper the use of Jerusalem as a place of worship for specific peoples. 

While it may seem counterintuitive, as the Old City brings in so much money from Christian tourists, revenue which the authorities might value, this appears to be secondary to whatever else they may have in mind.

While agnostic, I cannot explain the power that Jerusalem had over me. Visiting places connected with such influential moments in history at times took my breath away in a way no other place has done. Jerusalem is important to all three Abrahamic religions and is a place none will give up. But, as I was told repeatedly by the Christians I met, they did not want to control it, they simply wanted to worship in peace. To visit their churches and pray – they felt they could not do this unimpeded, and while they had hope that this might be resolved, they feared there was a lot worse to come before it would be.

Out with the Camera in the North York Moors

Each and every national park in the UK has its own distinct character, personality, and traits, which give it a unique appeal to those who venture into them. The North York Moors are no different, with incredible hills, valleys, moorland (of course), and a stunning coastline that flirts with a Cornish aesthetic while retaining a distinctly northern, industrial feel. It is proving to be a true delight for landscape photography.

The dry-stone walls, the sheep, and the gnarled old trees that stand overlooking footpaths and moorland all offer themselves as subjects, acting as anchors within a composition. I have found the intersection of the moor with the farmed valley floors to be particularly fruitful for photography, although I am still exploring which valleys work best.

It also has to be said that as we move through the year, the positions of sunrise and sunset shift steadily north, meaning that each scene I discover on my walks and drives, which I think might be suitable, is constantly changing. This can be great news, as it allows me to earmark locations for a future date and time, or to revisit the same spot and capture it in different light. This is one of the joys of the moors. Due to the many hills, which often obscure the light in the morning or evening, many locations are only suited to either sunrise or sunset.

Many of the seaside towns are best suited to sunrise, with the sun setting behind the cliffs or inland, casting the towns into shadow. For sunset, one has to venture into the moors and look west. Roseberry Topping and the Captain Cook Monument are two favourites, both offering numerous opportunities for landscape photography.

I am currently working to build both my content and my knowledge of the North York Moors as a landscape photography destination, with the aim of launching workshops. These will focus on teaching how to use your camera and how to photograph this incredible landscape, combining instinct and creativity with the technical understanding needed to achieve the image you have in mind.

I believe the North York Moors are an ideal place for this, as there are so many hidden compositions in every location. There are countless aesthetic elements that can be combined to create a compelling landscape image. I often think of it as assembling a jigsaw. You can have several photographers in the same location, each walking away with a completely different composition, or even multiple compositions of their own.

For the photos attached to this piece, I have used a number of different lenses: a 20–60mm Panasonic lens, a 28–45mm f/1.8 Sigma lens, and even some manual focus Voigtländer and Leica lenses, all mounted on the Leica SL (Typ 601). This demonstrates how the landscape can be captured effectively using a variety of approaches.

If you are interested in learning how to use your camera, and like the photos you have seen on my website, please do get in touch. I run photography workshops listed HERE, and I am also looking to trial workshops in the North York Moors, so please feel free to drop me an email to enquire. I would be happy to tailor a workshop to your needs. More of my landscape photography from the North York Moors can be viewed HERE.

Running Exmoor Pony Photography Workshops on Exmoor

So, with the launch of the Exmoor Pony Photography workshop, we were lucky to have incredible weather on the days participants had booked. Very lucky in a part of the country that can be very wet! There was a good range of abilities too, from those still learning the technical side to those really wanting to push the limits of their camera; however, all wanted to develop their creativity, and I saw great progress as the sessions went on. Being able to review people’s photos during and at the end of some of the sessions meant I could give feedback on compositions, angles, and lighting in real time, as well as giving them something to reflect on afterwards.

All manner of technical aspects and compositional techniques were covered over the week, from high shutter speed freeze-frame images, to framing within the frame, to slow shutter speed drag, incorporating form, texture, and movement into the photos. We also considered how to shoot with editing in mind, versus trying to get it right in camera. Utilising your camera’s ability to display images in black and white was a particular favourite, helping the eye to focus on tones rather than being distracted by colour when aiming for a black and white final edit.

 As the ponies wandered throughout the week and the workshop, they moved through a variety of landscapes and scenes, enabling us to photograph them in ever-changing compositions: gorse, grass, windswept trees, and deep coombes (or valleys). Each new environment offered unique opportunities, allowing for a constantly shifting perspective of the ponies, as well as varied lighting. That changing light was crucial for achieving some of the shots participants were aiming for, from rim lighting to side lighting and backlighting. How to expose an image to capture the intended mood was also covered.

Teaching these workshops brings me a great deal of joy, as I am able to share a landscape I love, along with a subject that is so rewarding to photograph. The Exmoor pony’s unique features, from its velvet nose and toad eye to its coarse coat and incredible golden colour, set within this distinctive landscape, give photographers an opportunity like no other. The Exmoor pony is also the perfect subject to learn with, as its patience allows plenty of time to practise the techniques mentioned above. In contrast, the moments that truly make a photograph are fleeting and rarely align perfectly, which keeps things exciting.

 There are still many compositions I am yet to see out on the moors with the ponies, and when I do spot them, I share them with workshop participants, pointing them out so they can try to capture the shot themselves.

 I have attached some photos taken while out with participants, showcasing some of the environments people find themselves in and the opportunities available. I took these images to demonstrate composition and exposure, helping participants better understand what I am trying to teach. I hope you enjoy them, and if you are interested in booking onto this workshop or one of my others, please do get in touch. While I am not running this workshop year-round, if you and a friend are interested in booking outside of the listed dates, please feel free to reach out, as I may be able to accommodate you.

 The photos attached to this copy were taken on the Canon R6 with the Sigma 150-600mm f5-6.3 Contemporary or the Leica SL (Type 601) with the Sigma 28-45mm f1.8 or the Leica 35mm F2 summicron

A Few Frames from Some Landscape Photography in the North York Moors - Leica SL Type 601.

We have had a huge, long wet spell in the North York Moors, mirroring the trend the whole of the UK has been experiencing. Long days of heavy downpours, gentle showers and then constant drizzle have left the ground saturated and boggy. Worse still, the sky has been filled with cloud with very little light. This has meant there has been little opportunity to get out with the camera and photograph some of the stunning scenes across the moors.

It is an interesting one. There are a lot of national parks with expansive moorland in the UK: Exmoor, Dartmoor, the Peaks, the Lakes, the Dales and the North York Moors. While they all share some characteristics, each has its own very specific look which, if you know them well, is strikingly different. Whether this is the way the hills roll, how the valleys start and finish, or the sharp and dramatic nature of the mountains and rocky outcrops, each landscape carries its own identity.

I am still getting to know the North York Moors, but it is such an adventure. Its dales form valleys a bit like a splayed hand, all meeting at a central point. Its moorland forms large, expansive rolling hills that drop off sharply into lush green valleys with dry stone walls, gnarled trees and ancient barns.

There are not so many obvious key landscape locations in the North York Moors. It does not seem to have its iconic viewpoints mapped out in quite the same way as many other national parks. Instead, it feels more scattered with smaller, more intimate scenes that one has to hunt out and find for oneself. That is not to say there are not many photographers photographing the moors. It is just that they do not seem to be photographing the same things.

Roseberry Topping might indeed be the one place that fits this description. Its iconic cliff edge and solitary position away from the main moorland make it immediately recognisable, affectionately nicknamed the Yorkshire Matterhorn. I can see why it has gained this nickname. Yet even with such an iconic site, there is no single typical angle from which it is photographed. Instead there are countless ways one might frame it, with rocky walls or old quarry edges providing interesting foregrounds.

What I am looking for are images of the moors that people have not necessarily taken before. Images that tell the story of the moors as I see them. An ancient landscape, inhabited yet sparse. Starting from not knowing the moors at all means I have my work cut out, but it is also a fantastic opportunity to explore the little roads that head off in directions where it feels there should be little reason for a road to go. Those are the places where I am hoping to find the most compelling scenes.

When I look for a scene I try to find something that initially catches my interest. A tree, a wall, a building, or perhaps a lake or mountain in the distance. Something for the viewer to rest upon. From there I try to build a composition around it. What should I include that adds to the subject and helps the viewer read the scene? Does this rock guide the eye towards the focal point? Is the grass blowing in the right direction? All of these small details help make up a scene and in the North York Moors there is a multitude of elements to work with. The only limitation is how to position the pieces of the puzzle to complete the image.

The other limitation, of course, is the weather, as I have already mentioned. Having not indulged in landscape photography in depth for a while, I had almost forgotten that you cannot simply move your subject. Everything depends on where the light is falling, something that changes throughout the year and at different times of day. Is this a sunrise location or a sunset one? Will the sun move around far enough in winter to illuminate it, or will it remain in shadow until the light becomes too harsh later in the day?

These are things I am slowly learning, compiling a mental map of the features I enjoy and making notes of when I think they might be best photographed. The photos attached are some of my first few forays into the moors specifically in search of landscapes. Many more to come.

A Day Doing Street Photography in London with the Voigtländer 28mm f/2 Ultron and the Leica SL (Type 601) in 2026 – A Review

The month is March 2026 and I’m using the Leica SL (Type 601), an 11-year-old full-frame camera, to shoot street photography in London. It is a block of milled aluminium with a beautiful sensor and, by today’s standards, some questionable contrast-detect autofocus. That is why I am pairing it with the Voigtländer 28mm f/2 Ultron, a manual-focus brass construction lens. In terms of build quality, it complements the Leica SL so well that it almost feels like magic.

This setup is my go-to street combination. The lens is so small it hardly adds to the camera’s profile, making the whole kit light and unobtrusive, which is ideal for hours stomping the streets of London. On the day I’ll discuss here, I covered 30,000 steps over 22.3 km. The camera cannot be too heavy.

The day started with, I hate to admit it, a missed shot. As I stepped straight out of the house with my brother, there was seating outside a nearby café where a gentleman sat, completely absorbed in his newspaper. There was a light haze and gentle morning sun. As I walked past, I caught the framing in my eye and instantly thought, I need that shot. I stopped and hesitated. My brother asked what was wrong and I said, “I’ve just missed a shot. The man reading his paper. It was perfectly composed.” But as I turned to walk past again, others at the café noticed my abrupt movement and looked up. The moment was gone.

I did not want to interrupt the gentleman during his morning coffee, so I left it. That image is now seared into my mind. A reminder to always be ready and aware that a photograph can present itself when one least expects it.

The rest of the day unfolded more generously. A walk through Brick Lane and Shoreditch, with a coffee stop mixed in, got the blood flowing. The weather was genuinely perfect for street photography in London. Full sun broken occasionally by thin cloud meant plenty of light, and when directional pools appeared they were not too harsh for the season. There was a lot to work with.

From Shoreditch I moved into the City, playing with reflective light bouncing off glass buildings. I looked for moments where reflected light contradicted the sunrays themselves, creating a patchwork of illumination I could use to isolate a subject within a scene.

Given the available light, I set the Voigtländer 28mm f/2 Ultron to f/8, ISO 400, sometimes 200, and adjusted shutter speed accordingly. I hardly touched the focus, predominantly shooting using zone focus, tweaking only when necessary. This allows me to operate one-handed and be more responsive. That said, I do not pretend to always be ready. Walking the streets, one can get complacent. You convince yourself the shot will not materialise and then, when it does, you are rushing.

I had the electronic shutter on with continuous shooting activated. Not my default, but not unusual either. With strong sunlight and fleeting gestures, I felt it favoured me that day. Typically, I use the mechanical shutter on single shot. There are rumours it preserves dynamic range, and I prefer to avoid potential sensor lag with fast-moving subjects, although in truth I have rarely experienced issues with either.

From the City I shifted towards Bank, playing with light beams and trying to frame suited figures among columns and architecture. Sometimes a subject wearing black clothing works best, particularly against a bright background. At other times, when trying to pull someone from shadow, a white shirt can do wonders.

You stand waiting for the right person to walk into frame, sometimes even in the road, dodging cars and hoping that the ideal subject does not coincide with passing traffic. I experimented with stairways, searching for those without distracting elements when viewed from below, and others with interesting scenes at the top. It can feel awkward standing at the bottom of a staircase waiting, with people passing and giving you curious looks. I smile, acknowledge them, and say good morning. It puts everyone at ease.

This composition often yields strong results. Leading lines from handrails draw the eye, and the difference in light from top to bottom naturally guides attention towards the subject.

It is when someone walks through your frame that the faster burst rate becomes useful, and where zone focusing with a manual lens excels. You can compose and release the shutter quickly, maintaining framing while firing several frames to capture the perfect stride. This is one of the strengths of the Leica SL. For an older camera, it offers a respectable frame rate. It may be old, but it remains entirely sufficient for modern needs. Realistically, classical street photography does not require 30 frames per second.

The sensor in the Leica SL (Type 601) is superb. ISO drops to 50 and remains very clean up to 800, with grain appearing at 1600. Even 3200 is usable when needed. I find it renders warmth in the right areas while preserving clean whites where necessary. Images are sharp with excellent contrast. Drop the highlights slightly, lift the whites, and you achieve a vibrant colour rendering that almost feels painted on. If you are buying this camera, you are buying it for photography. For photographers who favour manual focus lenses, it is excellent, particularly with its outstanding viewfinder. I rarely even punch in to focus.

The Voigtländer 28mm f/2 Ultron complements the sensor beautifully. It delivers strong contrast, clarity and sharpness without being overpowering. Flare is minimal, and ghosting is rare. It produces something of a 1980s documentary feel while retaining a modern edge. Physically, it pairs wonderfully with the SL. Solid, robust and entirely metal, it feels like equipment that will last for years. Most of the images from this day were shot at f/8, though one was taken at f/22 and another at f/5.6. Focus was generally set just below infinity.

For street photography, this lens and body combination feels complete. I do not feel compelled to upgrade. I also own the Leica 28mm f/2 Summicron, which is excellent but often overkill for street work. It is not that I do not enjoy using it, but I do not always relish carrying that much value around my neck. The Voigtländer is slightly smaller, and when space is tight while travelling, and the camera is going into a bag without a case, it is the lens I choose.

I will write about the Leica Summicron at some point, perhaps with a direct comparison and a discussion of the differences in rendering and handling.

If you enjoyed the photographs attached to this post and would like to learn to take similar images, get to grips with the streets of London, improve your camera skills, or discover strong locations in and around the city, I offer workshops tailored to exactly that HERE. Please feel free to get in touch.

4 Years since Russia Invaded Ukraine

It has been four years since the Russian invasion of Ukraine. For four years, Ukrainians have been fighting over every square metre of their country. Yet after four years, they have pushed Russian forces back from significant swathes of territory. While Russia still occupies 19.4% of Ukrainian land, the rate of capture continues to fluctuate, particularly with recent developments such as Starlink reportedly being restricted from unauthorised receivers in Ukraine and the banning of Telegram and WhatsApp.

This demonstrates that there is hope, though hope was already present. When I visited Ukraine at the end of last year, I joined a group of Brits delivering aid to NGOs and the military alike. Every person I met had hope. They were resilient and confident in eventual victory. None spoke of capitulating or conceding to Russia’s demands.

We often take our democracy for granted, but they do not. Many Ukrainians still remember what it was like to live without democracy and now face the prospect of losing it again. They have fought for their independence and for their identity.

I went because I wanted to help, but also because I wanted to witness first-hand why we must continue to support Ukraine in its fight for sovereignty and against oppression. This post is a reminder for those in my small ecosystem that this is a cause we really need to care about or it will come back to haunt us in the future.

These photos are from a small independent drone factory I visited, tucked away inside an old Soviet-era apartment block. As we rattled up in a lift that felt like it had not changed since the days of the Soviet Union, we stepped into a scene that could have been lifted from a James Bond film. Concrete walls, tattered doors and ageing windows. Yet inside one of those worn apartments were volunteers building the future of this war.

Soldering irons in hand, 3D-printed components laid out across tables, lines of code running across laptop screens. Individuals giving their time to assemble drones, programme complex operating systems and adapt designs based on feedback from frontline troops who had been flying earlier versions that very same day. That feedback was fed directly back into the workshop, adjustments made immediately, improvements implemented in the production line within hours. A real-time cycle of innovation.

It was a process I had not seen before and a reminder of just how cutting edge this war has become. The technological advancement unfolding inside that flat stood in sharp contrast to the Soviet block that housed it. The outside reflected the industrial past many in the West still associate with the region. Inside was agility, innovation and modern engineering evolving at speed. The contrast was stark, and a reminder of why Ukraine has been able to hold the Russians at bay.

The 7Artisans 35mm f2 MKI Chrome on the Leica SL (Type 601)

I picked up this lens for £150 second-hand. It was my introduction to M-mount lenses and a way to test whether I liked the compact size, focus throw and focus tab, but more importantly, whether I would find the minimum focus distance of 70cm too limiting. As it was going to be adapted onto a Leica SL, there were some additional nuances I needed to consider too, such as whether there would be any issues with vignetting. However, from what I had read online, it was a great little lens with impressive build quality. It almost seemed too good to be true.

When this little lens arrived in the post, I was shocked. It was solid, and I mean solid. The focus was smooth, with the stunning brass rangefinder coupling cam protruding from the back. While I had not originally wanted the chrome version, I chose it as it was the only one I could find at the time. In the end, the chrome actually became a real selling point.

The image quality, though… I have had this lens for two years now, and I have used it extensively for travel, documentary, street and even portraits, so I feel I understand how it performs. There are two ways of looking at it. In the context of other lenses such as Leica, Voigtländer or Zeiss, this sits at the bottom of the pile and renders more like a heritage lens, particularly wide open. There is flare, softness and noticeable vignetting. However, stopped down, it is actually quite good. The vignette and softness largely disappear, contrast increases and flaring reduces. It is no Leica 35mm Summicron, of course. But taking into account the price point and the level of build quality, the image quality is very respectable. You are getting a lot of lens for your money, and if you are after something where ultimate sharpness and minimal distortion are not essential, then you are quids in. That is exactly how I have been using it.

While it was my only 35mm for a time, it has now become an alternative to my Leica 35mm f2 Summicron when I want something I can throw on my camera and keep in my bag. I am not worried about it taking a knock, but I know that if I am out with it, I will still get photos I am happy with, particularly when shooting street, where I am typically at f8. That slightly vintage rendering can really be played into, and I feel that with a little added contrast and warmth, it can almost flirt with a Kodachrome look. Almost.

It is also ideal when travelling in areas that feel less familiar than my usual haunts in London or the UK countryside. Losing not only my camera body but an attached Leica lens would be too much for my bank account to manage. In those moments, the 7Artisans 35mm f2 is ideal. I still act accordingly, of course, but I appreciate the reduced financial risk while continuing to shoot.

I have to admit there is a simple joy in using this lens. Because it is not technically perfect, it removes the pressure to seek technical perfection in every photograph, forcing you to focus more on story and composition. It removes certain complications and decisions that might otherwise hinder creativity. You know it will not produce a clinically perfect image, and so you embrace the imperfections. The glow, the softness and the vignette can all add character when used well, though they can also be frustrating if not handled carefully. One thing this lens has taught me, which I have carried forward to other lenses, is not to be afraid of stopping down, even for portraits. If you focus on the light and the composition, and ensure the subject and complementary elements within the frame are working together, these perceived flaws tend to fade away.

The tactile feel of this lens, the smooth focus, the well-clicked aperture ring and the solid construction all continue to make it a valued part of my kit. Do I think about adding a Voigtländer 35mm to have a more technically capable backup? Yes. It is such a versatile focal length, intimate enough for portraits while maintaining context, yet wide enough for an uncluttered landscape. But there is something telling me I do not need it, and that this lens, used thoughtfully and with careful attention to light and storytelling, will serve my photography just as well as any technical upgrade.

If you enjoyed the photographs in this post and would like to develop your own street photography, I offer one-to-one workshops tailored to your experience level and creative goals. Please visit the Services tab for upcoming dates and details. If the listed dates do not align with your availability, do get in touch to discuss alternative options.

Street photography in London

London has been fundamental to street photography over the years, from Don McCullin’s work in the East End to more contemporary artists such as Alan Schaller. Not only have they both inspired my own style in all aspects of photography, but their London images have also inspired me to get out and shoot in London. This constantly changing canvas is just a street photographer's playground. You can walk the same street at different times of day and in different weather conditions and encounter completely different scenes and opportunities. Even in the same conditions and at the same time of day, the people moving through it will be different, carrying out different activities, wearing different clothes, and moving at different speeds, all adding to the constant change of potential compositions and situations in which to capture a moment.

 Not only does the scene change, but the camera and lens you choose to traverse these scenes with will give you different opportunities, from a wide 28mm to a short telephoto of 50mm. The ability to include or exclude distractions or components will shape the narrative of your image. This all impacts—and is impacted by—the mood in which you photograph. Do you want to step back and be more observant, or do you want to immerse yourself in the scene? Drinking that IRN BRU—or perhaps a beer—might give you the sugar rush to overcome some of the barriers to raising the camera and taking the shot. It might stimulate the mind to think faster or more creatively, keep you keen for an extra hour, or increase your patience to wait for that one person walking through a scene who happens to step exactly into the right spot for your composition. These are all considerations when dedicating time to taking photos and refining your skill. One learns their own limitations and the requirements to be in the right headspace to create.

 What better place to learn than London itself, where one has every opportunity to follow whatever style of street photography one desires. The architectural landscape offers the geometry of modern design, while the older markets and alleyways provide the nostalgia one might seek. The light bounces down streets and off large glass windows, acting as funnels or diffusers, even directing light to help isolate your subject. But if one fancies a busy scene with chaos and movement, the bustling stations offer that in abundance, or one can join the many protests or marches that take place along Whitehall or in Trafalgar Square. The endless networks of tube and bus routes offer opportunities to move around and photograph the bends and curves of the lines, using artificial lighting to your advantage—seeking dark corners or isolated lights as fill light.

From day to night, the opportunities differ—from overhead sun to the glow of street lamps and shop fronts, spreading light across a scene. This almost simplifies things, as one is limited not by the endless daytime compositions but by focal points of light, where experimentation and careful exposure are needed to bring a composition to fruition and ensure the subject materialises.

This is why I love photographing in London—there is always somewhere to shoot, some way of shooting it, and the only limitation is one’s own creativity, which I have to admit does not always come easily.

 For street photography, I admit, simplicity works best for me. A single fixed prime and one camera body sets the tone for the day. Changing lenses confuses me, muddles my eye, and limits the time spent hunting for a shot, as I am constantly swapping lenses to see if something “might work.” My camera, the Leica SL (Type 601), is a given. Coupled with a small M-mount lens, it isn’t too bulky or heavy but gives the perfect tactile feel as I meander along, fiddling with the aperture ring and focus tab, mulling over shots. It keeps me engaged with the controls, in tune with my settings, and focused on what I hope to shoot next.

 There are many shots I haven’t taken, and I regret it now, but there are many more I am yet to take. Each time I go out, it is a constant refinement of how I like to shoot, what I like to shoot, and my mood that day, coupled with the inspiration from photos I have more recently absorbed. I learn, I shoot, and I learn a little more.

Using the Leica SL (Type 601) in 2026 - A Review

Is the Leica SL 601 Still Worth It?

I’ve been using the Leica SL (Type 601) for three years now, having bought it back in 2023. I have to admit it was an odd choice even then, as it was already eight years old and still more expensive than newer cameras with better technology. Its newer siblings, the Leica SL2 and SL2-S, were available but even more expensive, so I really couldn’t justify them. But I had a very specific set of criteria I was looking for in a camera, and I had been hopping from system to system for a few years trying to find something that ticked all the boxes.

I started out in photography shooting wildlife, and for that purpose I had always used Canon. I cannot fault Canon for one second in that regard. I’ve owned everything from a 5D Mk II to a 1Ds Mk III, 1D Mk IV, a 1DX and now an R6, all of which were amazing. But when I started shooting more travel, documentary and personal work, I felt there was something lacking in the images.

I’ve always hated editing photos. I find it a chore and prefer to do as little to an image as possible. This isn’t down to some idea that you have to “get it right in camera”, because even when shooting manually the camera is still making decisions and processing the image in its own way. I just prefer minimal editing and really don’t want to be adjusting colours at all.

I tried a number of different brands and sensors, including Fuji and Nikon, both of which are excellent, but again something felt missing. I couldn’t quite define it, but I knew what I didn’t like. Fuji’s crop sensor and Nikon’s portrait colours always felt slightly “off” to me. I knew I wanted something tactile, like my old Olympus OM-2. Something metal, something heavy, something solid.

I had tried the Leica SL (Type 601) a few years previously, but at that time I didn’t think the autofocus was good enough, as I was still wildlife-focused. By 2023 my priorities had changed, so I tried it again. It was amazing.

I tested it with some Olympus lenses that I could use on both my Canon R6 and the Leica SL, allowing me to directly compare the two. The difference surprised me. The colours and the sharpness from the sensor felt leagues ahead of the Canon. But how? The Leica SL (Type 601) had so many flaws: slow contrast-detect autofocus and no IBIS. Yet somehow the images were just incredible. Fantastic contrast and clarity. Warmth in all the right places without being overpowering. Something I had never quite achieved with the Canon.

It was solid too. I’ve dropped it a couple of times and knocked it against things, and it’s still working, albeit with the scars to show for it. It was exactly what I was after for my non-wildlife work.

Since those early days, the Leica SL (Type 601) has barely left my side. It’s been with me all over the world, from the Philippines to Jerusalem, Ukraine and across Europe. It’s building up a lovely patina as the paint wears on its angular frame. I believe the shutter count is now around 220,000 images, judging by the file names. It has only let me down once. I was out in heavy rain in the Lake District and the rubber nipple on the directional thumb pad came off, allowing rain to enter the body. This affected the internal buttons, meaning it constantly selected the furthest autofocus point. Annoying, but once it dried out it was fine.

It has survived the humidity of the Philippine mountains, the salt air of Manila Bay, the dust of Jerusalem and even drones flying overhead in Ukraine. It has survived bivvying sessions tucked inside my sleeping bag and temperatures of minus 11 degrees in Latvia.

Professionally, I’ve had to make it pay for itself, and it has. It has shot content for brands such as Arc’teryx UK and Belstaff Motorcycle. It has covered weddings and christenings, Easter services and countless portraits, all of which it excels at, as long as the subject is not moving too fast.

That’s the funny thing. Yes, the autofocus will sometimes let you down. But at other times it really surprises you and performs brilliantly. Because it is older and has an older processor, you have to try to make it think as little as possible to get the best from it. It’s not just about shooting manually. Even small things matter. For example, if you’re shooting tracking in burst mode, you’ll often get better results using the electronic shutter and shooting wide open. Do that, and you can actually get a few sharp frames.

It truly excels with manual focus lenses. With autofocus lenses and the mechanical shutter in burst mode, it can stutter, hesitate and fire an odd number of actuations before briefly locking you out. With a manual focus lens, the shutter button feels far more responsive, especially with the electronic shutter. You can fire bursts without hesitation, whereas with the mechanical shutter, it can pause when you press it again, which is not ideal in high-pressure situations. The other major drawback is the lack of IBIS, i would LOVE IBIS in this camera as being able to shoot a scene at 1/25 or so would be so beneficial in those lower light settings - at the moment I do find myself chasing the light in those situations.

All of those flaws feel meaningless when you get the image you were after. Then it really sings.

With this camera, particularly paired with manual focus lenses, my work has become more engaging, more purposeful and more connected. Is this camera right for everyone? Absolutely not. I would be unlikely to recommend it to anyone other than someone who purely wants to do photography and values a tactile experience above all else.

For me, it works exactly how I want to shoot. The price was worth it because of how much use I’ve had out of it, and the jobs that have paid for it. I have been tempted to upgrade, but I worry that moving to the SL2-S might mean some of the magic is lost, especially after finding something that works so well for me.

For now, this camera is doing everything I need, and I don’t want to change a winning formula.

I hope you’ve enjoyed some of the photos I’ve shared alongside this text. I’ve certainly enjoyed taking them, and hopefully I get to take many more.

For those interested in the lens ive used for the photos posted here they are;

• Voigtlander 28mm f2 Ultron

• Leica 28mm (11672), 35mm (11879), 50mm (11826) f2 Summicron

• Sigma 28-45mm f1.8 L-Mount

• 7Artisans 35mm f2 mki

• Sigma I series 24mm, 35mm and 50mm f2 L-Mount

If you have enjoyed reading this and viewing my photos, please consider following me on my socials linked below. I also run workshops where I teach photography, so if you’re interested in getting to grips with new gear or you’ve just bought the Leica SL (Type 601) and would like help getting the most out of it, please get in touch.

Voigtländer 28mm f2 Ultron Long Term Review on Leica SL (Type 601) – Manual Focus, Handling & Image Quality

I’ve been using the Voigtländer 28mm f2 Ultron for 2 to 3 years now for all sorts of things: my everyday carry lens, a documentary lens, a street photography lens, and one to take on adventures into the mountains. It has performed incredibly in all of these roles.

I would even say this was the lens that confirmed to me that manual focus lenses could be both small, sharp and incredibly robust. These were the traits I was looking for in a lens. Often one of these is lacking, particularly with modern electronic focus lenses. They are often huge or not weather sealed, leaving them vulnerable to the elements. I’ve been using manual focus lenses for a few years now, and this was the second specific manual focus purchase after the 7Artisans 35mm f2 (Mk I). I use these lenses predominantly on the Leica SL (Type 601), which I must say feels like it was specifically designed for manual focus lenses, as it performs better with them than with its relatively slow, clunky autofocus system.

But back to the Voigtländer 28mm f2 Ultron. This lens is incredible, almost ideal. The build quality is second to none, and I mean that. I have a trio of Leica Summicrons: the Leica 28mm f/2 Summicron #11672, the 35mm f2 Summicron #11879, and the 50mm f2 Summicron #11826, and none of them compare to the Voigtländer in terms of feel. This is particularly due to the tighter tolerances of the Voigtländer and its heavy brass construction. I have to admit I was fairly disappointed after I bought my first Summicron, thinking it would be even better than the Voigtländer 28mm f2 Ultron. The aperture ring on the Ultron is perfectly damped and really plays into my slightly compulsive need to fiddle with something.

The image quality is also incredible. For something so small, I was impressed with its sharpness wide open and how it renders contrast and colour. I would say it is comparable to the Leica 28mm f2 Summicron #11672, but there is one massive benefit of the Voigtländer 28mm f2 Ultron. It vignettes, but it is correctable even wide open, unlike the Leica 28mm f2 Summicron #11672, which is manageable but does leave artefacts. To be honest, I am usually fine with that. I have to admit I am shooting these lenses on the Leica SL (Type 601) and not an M body, so some of the nuances of the Leica lenses will be missed, while I believe the Voigtländer is designed knowing it will, in some respect, be used adapted. This plays a massive role when considering which lens to use.

What I truly love about this lens is its size and how discreet it is. I’ve taken it into the snowy mountains of Scotland, East Jerusalem, the Philippines, all over Europe, and more recently to the frontline of Ukraine, all of which it has handled incredibly well. I have used it to shoot street, documentary, portraits, sport and travel. I’ll attach some photos to this article, and I have never doubted it for a second. While it does not quite match the sharpness and correction of some of the more modern electronic focus lenses I use, such as the Sigma 28–45mm or the I Series primes, its other benefits in size mean I can get photographs I would not necessarily get with a large lens.

This is the thing: this lens is discreet, meaning you can work with an intimacy that a large lens often does not afford. It can sit on the camera hanging off your shoulder all day without tiring you out or constantly knocking into things as you traverse streets or move through groups of people. This means you can be out shooting for longer. The focal length is also ideal for documentary work, capturing a whole scene while still affording you the luxury of being able to shoot a portrait at f2 and include some context in the background, which is my favourite. This lens has survived knocks and falls, as well as rain and dust, sea water and high humidity. At the end of the day, I trust it over any electronic lens, purely because a manual lens can be fixed yourself with a screwdriver and a few basic tools. If something goes wrong with the electronics of an autofocus lens, you are not fixing it on the go.

All of these reasons are why this lens continues to have a place in my bag regardless of where I am going. I have no intention of selling it, as it serves its purpose so well while also looking incredible on the camera. Coupling the Voigtländer 28mm f2 Ultron with the Leica SL (Type 601) is a match made in heaven and as close to that tactile feeling of shooting a 1980s camera, while still having the convenience of digital, as one can get.

If you have enjoyed reading this and viewing my photos, please consider following me on my socials linked below. I also run workshops where i teach photography so if you’re interested in getting to grips with new gear or you’ve just bought the Voigtlander 28mm f2 Ultron and would like help getting the most out of it please get in touch.

COVID1984 - aVAX

The struggle to come to terms with the emergence of COVID-19 out of China was real. The world had faced the possibility of pandemics before—swine flu, bird flu, and Ebola. All of these threats diminished, solidifying the belief that global outbreaks of disease were an impossibility, even in my mind. I would tell my peers, friends, and family, “Of course there will be a disease that will hit us hard; we have a hugely connected planet with pathogens constantly evolving. We are only a few mutations away from a lethal pandemic.” Yet, I didn't truly believe it would happen. Inevitability battled inside my head against experience, or more accurately, naivety—thinking it wouldn't happen in my lifetime.

Yet, the pandemic did happen and continued to unfold. A vaccine was developed and introduced at lightning speed, with the first administration to 90-year-old Margaret Keenan in the UK by nurse May Parsons. This was phenomenal. It was the first implementation of an mRNA vaccine in humans, something that hadn’t been achieved before for other diseases. As an immunologist and PhD student, this is the sort of thing that excites me, but I understand these things.

For most people in the UK, it was the first time they had heard of RNA, let alone mRNA. What is it? How did it get approved so quickly? What are the long-term effects? Even worse, this vaccine induces the killing and destruction of your own cells? Then the rumors started: infertility, DNA alteration, microchips for tracking, viral shedding, lack of safety, blood clots, and immune cells targeting healthy cells. Some of these could easily be dismissed with a little common sense, while others even I and some of my peers struggled with in the early days.

The vaccine had been authorized quickly, and we didn’t know the long-term effects of this type of vaccine. We had never utilized this type before. It seems the vaccine did have some adverse effects, yet it was safer than getting the virus, at least for most. We were comparing all these unknowns of a vaccine against some knowns and many unknowns of having COVID-19.

This put me in a tricky situation. I was an 'expert' in the eyes of laypeople, but I didn't know everything, or much at all. People were asking me questions on a topic that no one was a real expert on yet. How do I advise my family and the people I care about on a topic I’m as lost on as they are? I was on the fence as they were in the early days, but I had to trust science.

In this series of images, I set out to explore the other side of the fence—those individuals set on not accepting the vaccine and the restrictions implemented by our government. I visited protests, entered debates at Speakers' Corner, and chatted with individuals to gain an understanding of where this refusal came from. I found it stemmed from distrust in our leaders, fear of the unknown, putting two and two together and making three, or protesting the forced implementation of the vaccine and the restrictions. Some of these I had no defense for, and to some, I said you have to just trust the little science we have. I hope you enjoy the images; it was an enlightening process taking them.

Scientists

The driving force behind my decision to pursue—and remain in—a career in science is the knowledge that the work we do has an impact far beyond the day-to-day tasks. It’s the understanding that something you uncover, analyse, or contribute to could have real-world implications: informing policy, shaping public health strategies, and ultimately saving lives.

Nowhere has this felt more poignant than in my work on Neglected Tropical Diseases (NTDs). These are a group of diseases that, despite their significant global burden, remain underfunded and under-prioritised. They predominantly affect the world’s most vulnerable populations—those with the least voice and fewest resources. This makes the work feel not just important, but essential. It gives your efforts meaning. It pushes you to stay sharp, to keep learning, and to stay abreast of the latest techniques.

NTDs also present a unique scientific challenge. They rarely come with straightforward solutions. Diagnoses are often unreliable, treatments may be ineffective or inaccessible, and interventions can be complex and slow to deliver results. Working in this field demands patience, persistence, and a long-term mindset. There are no silver bullets here—progress comes in hard-earned, incremental steps.

This brings me to the second reason why I find this work so fulfilling: the people. You don’t choose to work in this field—or even in this broader industry—unless you’re deeply passionate about science. There are easier, more lucrative paths out there. This field is often defined by short-term contracts, job insecurity, modest pay, and long hours spent alone in the lab or writing code until your eyes blur. Reagents are expensive, and a single mistake can mean the loss of samples that took months to collect. The pressure is very real.

And yet, the people make all the difference. I’ve had the privilege of working alongside some truly inspirational individuals—scientists who are not just brilliant, but also deeply committed to their work. Being around people like this pushes you to go further: to read that extra paper, try that experimental technique, or revisit your assumptions. At times, it’s intimidating. You feel like you're standing among giants—because often, you are. At my workplace, it’s not unusual to pass by colleagues in the corridor who have shaped the global field of infectious disease.

But the beautiful thing is: many of them are surprisingly grounded. Get them to the pub after a conference, and they’re cracking jokes over a pint. Far from the socially awkward stereotype, many are warm, approachable, and empathetic. And empathy matters here. In global health research, relationships and trust are foundational—your science won’t matter if your collaborators don’t trust or respect you.

Here are some photos of colleagues I’ve had the pleasure of working with during my PhD at the London School of Hygiene & Tropical Medicine. Some of them have more papers in Nature, Science, and Cell than I can count—they have taught me to be a better scientist, shown me how to be a better person or given me an aim of what I can achieve with my work.

Covid Induced PTSD - A NHS members Experience.

Kat, born and raised in Australia, is an intensive care nurse who worked in the UK for the Covid19 pandemic. She worked through both lock downs and the peaks and troughs in cases that surrounded them. Her experiences in the first wave included treating civilians from all walks of life, all backgrounds and all nationalities.

Patients came in quicker than they were being cured. There weren’t enough ventilation machines for those coming in and patients were slowly degrading and dying. The moral dilemma of keeping patients on ventilators despite the certainty of death, while denying those same machines to new patients who have a higher chance of survival weighed heavy. Patients would come into the Covid wards without family and the prognosis for them at this point was in most cases, death. There was often a rush to help patients call their families and say their last words—while at the same time reassuring them that they would be okay, even though it was known there was only a slim chance of recovery. These experiences were common place.

One experience in particular that left a lasting impression was when Kat was working with a doctor she hadn’t previously, it was a busy day - like usual. A patient had just died on the ward, and Kat and the doctor were completing the summary when the doctor suddenly recognised the person in the bed — it was someone he had worked with before. A heavy silence fell. Then, without a word, the doctor moved on to the next patient. There was no time to mourn, no space to weep, not even a moment to process the loss of someone he once knew. Any hesitation could put other patients at risk.

While this moment stood out to Kat, death had become a daily reality on the ward — relentless and unavoidable. “We were just waiting for people to die so we could move the machines to someone else,” she said.

No treatment, no vaccines and nothing known that could help other than trying to keep oxygen getting to the patients as their lungs become less and less capable. Every possible type of person was being treated in the first wave of Covid. Kat has got through it.

Mentally and physically exhausted - she needed to rebuild her life. Kats health unsurprisingly suffered. Long 12 hour days with overtime as more and more colleagues were getting sick and unable to work. When not at work she couldnt even see her friends, her family were on the other side of the planet and there was no way to switch off. Her mental health deteriorated. She become dependent on alcohol. She had put herself through hell to save people but it had taken its toll.

Finally, vaccine development had succeeded, and the rollout had begun — but at the same time, the second wave of COVID was emerging. Kat sprang back into action. This time, there was something different about the patients: the vast majority hadn’t been vaccinated. The same tragic patterns from the first wave returned — people dying faster than they could be saved, shortages of ventilators, and long, exhausting days with no breaks. Kat was still battling her own deteriorating mental and physical health. What was starkly different about this second wave — and the people she was desperately trying to save — was that they didn’t have to be there. The vaccine could have saved them, and could have spared Kat further trauma. That bitter twist of the metaphorical dagger that COVID had already driven into her made it all the more unbearable. Why were she and her colleagues sacrificing so much for people who could so easily have prevented this?

I met Kat in 2022, when the world was beginning to open up again. She was still working for the NHS, moving from one London hospital to another wherever she was needed. But she doesn’t work there now. The work took its toll — she now suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder, brought on by her experiences during lockdown. It wasn’t just burnout turned up to 11 — it was lasting trauma. Self-medication with alcohol, a lack of mental health support, and no one knowing how to deal with the psychological impact of COVID-19 left deep scars. But I’m pleased to say Kat has been recovering. A new role training nurses on novel medical equipment has given her a chance to focus on a lower-pressure path. She’s stopped drinking, returned to a healthier lifestyle, and is slowly emerging on the other side. But will she ever truly be free from those experiences?

there are far more NHS staff who experienced this, dont talk about it and hide it deep down inside. we were not ready as a community for this pathogen but psychologically the impact has also been drastically overlooked. some of our best and brightest young doctors have left the profession and this will have lasting impacts on our health as a nation and the functionality of the NHS.

Jorvik - Vikings return to York

York—a city where history is not just remembered but felt in every stone and shadow. Its winding streets weave through time, while the towering Minster stands as a sentinel over centuries of triumph and turmoil. From its founding by the Ninth Legion to its reign as the heart of the Danelaw, York has worn many names, but today, it reclaims one of its most storied: Jórvík. Once more, the city hums with the presence of Vikings, their banners flying, their footsteps echoing through the alleys, as the past and present collide in a spectacle of Norse spirit and legend.