Smoke of the city rising up into the sky

In Janaury when it was cold and clear in London I went round to Tony Benn's place just behind Notting Hill, to interview him with Isabella for the paper. He talked about his childhood, and his hopeful ideas for politics still today - all while clicking insistently on his lighter to try to get his pipe going. It wasn't until he got a moment before I took the picture that he finally lit it - I snapped him just as he lifted it up and breathed in deeply. The interview can be found here.  

Fish in the waters below

On a cold, overcast day just after Christmas I got the train to Brighton, where I decided against venturing into the sea, but sat on the pebbles and ate a hot kipper sandwich while trying to skim stones across the foam.

It is even a vapor, that appears for a little time

We spent the afternoon at Ralph's wandering through the endless rooms hung with paintings and stuffed animals, and then laid the table with a stretch of cutlery and a different glass for each course, with great spaces between each place in order to fill the entire grand dining table. Molly and I baked bread which we ate the following morning before walking into the sprawling grounds of the house, staring out at the fields all around us. It felt strange when we finally had to pack up our things again and drive back to Cambridge to begin another week of late-night essays and days spent in the library.

The dense accumulation of fogs and vapours enveloped the chaos

The last winter I spent in Paris was the coldest I've ever felt - it felt painful to leave the house, and even sitting still for too long at home made us begin to shiver. Maciek was experimenting with infrared photographs, and ended up taking a series of pictures in the Buttes Chaumont in the pitch black of winter nights for Vice. I styled the series with Bambou and Charlotte, which meant bringing all the clothes we'd sorted in huge bags to the park, as well as running around on the icy grass with battery boxes for the lights, struggling to stay upright and keep warm.

For the final picture, we wanted a group of girls running naked as if they were deers caught in the headlights. The six of us who did it in the end built up the nerve in a bar around the corner before, moving from picon beers to vodka drunk straight from the bottle in the vague hope that it would, if not warm us up, numb the cold. In the end it wasn't the cold that forced us to stop shooting, but a park keeper who came across us and attempted to march us all to the authorities. We desperately scooped up the rolls of film while rushing to get dressed, and then made a break for it all the way back to the bar we'd started off in, now giddy with the cold and adrenaline - and perhaps the vodka too.

After we'd warmed up enough we went home for tea sipped in front of the fire, and waited for our feet to regain feeling.

For they have sown the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind

Brighton beach just after Christmas was windy and freezing, but the pier with the machines where you could gamble two pence coins away, Poundland, and the fish and chip restaurant were pretty warm. We ate cockles swilling in vinegar and waded into the icy sea next to the burnt pier as soon as we got to the beach, when we took these pictures.

Yet a little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to sleep

It was a freezing night around this time last year when Rosa came over and we played around with clothes and images and ideas we'd had for a while, as well as making absurdly elaborate cocktails and trying to catch my rabbit. I think the heating went off at midnight, so then all we could do was huddle together for warmth. These are a few of the pictures I took that evening.