Whenever I'm hanging over a swinging seat, 20  metres in the air, I always make sure to double wrap the camera strap around my neck, lest it drop 20 metres onto the ground, or worse, someone's noggin. This was taken at Disneyland. If this photo came with sound effects, you'd hear Sam screaming beside me, "Dad, I told you this would be scary, I WANNA GET OFF!"

Whenever I’m hanging 20 metres in the air over a swinging seat, I always make sure to double wrap the camera strap around my neck, lest my Canon drop 20 metres onto the ground; or worse someone’s noggin. This was taken at Disneyland. If this photo came with sound effects, you’d hear Sam screaming beside me, “Dad, I told you this would be scary, I WANNA GET OFF!”

This was taken at the tail end of my exhibition opening. That's Brooklyn boy Johnny Kitchins (centre) and a chap whose name escapes me, but who was thoroughly charming (despite the "kill" tattoo on his skull that suggests otherwise). We took to the floor in an attempt to add 'artistic spice' to social snaps. Ah, Jameson's Whiskey, you gotta love it!

This was taken at the tail end of my exhibition opening. That’s Brooklyn boy Johnny Kitchins (centre) and a chap whose name escapes me, but who was thoroughly charming despite the “kill” tattoo on his skull that might suggest otherwise. We hit the floor in an attempt to add that “extra something” to a social snap. Ah, Jameson’s Whiskey, you gotta love it!

In Newfoundland, Helena and I bought a 'joke box' for Sam, a present befitting his personality. He quickly set about leaving fake poo in his grandmother's fridge, fake vomit beside his dinner plate ("Baba, this tastes terrible, baaaarrrffff!") and buzzing people's palms. Another winner was the 'fake teeth', surreptitiously inserted before this photo at Ottawa's parliament precinct.

Helena and I bought a ‘joke box’ for Sam, a present that befits his personality. He quickly set about leaving fake poo in his grandmother’s fridge, fake vomit beside his dinner plate (“Baba, this tastes terrible, baaaarrrffff!”) and buzzing people’s palms during handshakes. Another winner was the ‘fake teeth’, surreptitiously inserted before this photo at Ottawa’s Parliament Precinct.

Ottawa's 'Melbourne Central' is the Rideau Centre, a pretty non-descript shopping centre you could insert in any western city. I have experienced off-the-charts levels of boredom there with Helena. "Clothes are cheaper in Canada," she always says. "Please, let me just try on these four more and i'll be done." This was taken during one such interminable wait. (By the way, four always turns into six).

Ottawa’s Rideau Centre, a non-descript shopping complex you could insert in any western city. I have experienced off-the-chart boredom there. “Clothes are cheaper in Canada,” Helena always says. “Please, let me just try on these four more and i’ll be done.” This was taken during one such interminable wait. (In fairness, she tries more than she buys).

Getiso Rogers, the five year old son of dear Newfoundland friends. This shot was taken moments after he hoovered into our bedroom one morning on a tricycle and stuck his fingers in my ear, all the while whispering, "Are you sleeeeeping?" If he wasn't so adorable, I'd have killed him.

Getiso Rogers, five year old son of dear Newfoundland friends. This shot was taken moments after he hoovered into our bedroom early one morning on a tricycle and stuck his fingers in my ear, all the while whispering, “Are you sleeeeeping?” If he wasn’t so adorable, I’d have killed him.

Middle Cove on a 25 degree day, St John's equivalent to  a heat wave. There was no way I was going into a puddle, let alone the sea, but these little locals were lapping it up.

Middle Cove on a 25 degree day, St John’s equivalent to a heat wave. There was no way I was going into a puddle, let alone the sea, but these little locals were lapping it up.

I can't remember this exact intersection, but it's like many others midweek, around midnight in Midtown - ALIVE!

I can’t remember this exact intersection, but it’s like many others in Midtown Manhattan, midweek, around midnight – ALIVE!

In 2002, when I stayed with my buddy Scott in Wyckoff St, Cobble Hill, the brownstone opposite was already the street's most colourful, with thousands of tiny buttons, mirrors, pieces of glass and ceramics adhered to the wall. Today, artist Susan Gardner's home is almost entirely mosaic and has become a fixture on the tourist trail.

In 2002, when I stayed with my buddy Scott in Wyckoff St, Cobble Hill, the brownstone opposite was already the street’s most colourful, with thousands of tiny buttons, mirrors, pieces of glass and ceramics adhered to the wall. Today, artist Susan Gardner’s home is almost entirely mosaic and has become a fixture on the tourist trail.

Coney Island on a warm Sunday. This was taken 15 or so minutes before I coerced Helena into taking rollercoaster The Cyclone with me. "It's not a scary ride, sweetie," I lied through my teeth. "I promise". She rode the entire thing with her eyes closed and mouth wide open in the most piercing shriek. I couldn't stop laughing. (Could I go to hell for that?)

Coney Island on a warm Sunday (i shouldn’t shoot people topless, but …) This was taken 15 or so minutes before I coerced Helena into taking the nearby Cyclone with me. “I promise, it’s not a scary roller coaster, Sweetie,” I lied through my teeth. She rode the entire thing with her eyes closed and mouth wide open, emitting the most piercing shrieks. I couldn’t stop laughing. (Could I go to hell for that?)

Much of the flight from Newfoundland to Ottawa was through foreboding clouds, but not until Montreal did lightning start flashing, turning the pitch black sky on like a lamp. By the time we landed the sky was being streaked with fork variety, the type planes (and passengers) like least.

On the night flight from Newfoundland to Ottawa, things got a bit hairy above Montreal with flash lightning illuminating the night sky every five or so seconds. Soon after we landed it had turned to dramatic fork lightning, the type planes (and their passengers) like least.

Helena and I met this lovely freelance journalist on the jetty at St John's on our first night. Can't say I warmed as much to her pooch, though, who didn't like the camera, and hated the bloke holding it more. Let's just say I wasn't the only one seeing red.

Helena and I met this lovely freelance journalist on the jetty at St John’s one evening. Can’t say I warmed as much to her pooch, though, who didn’t like the camera, and hated the bloke holding it more. Let’s just say I wasn’t the only one seeing red at this moment.

Apart from Nathan's Hot Dogs, the boardwalk and The Cyclone, nothing says Coney Island like a bloke pushing a refreshments cart through sand.

Apart from Nathan’s Hot Dogs, the famous boardwalk and The Cyclone, nothing says Coney Island like a bloke pushing a refreshments cart through sand.

I must have spent two hours on the Brooklyn Bridge one night, much of it leaning against railings either holding my breath, statue still, or flicking my wrists during long exposures. This was a one of the latter.

I must have spent two hours on the Brooklyn Bridge one night, much of it leaning against railings either holding my breath – statue still – or flicking my wrists during long exposures. This, looking to the East Village, was a one of the latter.

I went Manhattan one night determined to shoot everything at F1.2 with my new lens. I lasted about half an hour. This is one of the few I liked.

I went to Manhattan one night determined to shoot everything at F1.2 with my new lens. I only managed about half an hour before I was back above F5.6. This, though, is one of the few that worked.

Helena and I came across these Newfoundland mutts towards the end of the breathtaking (in scenery and exhaustion) Signal Hill trail. I remember wishing the two of us could briefly swap places. They looked so chilled!

Helena and I came across these Newfoundland mutts towards the end of the breathtaking (in scenery and exhaustion) Signal Hill trail. I remember wishing the two of us could briefly swap places. They looked so chilled!

Every day in Ottawa was spent in the top floor pool at Helena's folks' condo. The boys' grandmother, frustrated by their inability to swim, paid for intensive lessons while we were in Newfoundland. By the time we returned, they were regular fishes. This is them diving into the deep end with NO LIFE JACKET!

Every day in Ottawa was spent in the top floor pool at Helena’s folks’ condo. The boys’ grandmother, frustrated by their inability to swim, paid for intensive lessons while we were in Newfoundland. By the time we returned, they were regular fishes. This is them diving into the deep end without either fear or life jacket!

In a Wendys at Detroit Airport, Max and Sam launched into a bizarre meditation on God, "the sky", angels, Egypt and lord knows what else, that had my head spinning. Little did I realise it was simply their surrealist take on this colourful 'tunnel', which connects one section of the airport to another. And there I was, thinking they'd perhaps had a genuine vision of sorts.

In a Wendys outlet at Detroit Airport, Max and Sam launched into a bizarre meditation on God, “the sky”, angels, Egypt and lord knows what else, that had my head spinning. Little did I realise it was simply their surrealist take on this colourful ‘tunnel’, which connects one section of the airport to another and which they’d walked moments before. And there I was, thinking they’d perhaps reached some genuine divine understanding.

Montreal; two locals sharing a joke and one surreptitious photographer waiting for the punchline (which isn't easy when they're talking French and you can't understand a word). I think I got it, though.

Montreal; two locals sharing a joke and one surreptitious photographer waiting for the punchline (which isn’t easy when they’re talking French and you can’t understand a word). I think I got it, though.

Every morning in Ottawa, Sam and I played an 'I spy' type game with buses, which you could see for miles from our 20th floor apartment. Regular buses ("kids") were one point, buses with another half attached ("teenagers") were two points and double deckers ("grown ups") were three. He always beat me. I was disturbed a few weeks back to learn that six people were killed a few weeks back when one such "grown up" ignored a crossing and was struck by a speeding train. I never told Sam. This was taken one night on the other side of town.

Every morning in Ottawa, Sam and I played an ‘I spy’ type game with buses, which you could see for miles from our 20th floor apartment. Regular buses (“kids”) were one point, buses with another half attached (“teenagers”) were two points and double deckers (“grown ups”) were three. He always beat me. I was disturbed to read that six Ottawans were killed a few weeks back when one such “grown up” ignored a crossing and was severed by a speeding train. I never told Sam. This is a “kid” pulling into a bus stop on the other side of town.

I posted a similar pic  from St John's, but this one, with the bird, has a bit more impact.

I posted a similar pic from St John’s, but this one, with the bird, has a bit more impact.

Santa Monica Beach, five or so hours before we boarded our flight home.

Santa Monica Beach, five or so hours before we boarded our 14 hour flight home. I know where I’d rather be.

This is Sam, two or so hours after we arrived at Anaheim's Howard Johnson Hotel. This is photo number four in an eight part study in child jet lag I will post one day. Suffice to say, 15 minutes after this shot he and his brother were bouncing on the bed and on their dad's head!

Sam, two or so hours after we arrived at Anaheim’s Howard Johnson Hotel following 20 hours in the air, in terminals and on buses. This is photo number four in an eight part study in child jet lag I will post one day. Suffice to say, 15 minutes after this shot he and his brother were bouncing on the bed (and their dad’s head)!

The first pic I took on holiday, at LAX through the window of the bus headed for Disneyland. I dunno what it is, but every time I see people with mobile phones I feel compelled to shoot them (figuratively speaking).

The first pic I took on holiday, at LAX looking through the window of a bus headed for Disneyland. I don’t know why, but every time I see people with mobile phones I feel compelled to shoot them (figuratively speaking).

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