I’ve always loved taking pictures—but for me, it’s never just been about the images. It’s about holding onto something that would otherwise slip away. My dad was the one who gave me that gift. He shared his love of photography with me and my older brother, teaching us not just how to use a camera, but how to see—to notice the moments that matter.

I’ve always believed there’s real value in capturing life, whether it’s family, friends, or the culture and events around us. Not everyone sees it the same way I do, but when moments like this come along, people understand. They’re grateful those memories were preserved.

Because photographs do more than just show a scene—they freeze a moment in time. They hold people’s journeys, their emotions, their stories, so that years later, we can return to them and feel it all over again.

This weekend, Cristina took a photo that means more to me than I can properly put into words. She doesn’t call herself a photographer—she’s just learning—but she didn’t need anything more than her instinct. Even on her phone, she got everything right: the composition, the framing… and somehow, the feeling. The sun came out at just the right time, and in that moment, she captured something truly special.

It’s a photo I will carry with me forever. One that I’ll look back on in difficult times, and it will take me straight back—to my dad, to that moment, to everything I felt but couldn’t say. I never thought I’d face a day like this, but here it is… and somehow, this image helps me hold onto him.

To my mum—thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for making this day so meaningful. I love you more than words can say, and I’m so grateful for everything you did.

To all our family who came to share such a deeply personal moment—thank you. Your presence meant everything.

And to my dad… thank you. For everything. And I’m sorry.

I love you always.
Your son.

2025 has been a year of profound extremes for me — moments of unbelievable joy, followed by a heartbreak I never knew I could feel this deeply.

In April 2025, after a three-year battle to finally bring Cristina here, we were married. It was a truly joyful, almost heavenly experience — one I was lucky enough to share with my parents, my friends, and my family. A moment I will carry with me forever.

On February 1st, 2025, Cristina met my parents in person for the very first time. That moment meant more to me than I can easily put into words. Although I’ve spent time living out of the country, I’ve always lived close to my parents. I’ve been incredibly fortunate to have them. Anyone who knows them always says the same thing — and I’ve never taken that for granted.

Towards the end of the year, my father became ill and, heartbreakingly, passed away. Even though he was 84 years old, nothing prepares you for that moment. This was the first time I’ve ever lost a parent, and it has been a complete shock to all of us. I don’t think I’ve truly allowed myself the time to fully process what that loss means.

What I do understand now is the pain and emptiness that so many of my friends and family have lived with after losing someone they love. My father was always there — woven into every part of my life and my journey. Since his passing, I’ve felt a deep and constant emptiness, a huge void that I don’t quite know how to fill.

I haven’t been able to post, create, or return to my creative self. I keep telling myself that I need to get back to it, but grief doesn’t work on a schedule. Still, when I reflect on my life, I know that this work is part of who I am. I’ve spent most of my life creating, and I have to keep going — to do my best to continue what I set out to do.

So many people have supported my work at a grassroots level, and I’m deeply grateful to every single one of you who has given me your time, your belief, and your patience. Thank you to those who have stood by me during this difficult period. I’m slowly finding my way forward.

Our next record release carries something especially meaningful — my father painted the artwork for it. It’s painful to reflect on the fact that he completed it long before the record itself was finished. I had imagined the album travelling the world, sitting in people’s homes, carrying his artwork with it. That thought still means everything to me.

In his younger days, my dad was a passionate photographer. He taught my older brother and me how to use cameras, passing on his love for capturing moments. Years ago, I bought a gimbal — a steady cam device — and used it while filming in the USA. When I returned to the UK, I bought another one and did a few test shoots. One with my mother. One with my father. That footage is incredibly precious to me now, and I’m grateful beyond words that I captured it.

I will never forget you, Dad.
As I move forward, I know I must return to my projects and continue creating — carrying you with me in everything I do.

I miss you so much.
Thank you for everything.