Pull the river back a few metres and London grows a beach. I caught this stretch of Thames foreshore at low tide, the water was a proper builder’s-tea brown, the City stacked up behind like someone had emptied a box of glass towers. I love springer spaniels, so I had to photograph this.

A single weather-beaten log, marooned on the foreshore. It was nudged back and forth by the waves coming in and out but in the moment this photo was taken, the sky was reflected in wet sand and the log was beached. Safe from the incoming waters.

This is a small section of O’Sullivan’s Cascade in Kerry. The lovely sound of the water falling through the rocks is soothing. The picturesque scene in front of me does the opposite as I worry about composition and, “Did I get a good photo of that?”

Even on a calm evening when I took this photo, a moored boat moves about if given enough time. This long exposure shows the slight movements that show the water isn’t quite as still. There’s no wind to speak of, the surface looks like polished slate, and yet the boat is nodding away to itself,…

I caught these two coming out of the crush on Gerrard Street, London, last summer. The blonde in the GANNI tee looks like she’s mid-anecdote; her friend, in a white off-shoulder dress with a tiny veil pinned over a leopard headband, has the slightly stunned grin of someone three hours into a hen weekend and…

I stopped halfway across the Millennium Bridge and pointed the camera north, which turned out to be the same thing roughly nine thousand other people were doing that afternoon. I looked behind me and there was another group of tourists with their phones raised taking much the same photo I have here. St. Paul’s Cathedral…

There was a single boat on our little corner of the Lakes of Killarney. I’d walked down from O’Sullivan’s Cascade to join other photographers from Blarney Photography Club. They were busy photographing the same scene you see here and everything around them. We were enjoying the afternoon sunlight on a calm October day last year.

Fist in the air, beer in the other hand, in defiance of the rain that had been hammering down earlier. This is Las Fallas distilled into two men and a moment. I caught them mid-chant on one of the streets near the Plaza del Ayuntamiento. The man on the left had gone full traditional, with…

A pigeon had taken up residence in the Dubray Books window on St. Patrick Street, wedged comfortably between Michael Palin and a Lonely Planet guide which is frankly better taste in travel literature than most of us manage. It sat there among the carefully arranged display like it had been hired for the job, unbothered…

It’s impossible to miss this kiosk. A bright yellow box parked outside Spitalfields Market, looking like it had been teleported in from a 1960s sci-fi film set. This is a K67 kiosk. It’s a modular street unit designed by Slovenian architect Saša Mächtig in 1966 and one of the most successful pieces of street furniture…

I nearly walked straight past it. You’re on the South Bank, dodging cyclists, and there’s this railway bridge overhead that most people treat as a ceiling to hurry under. But look up and the underside of Blackfriars Railway Bridge is a riot of riveted iron girders fanning out like the ribs of some enormous mechanical…

I caught this one from barely a metre away. It was close enough to count the grey in his beard, close enough that the glass roof of Spitalfields Market softened into geometry behind them. It was early in the morning and the market was still being set up. I wonder if they were tourists in…