The only time I attempted something like this is probably still talked about at Gillingham Ice Rink. It's too embarrassing to go into here, but it involved screaming skaters desparately trying to get out of the way of a big bloke in a red jumper travelling at an incredibly inappropriate speed, totally out of control. These mass sports have always caused me trouble. Ten Pin Bowling for instance. What's that all about? If you're really good at it, as everybody else always appears to be, you knock all those skittle things down with one ball every time. So what's the point. "Let's go bowling" someone says, always after everybody has sunk a shed-load of drink at a Christmas lunch. No thankyou, I don't want to have to take my shoes off at three thirty in the afternoon. I get so cross I want to wave a gun about like John Goodman does at the bowling alley in The Big Lebowski. No, bowling should be about gently rolling one down a greensward, pipe in mouth, faint applause from a weatherboarded pavilion with a clock on it. Which is absolutely nothing to do with this week's picture.
I am a designer, writer and photographer who spends all his time looking at England, particularly buildings and the countryside. But I have a leaning towards the slightly odd and neglected, the unsung elements that make England such an interesting place to live in. I am the author and photographer of over 25 books, in particular Unmitigated England (Adelphi 2006), More from Unmitigated England (Adelphi 2007), Cross Country (Wiley 2011), The Cigarette Papers (Frances Lincoln 2012), Preposterous Erections (Frances Lincoln 2012) and English Allsorts (Adelphi 2015)