1950s - I was born. Can't remember much about it - but I was definitely there! I grew up in Barnes, West London, and adored its unique 'village within a city' atmosphere. In fact I liked it so much that, bar a spot of globe-trotting, I decided to stay. Fifty years later and now with a wife, two dogs and a cat, I am still here. And still in love with my roots - my Father Patrick lived half a mile away in the centre of the village until his death in 2006. He and my Mother Marie had eloped from Doneraile, County Cork, and after a brief stay in Brixton where they married, moved to Barnes. This is where my Mother grew up.

1960s - Nuns and later Benedictine monks valiantly (and with varying degrees of success) attempted to educate me. I remember it all as a really happy childhood but certain landmarks stand out - particularly 1964 when my Mother took my brother and me to see The Beatles Christmas show at the Hammersmith Odeon. By today's standards it was pretty tame stuff. No lasers. No pyrotechnics. No big screens. But no matter, this was my first taste of live Rock & Roll… and I liked it. On the bus back home, I decided that somehow, some day Rock music was going to be my life.

Early 1970s - I left school, hoping to bypass university in favour of something more creative, and was offered a place at Ealing Art College, famously attended (although I didn't know it then) by Pete Townsend, Freddie Mercury, and Ronnie Wood. My parents had other ideas, so I ended up behind the desk of a City insurance broker. I did however discover a new passion - travel. I took six months out between jobs and trekked around Europe on a student rail pass, visiting Budapest, Venice, Oslo, Munich, Nice, Vienna and many other fascinating places. I was smitten.

Mid 1970s By day I worked as a Lloyd's insurance underwriter; by night, I pursued my passion - Rock photography. Often covering seven gigs a week, processing the film overnight and sleepwalking back into the office. I had already seen and been amazed by David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust at the Hammersmith Odeon, and three years later had my first picture published by Jackie magazine… a shot of Queen at the same venue. The cheque - all £12 of it - felt like a million dollars!

Late 1970s - Spitting, swearing and vomiting - I was in my element. Punk arrived and I couldn't believe my luck. Many older photographers were loath to risk life, limb and precious equipment in seedy basement clubs and bullet-proof boozers. But I wasn't. I was happy to step into the firing line if it made my name. So, at the end of every working day, I would exchange the safe, ordered world of insurance for the anarchy of Punk. It was great, but I had two jobs, and one was about to go ...

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