A life in
Jeremy and I go way back. Even in my early days as a lowly staff writer, usually chasing some copy deadline or other, we’d always find time to chat about football (he’s a Leeds Utd fan) and his latest tearoom adventures (don’t get him started on Victoria sponges). On occasion, talk would then – in a very literal sense – turn to ruins. Often, after we’d said our goodbyes, a few low-res JPEGs would appear in my inbox, usually of a windswept pile of rubble in some obscure corner of the British Isles and accompanied by tales of bloody murder, intrigue and some bloke called Henry VIII.
Unbeknown to most, Jeremy’s love affair with dilapidated structures and their histories has run parallel to his career as one of the UK’s most revered landscape photographers. He first mooted the idea of publishing his ‘ruins’ series to me over, a panoramic coffee table book into which he’s poured so much heart and soul – not to mention his dry sense of humour – feels like the deserved victory lap at the end of a particularly arduous marathon.
