I could hear his music from several hundred metres away: old school hip-hop generating quite a bit of attention from the other river walkers. I didn’t need to ask him to be photographed. He collared me as soon as he saw the camera, commenting enthusiastically on it being medium format.

He was colourful to say the least, his language a rich mixture redolent of east/west coast hip-hop rivalry and what I can only describe as being some sort of camp Freudian slip into his own rich take on Polari. He was at pains to reassure me of his ‘gangsta’ heterosexuality, peppering his speech with regular N-Bombs and acknowledging how ‘fine’ the girls looked as they walked past, but I was not convinced.