The camera can be the catalyst for exploring a new and exciting overlap between psychology and geography. The lens has the uncanny ability to articulate how places affect our emotions and how we feel about them at a deep, almost unconscious level. Psychogeography helps me see places in new and unexpected ways; it puts discovery back into the mundane. The idea of roaming - better described by the French word errance – pervades my Psychogeographies series. I cross environments, man-made or natural, following seemingly random path lines. This errance always brings a deep sense of freedom, very much the reason why I do it.

Looking after your own body during the 10-hour long walks left little time to think about photography. Taking photographs along the way seemed to make no more sense than walking 6,000 sheep across 250 miles of Spanish landscapes. They both verged on the absurd. And as such the images in this gallery are oblique, contradictory and often non-reflexive. They are also rather visceral; they came from the same place that my will to keep going came from. Not from the head, not even from the heart, but from somewhere far deepeer than that.

Make of them what you will. To me, this discordant collection of images reflects the embodied experience of walking the drovers road in mid-June. Because if you want to understand the ‘trashumantes’ there is only one way to achieve it: walk along with them.

As a Spanish-born UK resident, Remembrance Day has always intrigued me. The sense of unity in the nation in the weeks leading to Nov 11th is almost palpable – althought in this unity there also seems to be room for controversy. I admire the way the end of WWI is celebrated with a collective thanks to those who died in service of their nation. Perhaps that’s why I find it fascinating, because not many years after the end of WWI, back in my own country we put and end to Spain’s most infamous period in history. One would think that the end of the Spanish Civil War would be worth celebrating after all. But we never did. And we’ll never do, because the end of the Spanish Civil War didn’t bring the sense of freedom and relief that the end of WWI brought to Britain.

So I felt compelled to go out there and try to capture the intensity of Remembrance Day in my own village, Long Ashton, just outside Bristol. I joined the main parade and then had a drink with those who continued celebrating in the local branch of the British Legion. The solemnity of the parade and the restrained attitude of those attending the morning event was replaced by spectacle and relaxed celebration in the following hours.

The evening in the British Legion social club predictably climaxed with everyone singing ‘Land of Hope and Glory’. More than one veteran present had to make an effort to contain their emotions. And guess what? I felt moved too.

To some extent the activity defeats the purpose it was originally intended for. Climbing naturally happens outdoors, not indoors. However, a high percentage of indoor climbers will have never climbed outside. The relationship between landscape and a climber on the rock face is unique. No other activity will allow you to establish such an intimate relationship with the outdoors – touching the rock. Think about your own experience as a walker, and how you insulate yourself against the inclemency of the environment – shoes, waterproofs, etc… The outdoor rock climber rarely wears more than a pair of flimsy specialist climbing shoes, shorts and a T-shirt. Climbing indoors can be seen as anything from a trendy nineties invention to let off steam to an attempt to control the uncontrollable. Outdoors the weather is unpredictable; so lets make an outdoor environment indoors, something we can easily shape to our own needs and then control. Why not produce artificial rock that looks like and feels like real rock? Actually, it feels better than real rock. Who needs the hassle of going outdoors anymore?

My photographs intend to reflect an activity which is appealing and surreal, an activity which fits our modern indoor-bound existence. The sarcastic captions are not intended to be irreverent or disrespectful. Nor did I intend to question the religious beliefs or non-beliefs of those who practise the sport. My captions only point to the absurdity of an activity which I also find utterly seductive.

I avoided climbing photography clichés which emphasise the climber’s prowess, who is usually photographed from above in vertigo-inducing situations. Climbing is more than raw strength, boldness on the verge of recklessness and other – some would argue very masculine – qualities. It is also about control, instinct and, why not, sensuality.

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Think ‘tardis’. That they remember where everything lives in the shop is extraordinary. There’s an order in the mayhem of paraphernalia in the shop, although it might not be a conventional one. There’s method too. Items are individually priced and stored in precise locations within this old double-fronted shop. No matter how unusual the item you need may be; R. or N. will reassuringly go and hunt for it. In the unlikely event that they do not have it they’ll be far more disappointed than you. There’s not only order and method here; there’s also pride, masses of it.

Coming to this shop is an act of subversion against the ubiquitous, inhumane and car-dependent shopping mall. The shop won’t be there forever; all the regulars know that R. and N. will soon put their feet up.

And when that happens something good will have been lost.

Whether it is chasing a cheese rolling down an impossibly steep hill, or snorkeling in a zero-visibility bog, you’ll find the British share a deep sense of collective endeavour. There’s no need to justify why you do it; suffice to say that you can share it with other fellow Brits. ‘Traditional’ events take a quirky slant on this island.

This gallery is dedicated to British stoicism and idiosyncrasy, which one can only fully appreciate by joining in. So I often do; I join in and, oblivious to the caprices of the weather, also celebrate being alive in Britain.

The camera can be the catalyst for exploring a new and exciting overlap between psychology and geography. The lens has the uncanny ability to articulate how places affect our emotions and how we feel about them at a deep, almost unconscious level. Psychogeography helps me see places in new and unexpected ways; it puts discovery back into the mundane. The idea of roaming - better described by the French word errance – pervades my Psychogeographies series. I cross environments, man-made or natural, following seemingly random path lines. This errance always brings a deep sense of freedom, very much the reason why I do it.