Lines, Layers, and Nordic Light: A 60 - Hour Street Photography Guide to Copenhagen

There is a strange irony in modern travel.

Three times a week, I spend three hours a day commuting just to get to work and back. Yet, in just 90 minutes from London Gatwick, I found myself stepping off a plane and into a completely different visual universe. It’s a powerful reminder that sometimes the best inspiration isn't found in a longer journey, but a smarter one.

For this trip, I traveled solo, and I’ll be honest: I arrived with a touch of trepidation. As a street photographer, being alone in a foreign city can sometimes feel isolating, and I was initially concerned about how a solo traveler with a camera would be received. However, those worries evaporated the moment I hit the pavement. The famous openness of the Danes and the deep-rooted culture of Hygge welcomed me with open arms. I didn't feel like an outsider looking in; I felt like a guest invited to witness the rhythm of the city.

To understand the "why" behind the photos, you have to understand the city's bones. Copenhagen (or København—"Merchants' Harbor") has spent 800 years evolving from a tiny fishing village into a powerhouse of design. You see it in the architecture: the 17th-century Dutch Baroque houses of Christianshavn weren't just built for aesthetics; they were built as a fortified naval statement by King Christian IV. When you're walking through Nyboder — those iconic yellow naval barracks—you aren't just looking at a "pretty street." You’re looking at some of the world's first planned social housing, dating back to 1631. This history of care and community leads directly into the modern mindset of Hygge. We often think of it as a winter concept—candles and wool socks—but in the spring, it manifests as a communal openness.

It’s the "urban hygge" of people sharing a coffee on the curbside in Jægersborggade or a craft beer in the Meatpacking District. As a solo photographer, this mindset is a gift. There is a sense of trust and "live and let live" here that makes you feel incredibly safe. The locals are remarkably open to being part of a frame; as long as you are respectful, the city feels like a collaborative studio. The light plays its part, too. The Northern latitude in April provides a "blue hour" that feels like it lasts for three, and a soft, diffused sun that makes even the grittiest alleyway in Nørrebro look cinematic.

When it comes to navigating this photographer's playground, you generally have three options: walking, the seamless Metro, or joining the local masses with a bike hire. I elected mainly to walk, covering 22 miles of pavement on foot over two days. While biking is the Danish way, walking gives you the unique ability to see the "underbelly" of the city—the peeling posters in a Nørrebro side street or the way the light hits a specific doorway that you’d miss if you were whizzing past on two wheels. That said, accessibility is effortless here. I found the City Pass Small to be an excellent investment; it covers the Metro, buses, and harbor scouts perfectly, making the transit to and from the airport a total breeze.

My first day focused on the transition from Nørrebro’s graphic textures to the harbor's edge. I started at Grundtvig’s Kirke, a masterclass in symmetry. Its towering yellow brickwork is a rare example of Expressionist architecture, feeling more like a giant pipe organ than a traditional church. From there, I transitioned into the vibrant, striped chaos of Superkilen Park, where the white "zebra" asphalt lines are a playground for composition. I spent the afternoon weaving through the quiet, dappled light of Assistens Cemetery (the final resting place of Hans Christian Andersen) and the boutique-heavy streets of Elmegade and Ravnsborggade. After grabbing some incredible street food at Hanoi Alley, I hit TorvehallerneKBH for some candid shots of the local food scene. I ended the daylight hours by climbing The Round Tower for a rooftop sprawl, before catching the dusk glow at Nyhavn and crossing the Inderhavnsbroen toward the Danish Architecture Center.

Day two was all about the evolution of the city. I kicked off in the Meatpacking District (Kødbyen), where the white industrial buildings and teal window frames offer a stark, minimalist aesthetic. The route then became a "greatest hits" of modern geometry: the jagged, brutalist balconies of the Kaktus Towers, the iconic orange-bottomed Cykelslangen (The Bicycle Snake) path. I rounded out the trip back in Christianshavn, climbing the corkscrew spire of the Church of Our Saviour for a 360-degree view, followed by a walk through the raw, DIY textures of Freetown Christiania, and finally the historic, rhythmic lines of the Nyboder district.

Before I went, everyone warned me about the cost. "Bring a second mortgage for a coffee," they said.

Honestly? It’s a myth. While you can spend a fortune in Michelin-starred spots, I found that if you eat like a local—hitting up spots like Hanoi Alley or grabbing a smørrebrød from a local deli—it’s no more expensive than a weekend in London or New York. In fact, because the city is so walkable and the public transport is flawless, I spent far less on "getting around" than I do on my daily three-hour commute back home. Copenhagen doesn't just ask to be photographed; it demands it. It’s a city that values the "small things"—and as photographers, that’s exactly what we’re looking for.

Want to see the full high-res set? Check out my latest prints in the shop or follow the journey on Instagram @frommylensphoto.

Until next time, keep snapping.

First Roll Loading Kodak Vision3 250D — and what Soho handed back

I've been shooting predominantly black and white for a period of time now of the 35mm film cameras. Years, really. Colour always felt like it needed a reason — a justification for the extra visual information it brings to a frame. Black and white strips a scene back to its essentials. Tone, texture, shadow, geometry. It's a clean way to work.

So loading up a roll of Kodak Vision3 250D AHU into the Nikon F80 felt like a deliberate step off familiar ground. This is a motion picture film stock — designed originally for cinema use in daylight conditions — and it's been building a serious following among still photographers. I'd read about it, seen other people's results, and kept putting it off. This time I just loaded it and went out.

I headed into London a couple of weeks ago for an afternoon with no real plan beyond Soho and the West End. That's usually how the best days go. No agenda. Just walking, looking, reacting.

"I wasn't prepared for quite how warm it would be. Not warm in the pushed, processed way you can fake digitally — warm in the way afternoon light in London actually looks."

The film

The warmth hit me the moment I got the processed film back. Vision3 250D AHU has a quality to its colour rendition that's difficult to articulate but immediately visible in the frames. It's not the oversaturated, high-contrast look of some colour negative stocks. It's quieter than that. More honest. The way light falls on a green café awning, or a pink coat, or an orange shopfront — it's rendered with a cinematic restraint that suits documentary street work perfectly.

The midtones are where it really earns its reputation. There's a richness in the middle of the tonal range that I haven't found in other stocks I've tried. Skin tones are warm without being ruddy. Shadows hold detail. Highlights — even in the direct afternoon sun I was shooting in — don't blow out catastrophically. For a daylight stock at ISO 250, it handles the contrast range of a busy London street remarkably well.

What Soho gave me
I started on the south end of Soho, working my way north through the afternoon. The Mediterranean Café on Old Compton Street stopped me almost immediately — a place that's been there since 1927, its deep green fascia catching the sun at an angle that Vision3 handled beautifully, the warm gold of the signage glowing against the paint. A man stood in the doorway, just watching the street. I got one frame and kept moving.

Around the corner, Reckless Records — that vivid orange shopfront with its illustrated window display of musicians — was being interrupted by a delivery driver in a hi-vis yellow jacket unloading boxes from a truck. The contrast of orange and yellow should have been too much. Vision3 made it work. That's one of its qualities: it handles colour density without letting things fight.

On D'Arblay Street I found two women in matching pink coats, both consulting clipboards outside a restaurant, deep in conversation. The warmth of those coats against the cooler tones of the street behind them is the kind of colour moment that simply doesn't exist in black and white. You don't get to choose that. The stock gives it to you.

"Vision3 250D handles colour density without letting things fight. That's one of its qualities — and Soho tests it constantly."

The Las Vegas arcade on what I think was Wardour Street gave me one of the more unexpected frames of the day — a motorcyclist in a full helmet standing at the crossing checking his phone, the enormous neon Las Vegas signage blazing behind him in red and gold, Hello Soho stencilled across the frontage. Vision3 renders neon brilliantly. The warmth of the sign, the cool blue of the afternoon sky in the upper corner of the frame — it's exactly what this stock was made for.

There was a quieter moment mid-roll that I keep coming back to: two women sitting outside a café in a narrow Soho alley, a red awning above them, dappled light falling across the table. No action. No joke. Just two people and an afternoon and the quality of light that Vision3 seems built to hold.

The three jokes

And then London started doing what London does.

The first one I almost missed. I was walking past the Hippodrome on Cranbourn Street when I clocked it — a man standing on the pavement, back turned, the word Randy's written in large script across the back of his white jacket. Behind him, filling the entire frontage of the venue: Magic Mike Live. He had no idea. The street had assembled itself into a perfect joke and was waiting, with infinite patience, for someone to walk past with a camera.

The second came at a crossing near the top of Charing Cross Road. A tour guide — grey hair, suit jacket, every inch the professional — was trying to marshal his group through the lunchtime traffic. His technique was to hold a green bottle above his head like a torch, a beacon for anyone who'd wandered off. He was checking his phone with the other hand. I pressed the shutter at the exact moment his arm went up. He was, without any doubt, leading them to the pub.

The third was the one I'm most pleased with. A London black cab, completely wrapped in the Sandals Caribbean holiday livery — blue bodywork, the Sandals script in cream, Get Closer to the Caribbean. Passing directly in front of it at that exact moment: a woman in a full Hogwarts Gryffindor robe, red and gold striped scarf trailing behind her. On her feet: sandals. She was heading somewhere else entirely, completely unbothered.

Three found jokes on one roll. Colour made all of them better. Black and white would have served the geometry. Vision3 gave you the blue cab and the red scarf and the warm pavement and the whole absurd London afternoon.

What comes next

I finished the roll on Old Compton Street — a delivery rider on a PORT bike outside Pizzeria da Michele, checking his phone in the late afternoon light, the gold lettering of the restaurant sign warm above him. A good closer. Unhurried. The sort of frame that makes sense at the end of a day's shooting.

One roll is not enough to draw firm conclusions about a film stock. But it is enough to know whether you want to shoot another one, and the answer here is unambiguously yes. Vision3 250D asks you to work with colour rather than despite it — to look for the moments where the warmth of a late winter afternoon in London becomes part of the story rather than just the backdrop.

After years of reaching for black and white by default, that's a different kind of seeing. I'd been missing it without quite realising.

I've already ordered more rolls. Spring is coming, the light is getting longer, and the streets are filling up again. If the first outing with Vision3 250D is any indication, it's going to be a busy few months.

Black and white isn't going anywhere. But colour just made a very strong case for sharing the bag.

Until next time, keep snapping

Little England - A day in Weymouth with the Leica M10

Originating from a small Midlands town and subsequently moving down south and now to the south coast in Brighton, there is a natural allure for me for the traditional British seaside town.

I actually remember going to Weymouth from the Midlands with the family when I was a wee lad.

There's a version of England that still exists in places like our seaside towns. Not the version that gets argued about online, or invoked on political platforms, or turned into a slogan. The quieter version. The one that just gets on with it.

I drove down to Weymouth yesterday morning, with the Leica M10 and no real agenda beyond walking and seeing what the town had to say, as Spring 2026 has opened its eyes. Weymouth is a proper south coast seaside town — the kind with a working harbour, Georgian terraces starting to show their age, a pink cake shop that takes cash only, and Union Jacks outside the pub.

"This blog post isn't a political statement, it's an observation. The flags are just there — unremarkable to the people who live under them, which is precisely what makes them worth photographing."

I've been thinking about this project for a while. There's something I keep noticing in the English seaside towns I shoot — a particular kind of texture that's hard to name but immediately recognisable. Old shopfronts that haven't been rebranded. Red postboxes with knitted toppers. Phone boxes repurposed into book exchanges. Ghost signs on brick walls advertising things that no longer exist. All of it quietly persisting, not out of defiance, just out of habit.

Weymouth has it in abundance.

I started on the high street. The first image that stopped me was almost too on-the-nose: a red figure hunched on a bench beside a red postbox and a red phone box — now a book exchange — with Betfred blazing blue in the background. Three reds and a betting shop. England in a single frame.

A few streets away I found the postbox with the knitted Union Jack draped over its top — someone had crocheted a topper decorated with poppies and the flag, placed it there quietly, and moved on. It was the most tender thing I photographed all day. There's a whole tradition of this in small British towns — anonymous acts of civic affection that never make the news and probably shouldn't.

The cobbled lane down toward the harbour was one of those streets that photographs itself. Late morning light, deep shadows on one side, a Union Jack snapping at the far end where the sea opens up, a woman sitting alone outside the pub with a coffee. I stood at the top of it for a while before I pressed the shutter, waiting for it to settle into itself.

"There's a whole tradition of anonymous acts of civic affection in small British towns that never make the news and probably shouldn't."

The pink cake shop — I later found out it's called The Pink — was doing serious business. Cash only, Lardy Cakes, Chelsea Buns, Flapjack, Pies and Pasties. The window was covered in handwritten labels. Outside, a small crowd had gathered. Dogs, prams, people craning to see the shelves. Beside it, a teal gift shop. The high street as pure, unapologetic colour.

But for all the bunting and bakeries, Weymouth isn't performing anything. It's just getting on with being itself — which includes the parts that aren't picturesque.

On a back street I found a junction box with FREE sprayed on it in white paint, set against a crumbling stone wall. Two streets over, a black utility box covered in peeling stickers, one of them a torn Union Jack with the words "of British" still legible. Whatever the full message was, only those two words remained. I stared at it for a long time.

Surplus International next to Subway. A "Loading Only" bay that cars were parked in. Charity Site painted in white letters on the seafront tarmac, a Ferris wheel beyond it. The ordinary machinery of a British seaside town, indifferent to whether anyone's photographing it.

The B&B with "Sorry — No Vacancies" in the window stopped me partly for the message and partly because I could see my own reflection in the glass above the sign. That felt right. The photographer making himself part of the scene he's trying to document.

The human moments were the ones I kept coming back to when I reviewed the day's shoot.

A group of retirees on a bench by the waterfront sharing a box of chips in the sun, the coloured townhouses of the old harbour stacked behind them. A cluster of people in hats at an outdoor café, coffee cups and conversation, nobody looking at a phone. Two people eating 99 ice creams down a pedestrian lane, the King of Hearts gift shop sign above them, a pushchair between them.

And then the closer. Walking back along the seafront toward the car, I saw a younger man and an older woman — son and mother, I think, though I don't know — walking arm in arm toward the beach. She had her hand through his elbow. He was carrying the bag. The Ferris wheel turned slowly in the distance. I raised the camera, got one frame, and kept walking.

"This is what Little England actually looks like when you put down the argument and just walk around with a camera."

I'm not sure whether places like Weymouth represent something to mourn or something to hold onto. Probably both — which is usually the honest answer. What I do know is that they're worth photographing carefully, without an agenda, while they still look like this.

The Leica M10 rendered the light beautifully all day — that particular quality of south coast light in early spring, where the sun is bright but thin, the shadows hard-edged, the colour palette running from Georgian cream to pub red to sea-blue. I shot everything at f/8, kept the ISO low, and let the camera do what it does.

More from this series to follow. I'll be returning to Weymouth, and to towns like it, throughout the year.

Barbican Brutal: Concrete Dreams in the Heart of the City

If my previous post on the soaring vertical drama of Trellick Tower and the sinuous, wave-like flow of the Alexandra & Ainsworth Estate captured West London's brutalist spirit, then this one takes us straight into the City for the sequel: the Barbican Estate.

Few places embody London's post-war architectural ambition quite like the Barbican. Designed by Chamberlin, Powell and Bon and built between the mid-1960s and early 1980s on a 40-acre bomb-site flattened during the Blitz, this Grade II-listed complex isn't just a housing estate—it's a self-contained "city within a city." Three dramatic 40+ storey towers (Cromwell, Shakespeare, and Lauderdale), cascading low-rise terraces, elevated "streets in the sky" walkways, sunken lakes, private gardens, and the world-renowned Barbican Centre arts venue all fused into one monumental, multi-level labyrinth of bush-hammered concrete.

Brutalism here feels less austere and more utopian: raw béton brut textures meet thoughtful landscaping, sculptural forms, and a deliberate separation of pedestrians from traffic. It's divisive—some see fortress-like severity, others see bold optimism—but for street and architectural photography, it's endlessly compelling. The geometry is sharp, the scale immense, yet human moments (a dog walk, a laundry basket, a quiet bench) constantly soften the edges.

The Nerdy Bit: These black-and-white images, shot on a drizzly winter day, strip away colour distractions to emphasize form, texture, light, and shadow. The TTartisan 28mm F5.6 lens and my Leica M10. renders the concrete with incredible depth—every hammer mark, every puddle reflection pops. Processed lightly in Lightroom for contrast and grain, the series aims to let the architecture speak while highlighting how people inhabit it daily. This lens is magnificent, no horrible digital cliinical sharpness. for <£300.

The Barbican isn't just concrete—it's a bold experiment in high-density living that still feels radical. Love it or loathe it, photographing here is addictive. If Alexandra & Ainsworth was West London's poetic brutalism, the Barbican is the City's dense, layered epic.

Thanks for reading. Drop a comment if you've wandered these walkways yourself—what's your favourite brutalist spot in London?

Kodak Double X in Pompey: Searching for Middle England in a Great Port City

There’s a particular energy to photographing a port city—a sense of history anchored to the sea, mixed with the transient, hard-edged reality of a place that lives by trade and naval tradition.

Having originated from a small landlocked West Midlands town, I find the allure of a port / seaside location alluring when its outside of the ‘high season’.

My latest few rolls of Kodak 5222 Double X, shot on the Nikon F80, took me to Portsmouth, a city whose identity is defined by the weight of its naval past. The classic black and white aesthetic of Double X, with its deep shadows and rich midtones, was the perfect medium to explore this contrast.

The photos capture a visual argument about what Portsmouth is today: a distinct entity shaped by maritime life, or merely a reflection of generic "Middle England."

The Weight of History and Local Commerce

Portsmouth's naval history isn't just a museum exhibit; it’s a living part of the city's commercial DNA. You see it subtly in the high street: the name of a local business like Admirals Fish & Chips, standing proudly next to an Acorn Cycles and a local bakery. This isn't the generic retail environment of an inland commuter town; it's a place where service and local trade are rooted in a community that has historically served the Navy.

Even the classic seaside fish and chips kiosk on the promenade speaks to this coastal identity, catering to both the local population and visitors drawn by the sea.

The architecture reinforces this feeling—a blend of sturdy, post-war residential blocks, modern civic centres, and a bustling central square that carries the echo of centuries of public life.

Flags, Identity, and the Political Subtext

The presence of overt national symbolism in cities like Portsmouth often invites political analysis. As observers, we look for visual evidence of strong national identity, and you can see a large Union Jack flag near the Citizens Advice building.

In a city defined by the Royal Navy, the flag functions primarily as a symbol of service, heritage, and deep-seated local pride. However, in contemporary political discourse, this kind of visible, declarative patriotism can sometimes be interpreted as a shorthand for the nationalism associated with the far-right.

My photographs, however, largely capture an ambiguous reality. They show people going about their daily lives—visiting the bike shop, queuing for fish and chips, or passing a spiritual message in the city centre. The overt displays of national pride appear less as a political statement of exclusion and more as a natural extension of an identity intrinsically linked to the history of the United Kingdom at sea.

Port City vs. Middle England

The question of whether Portsmouth reflects "Middle England" or a distinct "port city" is a matter of visual language.

"Middle England" often implies a certain suburban homogeneity, a focus on commuter rail links, and national chains. While Portsmouth does feature modern retail hoardings like the H&M re-opening and contemporary flats, these elements are always layered onto a grittier, more historically saturated urban core.  This constrast viewpoint of a city is intriguing.

The pervasive maritime influence, the blend of hard, functional architecture, the visible working-class heritage, and the cultural specificity (like the "Admirals" shop name or the seafront kiosks) all mark Portsmouth as something unique. It's a city with a stronger, less diluted sense of place.

The Double X film stock beautifully highlights this gritty authenticity—the textures of the pavement, the worn brickwork, and the earnest faces of the people. Portsmouth is clearly a Port City, possessing a unique character forged by its relationship with the water, far removed from the softer, more generalized aesthetics of inland urban life. It is a visual challenge to the idea of a uniform national character, a vibrant, complex reality captured one frame at a time.

Until next time, keep snapping.

Mod Weekender

Celebrating Two Decades of Style: The Brighton Mod Weekender 2025

This post is a little delayed, as I wanted to wait until I received my developed film negs from the photo lab.

The August Bank Holiday weekend in Brighton has always been special, but this year it was truly historic. The Brighton Mod Weekender, the annual pilgrimage for Mods from across the globe, celebrated its 20th anniversary from August 21st to 24th, and the city was buzzing with more style, music, and scooter pride than ever before.

Its a blend of old timers reminising of the past and generational newcomers. All parading around as proud as peacocks.

This is four-day festival that pays homage to modernist and sixties-inspired culture. The evenings are typically a non-stop party, with venues like the Komedia hosting all-night club events where the legendary NUTs DJ Team spun Northern Soul, R&B, and garage to a packed dancefloor. The live music lineup was a celebration in itself, featuring iconic acts and rising stars, proving the scene is as vibrant today as it was in the past.

But the heart and soul of the Brighton Mod Weekender, and the thing that makes it so iconic, is the daytime spectacle. All weekend long, Madeira Drive transformed into a breathtaking open-air scooter show. Hundreds of gleaming Vespas and Lambrettas, adorned with countless mirrors and Union Jack flags, lined the seafront. This is where the community truly comes together.

Every mod, whether they've traveled from across the UK or from continental Europe, parks their beloved scooter with pride, polishing chrome and showing off their bespoke customizations. The area around The Volks Bar becomes a central hub, a meeting point for old friends and new acquaintances. The atmosphere is electric, with onlookers and enthusiasts alike admiring the incredible machines and soaking in the cool, timeless vibe. It's a living, breathing exhibition, a tribute to the passion and dedication that defines the Mod scene.

The Sunday scooter rideout was the cherry on top, as the convoy of scooters snaked its way along the coast, a modern-day echo of the legendary scenes from Quadrophenia. This year's event was a powerful reminder of how a subculture can endure and evolve, blending its rich heritage with an inclusive, forward-thinking spirit. If you were there, you'll know it was an unforgettable celebration. If you missed it, start planning for next year, because the Brighton Mod Weekender is an experience you won't want to miss.

Until next time, keep Modding.

In the name of love?

In a world that can often feel heavy with grim headlines and distressing current affairs, there are moments that remind us of the power of community, joy, and love. This weekend, Brighton & Hove Pride 2025 provided just that—a vibrant, lighthearted relief where people came together to celebrate and share some much-needed love.

The city was a kaleidoscope of colour on Saturday, August 2nd, and Sunday, August 3rd, as Brighton & Hove Pride unfolded. This year's theme, "Ravishing Rage," served as a powerful reminder of the protest at the heart of Pride, but it was also a call to celebrate resilience with fearless spirit. And celebrate they did!

The energy was palpable as the annual LGBTQ+ Community Parade wound its way through the streets. Thousands of people, from community groups and local businesses to allies and supporters, marched with infectious enthusiasm, creating a beautiful spectacle of diversity and unity.

The festivities continued at Preston Park for the "Pride on the Park" festival. The atmosphere was electric, with a lineup that brought people together in song and dance.

The city's streets were also alive with the Pride Street Party on Marine Parade, where people enjoyed music, food, and drinks in a festive, accepting environment. Beyond the official events, every corner of Brighton seemed to be buzzing with joy, as cafes, pubs, and venues hosted their own celebrations.

In a world that sometimes feels disconnected, Brighton Pride 2025 was a powerful testament to the simple joy of being together. It was a weekend where folk were truly enjoying themselves, sharing smiles, hugs, and laughter.

It reminds me why I'm lucky to bring my kids up, in such a free spirited and open minded city.

It was a beautiful escape and a reminder that when we come together, we can create a space of hope and love, even in the most challenging times.

Until next time, keep snapping keep loving

<del>U Should Not be doing that<del>, Oh yes you should.

I haven’t been been out for quite some time, have been a bit busy at work and it’s nice to just chill and relax in the house, now that the builders have all left. But today I decided to pop out into town to shoot some film.

Classic indecision, meant that I was packed up like a Sherpa going up Mount Everest, carrying the Pentax 67, FujicaGS645s and the delightful Minolta X500.

Happenstance delivered today where I stumbled across a Transgender March. As I wasn’t too tired, I was quite active getting some street portraits, approaching folk. But the photo used at the top of this blog post. The person on the left. Thought I may have been a Daily Mail photographer.

FFS.

I did have a chuckle to myself and think: 1) I’m a 53-year-old dad of two, I think I need to modernise some of my wardrobe, 2) am I near the autumn of the street photography journey that I’m on? I don’t fancy much being pointed out as a right wing broadsheet tabloid photographer, as the hair turns a bit more grey?

But in all fairness, the person on the left of that first photograph was quite disturbed. They were photographed at a previous March (they didn’t tell me if it was London or Brighton) and they did indeed turn upon the Daily Mail website. I did offer to not take the photograph but the pair of them and I’m sure their mum were actually really sweet and they allowed me to take it. I think it’s a lovely photograph, which captures the loving bond between two siblings.

Brighton, a city long celebrated for its vibrant and diverse LGBTQ+ community, once again lived up to its reputation today, July 19, 2025, as thousands gathered for a powerful and deeply significant Transgender March. The air was thick with a mix of defiance, solidarity, and joy as trans individuals, their allies, friends, and family poured into the streets, demanding recognition, respect, and fundamental rights. I can’t help but feel really proud of the youth coming through a very politically attuned, whether it’s the transgender match today or the free Palestine collective I witnessed at the KneeCap Supporting act at Finsbury Park for Fontaines DC (check out my previous blog post).

The march, organised by Trans Pride Brighton, began at Victoria Gardens, a sea of trans flags, banners emblazoned with messages of hope and anger, and faces determined to be seen and heard. Speeches ignited the crowd before the procession moved towards the seafront, transforming the familiar Brighton lanes into a vivid river of protest and pride. It wasn't just a march; it was a visible manifestation of a community asserting its existence and demanding its rightful place in society.

This year's march felt particularly poignant given the ongoing national discourse around trans rights. Recent months have seen intensified debates, often fuelled by misinformation, and a tightening of policy that has caused significant concern within the trans community.

The echoes of the past also resonated strongly through today's march. Many participants and observers drew parallels to the infamous Section 28 of the Local Government Act 1988. For 15 years, until its repeal in England and Wales in 2003 (and Scotland in 2000), Section 28 prohibited local authorities from "intentionally promoting homosexuality" or "promoting the teaching in any maintained school of the acceptability of homosexuality as a pretended family relationship."3 While not directly about trans identities, the spirit of Section 28 fostered an atmosphere of fear, silence, and discrimination, particularly in schools. It told an entire generation that their identities were "pretended" or unacceptable. Today, as trans people face renewed challenges to their identities and access to healthcare, the fear of a return to such repressive attitudes is very real. The Brighton march was a powerful reminder that history must not repeat itself.

Brighton has long been a beacon for LGBTQ+ rights, and today's Transgender March reinforced that commitment. It was a loud, clear, and unyielding message to politicians and society at large: trans rights are human rights, and the fight for full liberation will continue, no matter the political climate. The energy on the streets of Brighton today was a powerful reminder of the strength found in unity and the unwavering demand for a future where all trans people can live authentically, with dignity, safety, and respect.

The LGBTQ+ Flags cast a little colour on what was mainly a very overcast day spoiling for a thunderstorm, which thankfully didn’t surface.

Black-and-white film isn’t the right choice of film to shoot a transgender March, I should’ve brought some colour film, but I think it’s a nice contrast.

Until next time, keep snapping (and marching).