On a Saturday morning last November the world woke up to the Islamic State inspired terrorist attack on the people of Paris.  Earlier that day, together with a filmmaker friend, I had taken time out

Someone had been yelling from the blue house across the street; the one where Merv kept the fridge full of beer. Two rounds rang out. I crossed the street, crouching low and moving fast to keep out of

"I could probably write the Michelin guide to warzone watering holes"   I grew up in rural England to the sound of bleating sheep, my mother threatening to walk out the door and back to the city