"Who Knows Where The Time Goes?"

Curiously, I have no photographs of me at all from the age of twenty-three to the age of forty-one. I'm sure there must be some somewhere, but I don't have them. So this is the next one on from my graduation photo. Here, I am forty-one years of age, and working as a systems administrator in the civil service. This picture, taken by my colleague Steve Arnould, shows me with the full moustache and beard which I sported for about three years around about this time.

I still had the facial fungus a couple of years later, when my friend and colleague Carl Squire took this one of me in the office.

A year or so later, and I had shaved it off (I just look like this because I hadn't shaved for a few days, as I hate having to do it) after seeing pictures of me at a family wedding where it had gone all salt-and-pepper and made me look a lot older than I was. Here I am, standing in my kitchen one rainy afternoon.

November 2009, aged forty seven, and standing in my living room proudly holding my newly-delivered copy of The Catalog by Kraftwerk.

And here I stand (ich kann nichts anders) holding up a home-made sign in solidarity with Bradley (later Chelsea) Manning, the Obama régime's most prominent political prisoner.

I'm becoming more radical as I get older, I'm happy to say.

And finally (for now), here I am having become a published author at the age of 61.

All photos on this page © Nigel Stapley