October was spent trying to get photographs off a screen and onto walls. There were exhibitions to prepare, a journey to Westminster, a garage to leave and the usual problem of trying to pay for everything in between.

Photography, writing and nearly sixteen years in workshops had always felt like separate parts of my life. This month they started looking more like parts of the same one.

August was the month I got a fixed address, had 41p left, rebuilt my photography setup and watched No Fixed Address become my first paid national publication. Somewhere between moving boxes, metadata and The Big Issue, being housed slowly started to feel like being home.

July began with forced movement, a car becoming a bedroom and a tent becoming home. Somewhere between rationing fuel, photographing the ordinary machinery of survival and eating blackberries from a hedge, No Fixed Address began turning into a body of work, and photography into a possible route forward.