STANDING under a fabricless canopy, the sun beats down fiercely on a building sitting pretty by Miami Beach.
On tip-toes with arms outstretched, I hold handpainted twigs out to a man who has narrated the story of our nation’s capital for two decades.
Irvine Welsh feels like a giant. Not only in literary terms but in height. Standing statuesque at 6ft 2in, it’s easy to feel dwarfed by him. A feeling that quickly melts mere minutes after meeting him.
I’d been in Miami less than 24 hours, with the sole purpose of shooting a fashion spread and interviewing a man who’s had a massive influence on my own career.
The shoot concept was to capture Irvine dreaming about being in Miami. He took every left-of-field and damn-right-weird request like a duck to water.
Watching him stare straight down the barrel of the lens, I had to remind myself this wasn’t in fact my own dream.
It was hard work and determination to launch my own online magazine coming to fruition.
That, and a week of sleepless nights, schedule changes, baby juggling and penny pinching to make it all happen.
The old chestnut of dreams and reality not being so far apart really rings true right now.