I first encountered the remarkable Mama Bovril during a black-out at the Barbican in Madrid. Apparently, the Black-out had been caused by one of Bovril's huge neon daps overloading the local electricity grid. As we all crouched around a fag to keep warm, Mama B regailed us with stories about his youth, mostly involving… Read more

I first encountered the remarkable Mama Bovril during a black-out at the Barbican in Madrid. Apparently, the Black-out had been caused by one of Bovril's huge neon daps overloading the local electricity grid. As we all crouched around a fag to keep warm, Mama B regailed us with stories about his youth, mostly involving trips to Lapland, and mostly pornographic. It was at this precise moment that i realised Bovril's true genius was hidden beneath a slag-heap of "petit pois". He remains, however, a remarkable pragmatist and photographer whose works exemplify the current "pont du barbe" of today's "épinards". I am a big Bovril fan.

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