when he giggles, my soul cries.

The first question he ever asked me was "How many holes does a mole have?" Says it all really

He's not known as "Sweet Richie Bab-hands Biro-face" for nothing!

Unquestionably the most singular, charming, erudite and charismatic gentleman since William de Longespee Plantagenet, 3rd Earl of Salisbury.

He's hot sex on legs.

When this guy pegs it, they will make massive cock-off bronze statues of him and place them around the Empire. That's all you need to know.

Only other bloke I know who owns a Vietnam helmet and is proud/silly enough to wear it. His fantastic photographs are complemented by a natural story-telling instinct. He makes me shake with silent laughter. In a good way.

I have never met him, but I feel like we have connected on a deeper spiritual level through the language of still pictures and words. I have his name tattooed on my epiglotis.

He's the only person I could trust to shoot Reg.

A risk-taker, money-maker, orgasm-faker, son of a baker, garden raker, Los Angeles Laker, 3 quarters of an acre, and an earth quaker I was an amateur before I met Wild

Wild is my Guru. He is my coach, mentor, role model, hero and my spiritual photographic guide. I am his disciple his fan and his groupie. He is Wild, he is wise and he is ace. Sometimes he lets me borrow his Nikon D70, so I try to kiss his arse as much as possible.

He's a berk - mostly

Some people drink, some people gamble, some people smoke them mexican mothers but that's enough about me. Wild? He's the dude.