At a café in High Holborn, we encountered a charming man called Bernd Vogel and his companion (the lady in the picture, whose name I failed to note; apologies to her). They were examining Bernd’s travel journal, a quite extraordinary item which Bernd had stuffed to the gunnels with hand written notes and numerous pieces of what you might call urban detritus collected from the places he had visited. This “project” chimed very much with my own fascinations with such seemingly prosaic symbols of the world we inhabit. It reminded me somewhat of my own “New York Times” series. Bernd kindly allowed me to sign one of the book’s pages, but since he seemed disinclined to give it to me, I took a picture of it for posterity instead. Many thanks, Bernd.