We’ve known Jack for a little while. He’s popped up on our doorstep in France on numerous occasions, usually in October, usually with a half corked bottle of red wine in hand, usually with a salted brow and always with a coy little smile. But don’t let his lackadaisical appearance deceive you. He’s interested in everyone, everything. He’s a dab hand with one of his beloved twin fins and a hell of a photographer.
