Privacy Policy

How we collect your data

Only when you write it down or tell us things. Including the enquiry form or signing up to the newsletter. No robots, metadata or ridiculous Jasonbournery – it’s just us talking here.

How we use it

Only two reasons. First, contractual necessity. I need your address to post your photos to. I need your name so I don’t have to say “Hey, you.” I need to know the location of your wedding so I can actually be there.

Consent

Then there’s marketing. Eurgh. You have to opt in nowadays. No more “uncheck this box if you don’t want not to…” etc. It’s weird because I’m a real person and I hope we’ll have an honest-to-god actual human friendship. No chatbots, hold music or make an appointment and escalate it to the next… If you call, you’ll get me in person, answering the phone “Hey <firstname><lastname>, how’s it going?!”

The Newsletter

I’m soon going to start writing a regular newsletter about photo tips and what we’re up to. It is NOT going to be just selling you stuff. It’s actually going to be GOOD. And I will sometimes say “Hey, here’s a deal if you want to give a christmas gift.” You can always unsubscribe if I lied and it’s not as good as I said.

Photos as personal data

Infuriatingly, GDPR lumps our beautiful, creative, hand-crafted photographs of you in the same category as CCTV from a corner shop. They’re not the same! If no shoplifting has occurred fine, wipe the VHS tapes. But the photos I produce are my gorgeous portfolio as well as your cherished memories. I really appreciate being able to show my work to potential future customers. Chances are that’s the only reason you yourself were interested in booking me in the first place.

If you have an important reason for needing to stay private please ask and we will be happy to work something out. But I’m bound to assume you work for MI5 whatever you say. I once met a guy (not a customer) who spoke fluent Russian and said he flew over regularly as he worked for a company that sold vending machines there. I mean, come on! I wasn’t born yesterday.

no boy zone, keep out

Menu