All photographs by me. “The village in the city breeds Bohemians. Birmingham sits in the centre of the country, but the city centre ain't where it's at, creatively speaking. Go three miles south, where the buses number 1 and 50 splice each other's path, to B13. To Moseley. To somewhere near 1989. Shared by punks-for-ever with bags-for-life, floppy fringed Indie kids, arty middle-class teachers, single parent hippie mums, Rastas, and squatters and conspiracy spotters, it's the Moseley delta, and everyone knows where to buy a five-pound draw. Yeah, it's a village, but you won't get a picture of it on any chocolate boxes."