“Tell him I love him” the words of my Scottish, 80-year-old father in-law when I told him that I would be photographing Labour Leader, Jeremy Corbyn. To be fair I was pretty excited too, he’s a divisive character even within his own party and from my initial research there weren’t many good portraits of him either.

Location is vital on these jobs and I was initially sent to a greasy spoon on Holloway Road in North London, conjuring ideas of wide angled shots with JC peering into the bottom of a cup of tea. Luckily the theoretical tea was good because I had a wait in store. Three and a half hours and a few cups later we relocated to a nearby community centre where Jeremy was holding his weekly clinic, answering questions from his constituents.

Like any council funded building it was pretty bare but at least I had time for a decent recce and eventually plumped for a shot against some glazed red bricks in the evening sunshine. Finally he arrived (by bike) and apologetically posed up, it all seemed very unnatural to him – I broke the ice with news of my father in-laws affections and my previous home in nearby Stoke Newington. The shoot wrapped up pretty quickly, his priority always the gathered public awaiting him in the hall next-door. Often in these situations you discover a different edge to the character you might have perceived before the shoot, but I didn’t get that this time. He was really quite ordinary and there was a sincerity about his demeanour that was well…honest!

I sent images across to The Independent on Sunday; who offered a little more intelligence on his tardiness. It appeared that Mr Corbyn had spent the entire morning receiving root-canal at the dentist. Now, how ordinary is that!

Big thanks for The Independent on Sunday for the gig and using the image so well on the front page; also to my friend Tim Bowditch who assisted and stuck with me all day.