Rob Owen’s wife, Alison, sits down in the kitchen and succinctly reflects on 25 years of marriage, oblivious to the TV behind her silently showing endless horse racing replays. “Stressful,” she concludes, before laughing at the acerbity of her summary.
A rare hush has briefly descended while the indefatigable Owen has his picture taken in a neighbouring room, where he can faintly be heard amiably discussing which props to include in each shot. Alarmingly forthright when he deems it necessary, Owen is also unceasingly hospitable, mystified by the photographer continually declining the offer of a hot drink in exchange for his troubles.
