When I first moved to Cambridge  I quickly became enamoured with the romantic side of the city. The academia, the architecture, punting and tweed. But as time passed and I began to settle it became apparent I was looking at a glamourised portrayl of the town, a pinhole peek at the face on a diverse and complicated body. 

It was through a friend that I first visited Arbury Court, a small, condensed Council Estate, only about a mile outside the city's fabled nucleus yet it may have been another city entirely. Spoken about under hushed breath, Arbury Court has a somewhat tarnished reputation, coated in drug myths, alcohol abuse and violence. While there may be precedent to defend these whispers my interactions and conversations have shown me nothing but proud, friendly community.

There was no need to self assure. No guard or pretension, everyone and everything was laid bare. The sense of community created by the 1950's auditorium was starkly apparent and such a breath of fresh air from the city centre that I felt compelled to photograph some it's residents to highlight the "real people" of the city. That beyond the drinking societies, boat races and tired tradition portrayed in posters, magazines and leaflets there are those beings we call,  people. 





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