Born in 1980 with more than enough time to miss all the really serious good times in music, in sunny, funny, fucked-up South Africa, Rose was ripped from the beach town of Durban (with all the best weed and cutest tanned surfers) at 6 years of age and brought to London, England - in time for Thatcher to take away her milk. And that's where this all began.

Rose's teenage years were spent hanging out in sweaty pubs with people 10 years older than her. Trying to keep herself as far away from school as humanly possible meant that she came out of this pretty much a weird little girl. She currently resides in a wasteland called Limehouse that resembles an industrial suburban nightmare of midnight cowboys throwing stuff out the back of nondescript vans and bizarre transvestites who look like they lay bricks and are called Terry by day.

Work consists of dodging prostitutes and crack dealers in Kings Cross while on her way there and sifting through tedious, trite pictures of meglomaniac 'pop idols' like Enrique "he looks like a tramp" Inglesias and Britney "we're still together - no, really, it's got nothing to do with my upcoming tour" Spears. She says picture editing is like spending all day in Satan's personal harem. Writing and photography are as a result all she has left to keep herself sane.