I had a troubling encounter a few days ago.

On my way to catch an early train to Liverpool, I bumped into Martin, one of the guys that made the biggest impression on me during my couple of months taking pictures at the Booth Centre. Back then, Martin – a gentle and sensitive alcoholic – seemed to be on an upward trajectory….cutting down his daily intake of killer white cider and spending all the time he could on the centre’s allotment. In May he vanished, before coming back to Manchester from wherever he’d been over the past few weeks.

Meeting him close to my home – he’s now living in a nearby hostel – was troubling because he was almost unrecognisable. In the past two months he’s had a stroke which has partially paralysed one side of his body and left one of his eyes almost closed. He’s also been diagnosed with some form of cancer and his voice is little more than a croak. What shocked me most though was that all the light and hope had vanished and how openly he shared his desire to die.

“I’m 50 years old and I’ve had enough, I just want to be down there,” he told me, pointing at the pavement. “They keep trying to get me to take some tablets for the cancer but I’m not interested. It’s time to go.” I had no idea what to say other than to make sympathetic noises. Martin’s asked me to show him the photos I took during my few months at the Booth Centre, so I’m going to make sure I honour that. I plan to do some training on participatory photography workshops and would one day like to find some funding to do some more in-depth work with the folks there.

Here’s what Martin said when I interviewed him a few months ago, when he was feeling better