Photos

There is a cobra on my head. A fully angry, reared-up, neurotoxin-loaded herpetologist’s wet dream squirming uncomfortably in my hair, lashing itself so angrily around my ears that it pushes my sunglasses down over my eyes. I would, in normal circumstances, just reach up and pull the glasses off. Unfortunately, I can’t move my hands further than chest height, thanks to the pit viper (possibly even more dangerous than the cobra) curled delicately around my neck, its belly scales cutting into my freshly shaven skin as it tries to reach the harmless water snake I am holding in my right hand. Which is either extremely chilled-out or dead because I’ve accidentally strangled it. 

Words: Tom Ford
Photography: Barry Hayden