“My Libyan translator took this photo of me and my cameraman just after an assault on Islamic State territory in the city of Sirte. We were wearing our keffiyeh scarfs up in a futile attempt to fend off the smell of a dead IS sniper in one of the buildings beside us. He’d been hit with tank round and blown in half a couple of days previously. As we’d gone into the building a Libyan soldier had run out vomiting. We found the sniper’s legs first, but had a hard time locating the rest of him in the dark. Strangely his top half had curved away from the blast and flown through to the next room where it was somehow jammed beneath a wooden door that had been ripped free of its hinges. The house-to-house fighting in Sirte was so intense and so brutal that, at the time, as I looked down at his face, what I was seeing didn’t seem that out of the ordinary to me. Then we walked outside and struck a strong pose as our picture was taken and we moved on. Looking back, I can see no reasons for me putting this photo as my profile picture other than shell shock and egotism. It’s not the sort of thing you want your mum to look at.”