I won’t blame you if you skip this post. With my Zine coming soon, and all profits being donated to Headcase, I thought I should explain a little about why I felt the need to do this.

My dad

My dad emigrated from Mauritius in the 70s to join the growing NHS, seek a better life and I guess to experience what grey skies and sub 20c temperatures feel like. He met my mum, an Irish immigrant also working in the NHS and in the early 80s I popped out, shortly followed by 3 brothers. Bish, bash, bosh (not their actual names). My parents divorced in the early 2000s and my dad remarried, raising two more boys.

*My dad was quite the tourist attraction when visiting Kerry, Ireland*

Beginning of illness

2001 was a big year in my memory. I was heading to University, 11/9 happened (or 9/11 depending where you are) and my dad at 51 had his first serious illness, Guillain-Barré syndrome (GBS). The road to recovery was quite long but he pushed hard on the physio and got back to a good position faster than anticipated. He was always an optimist and a fighter and if willing yourself better was a thing, then he certainly did that.

GBS flared up another two or three more times but never as bad the first time. Each instance did take its toll however, and each recovery wasn’t quite as full as the last. As part of his regular medical check-ups, his blood was checked for cancer on a regular basis and nothing ever came back as positive. Fast forward to late Feb 2026. My dad went to hospital with a suspected chest infection, difficultly walking and speaking. He was kept in for observation but was discharged two weeks later, in a much worse condition, unable to walk. My step mother thankfully was not accepting of this and pushed for him to go back and be tested further. Then they found the brain cancer.

*15th April 2026, not able to walk or talk but defiant and full of spirit as ever*

*3rd May 2026, always surrounded by family. Sometimes I felt sorry for the others on the ward*

Glioblastoma is an incurable brain cancer. I guess finding it sooner may not have changed the outcome but I can’t think of many worse ways to go. The decline was rapid, when I visited my dad in early March, he was unable to talk or walk but could understand. The frustration on his face when hearing people but unable to reply (not able to use a special keyboard either) was one of the hardest parts. As heartbreaking as it was for me, it must have been worse for him. I remember one day seeing him shaking his clenched fists in a sign of defiance, clearly thinking he will beat it, but knowing what I did, again I was heartbroken. In mid May, my dad was sent home. The flat was all set up to maximise his comfort and on the night of the 24th of May, the day Arsenal left the Premier League trophy at Selhurst Park, my dad, aged 75, passed peacefully in his sleep, his hand held by his youngest son.

Memories

I do have a lot of cherished memories of my dad.

My dad was a keen fisherman. I remember getting woken up at the crack of dawn to go fishing. One specific time I remember was in Ireland. We were fishing in a lake (Lough Barfinnihy) and catching trout after trout, while a local fisherman had no such luck. He came up to us and we shared our knowledge before he departed, probably to return at a later date with some different ideas and equipment.

Football was a big part of our relationship too. When my parents came to the UK, they initially worked in Watford, and my dad became a Watford fan. In his later years he stopped following football as much but still just enough for us to chat about it. It was maybe 5 years or so ago that he changed allegiance and became a Gooner. Living in Crawley removed the proximity to Watford and putting a cannon on his shirt brought him closer to my brother and I.

In the 90s we would stay up too late to watch wrestling (then the ‘WWF’) but also to play the original championship manager games on the Amiga. I sometimes fell asleep as he took Woking to division 1, followed shortly by my Wycombe wanderers. Did the game not allow you to start with bigger teams? I can’t remember, maybe he just liked the challenge.

Continuing the footballing theme, for a year or so as a teenager, my friends and I had an 11 aside team, Carlton Athletic, and my dad stepped into manage it. We weren’t the best team but with my dad’s sense of humour it was a great laugh. I wasn’t that bothered about playing sometimes (i.e. when it was cold) so was just as happy to sit on the sidelines when not marshalling the left flank. A marauding left back in my mind but a meandering on the pitch.

I also remember some questionable drinking advice from my dad. We were at a work social club, the place where I would hassle him for coins for the arcade machine, crisps and coca cola. His favourite drink was captain morgans with coke, and he told me that as long as I put a slice of Lime or Lemon in the drink, it was impossible to get drunk. When I became of drinking age, I didn’t believe that for a second but I do think about it sometimes and wonder if he actually believed that. Drink more water people!

I think it was my dad’s sense of humour that has had the greatest influence on me. Always joke cracking and watching countless hours of only fools and horses, the carry on series and some mothers do have them. It has definitely left me with a less serious, less stressed and more dad-joke firing perspective on life, which I am very thankful for (if maybe not everyone else is!).

*I couldn’t find a photo with his massive rocket launcher style VHS camcorder, but here is a smaller one he was borrowing once in Mauritius*

My dad loved to record things on video, which back in those days meant a big shoulder mounted VHS camcorder. My mum too has always said that photographs are really important, they are our memories; perhaps it was the influence of both of my parents that made me the photographer that I am today.

Sometimes I wish I’d got into photography at a younger age; I would have more photos of my family to look back on. But then I wonder if that might have made me more distant, as we are when we photograph, so perhaps it was for the best.

Charity

Glioblastomas are clearly terrible. Not only is it incurable but it can be incredibly quick, and towards the end you can basically end up cocooned in your own body. I really hope no-one else has to suffer this fate but I know people are, right now. I would like to do something to help. I felt like the care my dad eventually received was very good, four visits a day at home plus having his family around him, I’m not sure there could have been much more really. The big win for me would be if it wasn’t a death sentence; a cure needs to be found. Therefore I looked into four charities, The brain tumour charity, brain tumour research, brain trust and have landed on the latter. 98.2% of donations go directly to research to find a cure for glioblastomas at Headcase, which felt like the best fit for me.

Zine

*100 copies should be delivered on 10/11th September, detail to come!*

So bringing this back to the zine, which is now with the printers (print.work). I’m working on a longer term Arsenal project, but after printing a book out for my brother and I documenting the the 12 days between winning the Premier League and the parade, I felt there was enough there to refine into a zine that I could use to raise money. More to come on this in couple of days.

If you have read this far, I really appreciate you. I am starting to think if this whole thing is part of the grieving process for me; an extended one, as with having an almost 2-year-old and all the Arsenal activity, it hasn’t left much time for reflection, until I’m in front of a keyboard, typing.

UPDATE: Zine is now on sale: https://adamramjean.bigcartel.com/product/champions

My dad, glioblastomas, charity and zine

22 Years. 12 Days. One Title. 1 Million People. 31 Images.

Notting Hill 2026