It's a sickness, but who feeds it, and what's the cure?
"'Leave her alone, you dirty scum! Why don't you just leave her alone?" As two paparazzi scramble on to the pavement to catch Amy Winehouse emerging from her Mercedes van, a pair of young women bustle out of a cafe. "She's just trying to lead her life!" they scold, before pursuing the singer into the newsagent's. "You doing all right then, love?" the pair cluck. One throws an arm around Winehouse, drawing her tight, while the other steadies her mobile phone camera for the shot. "Now then, Amy," the woman exhorts. "Smile!""
"The only real moment of drama is a confrontation between our photographer and one of the paps, who flies at Kalpesh, roaring, "Don't point that camera at me!""
That's funny. It seems the situation feels a lot different when it's reversed, eh?
"She darts into a shop. I stop and catch my breath. And then, all of a sudden, a great wave of revulsion crashes over me. I'm stalking Amy Winehouse."
"We're just a bunch of guys trying to get the photographs," he says simply. "The people who buy the magazines and want to see these photographs, they're the fucked-up ones."