So you clicked on the ‘About’ menu huh ? And now I suppose you’re expecting me to tell you stories of intrigue and more from my days in the Orient or perhaps regale you with anecdotes of the time I drank the Elephant Man under the table, one foggy night in London ?
No. None of that is going to happen. Listen punk, you’re going to find out the real me, tears and uncomfortable silence be damned with you !
Born in the majestic city of Salisbury, Wiltshire, some time in the late 70s, my parents were in the armed forces and the first few years of my life I spent living with them (madness) in army quarters in a wee hamlet called Middle Wallop. Yes. That is a real place name. You’re Googling it aren’t you ? Fine, be quick.
Happy now ?
So, my brother arrived into the world a year after I had laid the groundwork, lazy bastard, always wanting his big brother to put in the hard hours just so he can swoop in and steal the luxury toilet roll from my grasp just as I’ve dropped off yet another hazard to North Sea shipping.
I digress. I do that a lot. So born in MIGHTY Wiltshire, and raised in the gentle idyll of Andover in Hampshire, it’s nothing special, it’s one claim to fame is that The Trogg’s hail from there. Let me guess, you’re now Googling who the fuck The Trogg’s are, heathens…..
From an early age I enjoyed writing, in Junior School when writing stories, I wrote a series based on Andy Beatemup, a wholly woeful Secret Agent, not too dissimilar to Russ Abbot’s Basildon Bond character. You’re on Google again huh ? This could take a while. In retrospect, Andy Beatemup’s Hitler moustache would not have helped me sell him to a major publisher.
So, my time in Andover pretty much covered my life up until I was in college, where our parents decided to relocate to the countryside, Gillingham in Dorset. My brother and I were to be convinced however, and when we arrived for the first time, we took a stroll down the High Street, to bask in the retail heaven that awaited us. Farmer Gonad’s farm shop, Somerfield and some ‘local’ shops were the sum total.
We were not impressed!
We were living there within six months.
It was in Gillingham though that I first met a young chap who would go on to become J.R.Park, you can Google him, it’s allowed. Go on, this can wait.
After college and part time jobs, I finally got myself a proper office job back in Salisbury, the homecoming was emotional. Mainly because I was in Just Been Dumped Land. Despite my dream to utilise my creativity, I was far too lazy. Despite having many super ideas, I just never followed through (yes, ha ha, like I shit myself, hilarious) on them.
It’s taken me a long time in my life to pull my finger out and do something that I enjoy, to most people, myself included, work is a chore. Writing helps me get through that by giving me a shining beacon to keep me going. Whatever that beacon is in your life, follow it, embrace it and make the most of it.
Life is too fucking short, don’t have regrets, just do it. Ha, look, I digress again, my pipe has gone out and the firewood nothing more than cold embers. Have a most excellent day, whatever you’re doing.