I sometimes think of myself as being the embodiment of all that weird and wonderful stuff you find down the back of your sofa. I can be sulky and knotted, cynical, and tidy to the point where people come over and mess up my house for a laugh. But none of that defines me; it's just some of the shit you have to put up with if you want to get your hands on my shiny stuff. I'm a loyal and loving person - not particularly demonstrative but certainly not a cold fish. I’m great fun and very easy company. I’m flawed but I’m all in one piece.
I'm accident prone, often hilariously. I will probably die in one of those freak accidents that end up as an amusing titbit in the Sunday papers, shot by a mad traffic cop in Naples or stampeded to death by a flock of large flightless birds, or something like that. I’m a bit of a loner.
I adore cats and I'm still frightened of people who make balloon animals. I live in Yorkshire. I love Yorkshire and I walk all over it – in agreeable sections – once a week or more if time allows. That doesn’t make me a rambler by any definition.
Ok I’m a rambler. A rock and roll rambler.
I once had 19 fish in the same tank and named them all George. I call all my pets George. That way they never really leave you.
