“The first forty years of life give us the text; the next thirty supply the commentary on it.”
If Schopenhauer is correct then the next thirty years are going to feature stories about:
Harold Hill, Essex – where I grew up in a children’s home run by my parents.
St Edward’s School, Romford – I sucked up everything my English and history teachers threw at me. Everything thrown by the science, maths and metalwork departments however, bounced back.
Warwick University – apparently I studied history.
Nightclubs, travel companies, play projects, gay newspapers, advertising agencies - all of which have provided me with varying degrees of financial reward, job satisfaction and sleepless nights.
Manchester, London, Edinburgh, Rotterdam, Frankfurt and the Cotswolds – places I have tried to either escape to or escape from. Usually both.
Kennington Park – south London’s first public park, whose fortunes I helped restore by co-founding the Friends group in 2002. It now boasts a coveted Green Flag for excellence in a public space – and I have a bad back, dirty fingernails and a proud smile.
Psychics, history, illusions, dancing, colitis, tennis, dogs, déjà vu, celibacy, bombs, bullying, swimming, rabbits, cosmic twins, bare trees, music, walks, Southern Comfort, Coronation Street.
Boosie – there before the start, there beyond the end.
So, that’s the text. I’d best get on with the commentary.