Pecuniary dire straits meant that at an early stage I was forced to go out and work in order to fund my mother’s Marks & Spencer habit. When I was six months old I was giving the choice of either working as a chimney-sweep, or freelancing as a journalist. Being unable to walk I chose the latter option. In this picture we see an article about obesity in small infants which my father forced me to screw up and start again because of misuse of the semi-colon.
Today I am 31 and can still not peel my own oranges properly but on the plus side I wake up wanting to go to work, which is a rare gift indeed.
Mum, re. the marriage and grandkids situation, I promise you I’m working on it.