About Me

1960 was a notable year. Not because I arrived in it — though I did — but because it also produced Ian Rankin, Neil Gaiman, Hugh Grant, and Colin Firth. I can’t claim any shared talent or destiny, but it’s a good vintage to be part of.

Unlike many writers, I didn’t grow up devouring books or filling notebooks with stories. Reading and writing were more of an uphill scramble, thanks to mild dyslexia — or is that dysexlia? No, that still looks wrong. In any case, words and I were not natural companions. Numbers, however, behaved themselves, which led me into maths, physics, chemistry, and eventually the University of Bath. There, I produced some truly dreadful essays about “the role of the engineer in society” before escaping into a far more enjoyable career in power engineering consultancy.

For three decades, I chased projects around the world, watching communication evolve from carefully crafted telex messages to abrupt, punctuation‑free texts. Eventually, I settled in New Zealand, where — after hanging up my professional gloves — I decided it was time to confront the old ghost of my literary shortcomings.

What better way than by taking up writing?

It has been challenging, frustrating, annoying, and unexpectedly rewarding. Somewhere in the process, a quiet compulsion took hold. Stories arrived, characters insisted on being heard, and the act of writing — once a source of dread — became something I genuinely enjoy.

I may not share the pedigree of my more famous birth‑year companions, but I’ve found my own voice, and I’m delighted to share these worlds with anyone willing to step inside them.