My father loved working with wood and equations, but he also recited ‘Vitai Lampada’ with a gleam in his eye and that matters, frankly. Though it seems a dated idea now, I began teaching when boys were told only girls were good at English, despite the great names that must spring to mind after that statement. Perhaps crucially, he also loved poetry and cracking good tales. My father flew in Bomber Command in WWII, then taught maths and science.

My great-grandfather was a Seannachie, so I suppose story-telling is in the genes somewhere. My mother is Irish and from an early age she told me history as an exciting series of stories – with dates. I do miss the camaraderie of the smokers’ room, as well as the lessons where their faces lit up as they understood what I was wittering on about. In truth, I can’t find it in me to miss the grind of paperwork and initiatives. I have enormous respect for those who still labour at the chalk-face. Gregory’s RC High School in London by the end of that period. I taught English for seven years and was Head of English at St. It’s what I always wanted to do and read English at London University with writing in mind. I have written for as long as I can remember: poetry, short stories and novels. I was born in the normal way in 1971, and vaguely remember half-pennies and sixpences.

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