I Don't Remember Deciding To Become A

With English Literature, If You Do A Bit Of Shonky Spelling, No One Dies, But If You're Half-way Through A Maths Calculation And You Stick In An Extra Zero, Everything Just Crashes Into The Ravine.

There Was A Time In My Life When I Was Going In And Out Of Houses That Were Extraordinarily Different - From A Working-class Terrace In Northampton To The Homes Of Friends Who Were Really Very Wealthy. It Was Quite An Odd Position To Be In, I Realise Looking Back, And Quite A Nice One.

Stories About Mental Aberration And Oddity Only Make Sense In Context. Just How Do People Live With Someone Who Is Peculiar, Gifted, Strange Or Alien? It's Odd Because There's A Little Part Of Me That Wants To Write About Exotic, Strange Bizarre Subjects. Instead, I've Rather Reluctantly Realised That What I Write About Is Families.

Sometimes We Get Sad About Things And We Don't Like To Tell Other People That We Are Sad About Them. We Like To Keep It A Secret. Or Sometimes, We Are Sad But We Really Don't Know Why We Are Sad, So We Say We Aren't Sad But We Really Are.

Family, That Slippery Word, A Star To Every Wandering Bark, And Everyone Sailing Under A Different Sky.