I was born and raised in North London. After leaving school, I bummed about for a while, playing in bands, working in pubs and clubs, following my questionable instincts and surviving relatively unscathed. I moved down to Brighton to study Psychology at the turn of the millennium and remember very little of it. After that, I journeyed back to the capital and spent the rest of my twenties in something of a haze.
All through that period though, I remained a voracious reader. I’d loved books since I was a kid, and remember my Dad once asking me the sensible question of what I wanted to be when I grew up: I told him a writer, of course. Crime in all its guises was my genre of choice, and my heroes were the likes of Robert B. Parker, Stephen King and Derek Raymond. But my conviction to write faded as other predilections took over, and it was only on the dawn of my thirtieth that the ambition reignited.