| I
was born in Margate,
Kent to the sound of a ropey tape recording of the Bow Bells –
as all good Margatonians are. I was christened on the Scenic
Railway and later renounced my faith in the River Caves. I didn't
like school, they didn't like me and I got out of town as soon as
I could. And no, I never slept with Tracey
Emin.
Somehow
the evil people at the dole office tricked me into working there.
It took me some years to realise that, despite my vastly improved
blackjack skills, the job wasn't me. I invented World Phone in Sick
Day, became a writer and began organising an annual drunken rampage
by 180-odd Santa Clauses.
2003
saw the publication of my first book, A Fête Worse
Than Death, in hardback. It was published in paperback
in June 2004 and should be followed by another book soonish.
For
the last two years running, readers of the Guardian have selected
articles by me as their favourite of the year. I write for them,
the Daily Telegraph and a host of others. I also write the odd exhibition
catalogue essay for artists as well as thank you notes to my nan
for birthday presents. |
