User Profile

Born to a chorus-line tap-dancer and a slightly burly alcoholic (professional), I was left behind a skip at the lowly age of only 4 hours. I had to fend for myself by consuming the broken bits of MDF that old people had tossed away having failed to follow the instructions on constructing "antique-effect" kitchen dressers from Ikea.

I was thankfully taken in after 4 weeks by a large community of rebel scrapmetal merchants from the lower provinces of the Watford Gap railway sidings. They taught me how to cultivate bits of old cars into workable baking trays, woks and suchlike. These I could then sell to passing American Tourists as local cultural tat. In turn I filled their lives with the joy of having an infant close by, an infant they could happily dress in the unique metal clothing they enjoyed creating so dearly. I passed my teenage years dressed in these clothings, leading a rabble of vagrant teaching support staff whilst claiming to be their Metal God. Since that time many sad years have passed.

Throughout my descent into intellectual poverty I fathered a number of genetically unsound children, many of them with no properly established gender. Some of them are with me still. Several of them have passed on. Yet more have taken to the sewers and are planning to revolt against the city using the denizens own faeces as primitive chemical weapons. Only 2.3% of the mothers survived labour. These few have either been inducted into my active hareem or have fled public life in search of seclusion from the lurid nightmares that plague every moment of their time with me.

These days I tend to keep small rodents captive in immense transparent plastic tubing constructs. My latest project contains up to 34 thousand meters of shrink-wrapped drainpipe. This makes me proud to be a man.

At the moment, I am immensly fond of watching naturally slow things try to move quickly whilst recording their progress.

I also enjoy investigating the life histories of local D List television personalities (I am writing a book on the 100 darkest moments of celebrity chef-toucher Fern Britton, including No 92. The time I nearly let that Wirral-Thompson one get to 3rd base at the Christmas Do).

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