I left home when I was seven years old. I reckoned it was time to hit the road. So I packed a bag and plonked myself beside the Great Western Highway and waited for adventure to come and meet me.
The grown-ups had a different idea.
“Hit the road!” Roared my father, “I’ll show you hit the bloody road!”
I blamed the books. Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn did it, the Famous Five hardly saw a grown up from dawn to mystery laden dusk. Kids did adventure, at least in every book that I had read. And if it was in a book then it must be true. I wished I had thought to put a book down my trousers.
I couldn’t sit down for a week.

I put those plans on hold for thirty years and tried it their way with varying degrees of success but there were always The Books.  They whispered to me of far off places and foreign faces, fuelling my curiosity, feeding this poets soul. And The Road. No matter where you are in life there is always a road nearby, curling seductively around a distant bend. Who knows where it will end and who you will meet along the way?

Eventually the correct planetary alignments came together with more earthbound circumstances and I was off like a robbers dog! Thirty years after my first failed attempt, I went to India via Kathmandu like any self-respecting Sixties styled Dharma Bum.
I may have been years too late for that trip but in timeless India I found that I was right on time! It was love at first sight; India has been my muse and my never-ending story for 15 years.

The years and experiences and adventures have been kind to me, I have extracted the lessons, saved my life a few times, squeezed each drop of poetry out of every moment and followed stories down alleyways, across mountain tops to their proper home.
It’s one of those lives you read about on the back of a book when the publishers try to make it look like the author has gained a lot of life experience.
Which is good because now that I have gotten waitressing and road working and bar tending out of the way I can concentrate on writing the next in the great chain of Booker Prize winners set against the backdrop of Mother India.

In the meantime I live my life creatively. This website is an attempt to bring together some of the aspects of my life.

Since I will be living in India full time from September 2009, I can be contacted to arrange and advise on travel. Think of me as your gentile organiser, I will meet and greet travellers at Indira Ghandi International Airport in Delhi and smooth your entry into India.

But wait! There’s more!
Not a free set of steak knives because I am a vegetarian but
a blog to  which I write to when I am inspired or moved or have something to say and no one is around to listen or whenever I want to have the last say.