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I am 33 years old. In my life so far, in no particular order, I have traveled a lot, lost my brother to cancer, got married, gained a mediocre degree in politics, cycled 2000 miles in 20 days for charity from Hanoi to Singapore, become a dad to a blonde mini tornado, battled depression and learnt how to spin pizza dough. I am still obsessed with football, mid-nineties British indie and everything that revolves around food. Recent years have brought cynicism, apathy and a general lethargy with the constant barrage of identity politics. I write because it makes me feel better; a cathartic way of transferring thoughts from a place with little space to a place where others mind find amusing, insightful or generally mediocre.
