I live in a forgotten hamlet ‘oop North’, with a collection of eccentric animals in a hovel on the side of a hill. I get restless easily so have converted a bus into a mobile menagerie for escaping to other bits of countryside.
Writing is an excuse to avoid interaction with other humans who are harder to understand than say, a dog or a crow. You can sometimes find me lying on my stomach in a muddy wallow taking poor quality photographs of a random mushroom which i cannot identify, or an equally mysterious beetle; because, why not? I also play musical instruments with more enthusiasm than talent.
If you see a large, tatty, yellow bus, it is best not to park up too close, as listening to me practice playing a viola can be hard on the unwary.