Gas Meter Knees

It wasn't until I was 13 that I realised pressing 50 pence pieces into Plasticine sheets and filling the impressions with water freezing overnight and quickly using the ice coins in the electric meter slots wasn't normal behaviour. From raiding the bins of London fashion labels to being asked to bury dead bodies in a flyover being beaten unconscious twice in one day to regularly driving my inebriated maths teacher back to school for a fee finding my boss dead in a mysterious suicide and dragging a teetering motorcyclist to safety on a busy A3 flyover to avoid certain death the weekly war with the bailiffs doggedly trying to repossess my TV and finally an attempt to emulate Evel Knievel by jumping a pickup truck in Wimbledon Stadium. I learned the hard way that nobody was going to save me except myself - all this before the age of 16. A real-life rags-to-relative-affluence story which takes us from humble SW17 origins to the bustling streets of Singapore and Tokyo. The story is as diverse and delightfully absurd as it gets. If I hadn't lived every moment I wouldn't believe it either.