My Story

I was born to wander.

My father was an artisan, my mother a nurse, each day they spent precious time looking for a way to escape the cold, wet, dirty, downtrodden life that most poor Glascow residents led in those days.

At last a way out was presented to them on a silver platter and so, with great hope and little thought they packed me up, sold all they had and headed off to Africa.

My first real memory is of giant bugs, black as my nannys face creeping inside the concrete sink outside the kitchen window grasping at waterlogged straws that I threw in to rescue them as they whirred their wings ineffectually to escape a soggy death.

At four years old I was precocious (or so my Mother said) as I had found a sudden interest in all things natural around me, from chameleons to grasshoppers painted green and red; every thing was mystifying ............