I grew up in Guildford. Unremarkable in every way except one: its kebab shop. At 17, I won a competition to write an Oxy Wipes ad and filmed it in that sacred place. I played the lead. It aired on actual television. It was a disaster. It was a triumph. It may still be my finest work.
Later, I studied Graphic Design in Bristol. Talked about it here. Thought I’d be a designer. Did short stints in New York and London. Got summoned back into advertising. Started as an Art Director at JWT. Then moved to Wieden+Kennedy Amsterdam.
All was going well.
Until it wasn’t. First the smell. Then the squelch. A sense that something irreversible had begun. Then a greased-up goblin climbed onto my desk and whispered, “You’re a copywriter now.” I tried to resist. I said, “You’ve got the wrong guy. I’m dyslexic. I have a family to feed.” (At the time, a lie.) He didn’t blink. We wrestled. I lost. We’ve been co-writing ever since.
Spent 8 years there. We made a lot of wonderful things together. Won some awards. Even wrote another ad featuring a kebab. Felt like closure.
Then the goblin came back. “You’re a clown now,” he said. This time, I listened. Took a sabbatical. Studied clown in the suburbs of Paris. (Not a lie.) Performed various live comedy shows with my brother.
Now based in London. Open to all kinds of creative projects. Just don’t be surprised if I try to include a slowly spinning column of meat.