I was bored in Liverpool and when my parents secured employment in Sheffield, I felt obliged to join them. It was a shock to my system but once and only once I had mastered a few phrases, I threw caution to the window of opportunity together with my survival guide to South Yorkshire. I left school at the earliest: an undiagnosed dyslexic which is nothing to garb about, to say words failed me is an underpayment and although I was the product of a miss spelt youth, I became a good listener – though I never talked to trees, I was at once with nature. I had a wonder lust and lived/worked/survived here and abroad. Poetry became part of my survival package against the slings and arrows of misinformation . I also have a love of theatre and combined the two to somehow convince the merry men of Sherwood forest to let me loose into the greenery within and out there. Despite the rumours and requests, I’m afraid I did not hold onto the green tights – unless I was up a tree during the windy seasoning. To me poetry has an immediacy and is my constant companion, sometimes I wake up in the morning and a find a phrase staring up at me from my pillow and I can’t neglect it, so I have to nurture it and help it develop and become strong enough to stand up to scrutiny, warts and all as well and including all the above. So that’s me in a nut shell and as punishment I have become a carer for a Welsh lady – well to be more accurate a woman of Welsh oranges, and it serves me right thus far as it goes.