Simon Puttock

This profile has been written by Simon Puttock

Chapter One: In Which I am Born And Embark Upon My Very Own And Brand New Life, and Remember Not A Bit Of It.

Eyewitness accounts of the time all agree that Simon Puttock was born in Wellington, New Zealand, in the Spring of 1964. (Antipodean Spring that is.) He went on to spend most of his childhood wondering why anywhere would share its name with a rubber boot.

Chapter Two: Islands Quite Small, And Enormous.

At a very tender age indeed, Simon was moved to Trinidad, where over the course of some three and a half years he fell into a mangrove swamp, learned how to cajole sweeties out of the old folks on the other side of the wasteland, was taken to Australia to be shown off to his grandparents, and furthermore but not subsequently, learned how to swim.

Chapter Three: Blighty, Part One.

From Trinidad, Simon sailed to England at the ripe old age of three and quite a lot. Here he lived in a haunted house in Kent and saw his first UHO (Unidentified Hovering Object), learned – under severe parental pressure – how to read, and forgot how to swim.

Chapter Four: Warmth! Sunlight! Obviously Not In Britain Any More.

Two brief years and perhaps another half one saw Simon setting sail once again, this time for Barbados. This period of Simon’s life is memorable for so very many things, they are just too many to mention. Let us merely say that it was during this time that Simon re-learned how to swim, developed a passion for books (Arthus Ransome, Richmal Crompton, Rosemary Sutcliff and Eleanor Farjeon figuring prominently), fell down quite a bit of a cliff, and became mildly convinced he was being followed round the world by a satanic salad fork which was possessed not only of the ability to move mysteriously from country to country, but also of some nebulous and menacing intent.

Chapter Five: Blooming Blighty Again, Or Part Two Thereof.

Five more years passed, and our young hero, now aged very nearly thirteen, returned to the land of cold and damp and those things called proper seasons: England again. He was not best pleased, and would prefer to gloss over most of the ensuing years, pausing only to mention that he did his time at school and then signed up for another stretch at university in Newcastle Upon Tyne where he discovered what it was like to be properly cold.

Chapter Six: The Unpromising Twenties.

After gaining an ignominious degree in English Literature, Simon went on to do such unmemorable things that they cannot be dredged from his mind to be recorded here. However, he does remember having a serious and very nasty writing accident that is probably the reason for his blotting out of so much else. It may also be notable that sometime in the latter half of that decade, Simon managed to forget, for an entire year, his true and actual age. It came as some surprise to him when, on attaining another birthday, he realised that he would have to go back repeat a year. It was also during this period that he became, quite unintentionally, a DJ. Or anti-DJ.

Chapter Seven: The Slightly More Promising Thirties.

At last! Simon began to write quite well and think seriously about being published. This eventually happened. Meanwhile, he began spending time in Scotland, and realised that by some quirk of microclimate, most of it is less cold than Newcastle. Whilst hardly tropical, this could only be A Good Thing. He learned to keep warm by taking a course in silversmithing. (The judicious use of blowtorches helped combat the onset of frostbite.)

Chapter Eight: The Forties So Far – Onward and Upward. (If North Counts As Being At The Top.)

Simon chose the beginning of this auspicious decade to Do The Right Thing and finally move lock, stock and inkwell to Scotland. More specifically Edinburgh. Here, and much to his surprise, he has won a couple of awards and so far only lived in three different flats – positively stationary by his standards. He is currently writing this potted autobiography. Except that by the time you read this, he won’t be.