Childhood pain chilled my soul so deeply, I was incapable of real love for many years. I suppose that’s only natural when an eight-year-old boy comes home alone from school one day to find his mum dead on the floor. Four years later, void of emotion, and fingernails, my surrogate’s alcohol-fuelled, violent temperament, filled that void with anger. By the time I was sixteen I’d managed to cause enough trouble to be abandoned. That’s when the fun began. Led astray by my own addiction to excitement, there wasn’t much I wouldn’t do, while always safe in the knowledge, I had something to prove to the world. My love for money surpassed any human, even the ones who helped thaw my frozen heart. I became my own boss at twenty. Turning my hand to gardening, painting, decorating, or whatever. Hard work kept me away from the darkest paths. That, and a few dodgy moves, found me employing fifteen guys before I skidded off the rails for a few seasons. After only ever starting to write “The book” many years ago, I regrouped and reinvented my career as a self-taught builder. After the breakdown of my second marriage, followed closely by my mental health, I had no choice other than to do something to heal, so began fulfilling another lifelong dream: to travel the world. My first book is a story about what happened while On My Way.