I’m a writer and occasional liability from Sheffield, equipped with a lifelong curiosity about the universe and an impressive talent for getting lost inside it. Over the years, I’ve accumulated stories where answers were clearly expected. This once seemed like an excellent plan. It may yet prove to be one.

After studying philosophy and world traditions in Liverpool—an experience that raised far more questions than it settled—I sensibly decided to abandon all structure and wander through roughly a hundred countries in search of enlightenment, perspective, and the occasional functioning Wi-Fi signal. Somewhere along the way, I developed a dangerous faith in strangers and an even more dangerous habit of thinking, well, it can’t get any worse—usually moments right before it did.

I write because it’s the only reliable way I have found to make sense of the chaos, or at the very least making it amusing. My work exists in the space between narrative non-fiction and polite existential malfunction. It’s about the strange places—geographically and mentally—we arrive at when seeking truth and instead encounter a talking street dog. The tone is funny, honest, and occasionally unhinged: a sort of field report on the human condition, and how often it confidently heads in the wrong direction.

When not writing, I can usually be found functioning as an unpaid travel consultant for friends, losing focus mid-sentence, or explaining—once again—why any of this seemed like a good idea at the time. I’m also a long-time, reluctantly proud sufferer of ADHD, my most loyal and unpredictable travel companion, responsible for both my curiosity and my chronic inability to remain still for more than five minutes.