Born in the Midlands, in the middle of it all. The early days were smooth sailing, a breeze, the kind of days you don’t think twice about until they’re gone. Happy kid stuff. 8-bit games, climbing trees, riding bikes, the hum of the 80s everywhere. A world of VHS tapes, half-melted ice lollies and afternoons that stretched forever. I grew up fast, tumbling into the slipstream of life. It was a matriarchal family, three strong women pulling the strings, holding the fort, showing us how to be. Adolescence hit like a shot of espresso. Antics, mischief, that wild sense of freedom that only comes when you don’t know what freedom really costs. Summers in North Norfolk were my six-week dreamscape. A makeshift summer camp of our own, running wild through the woods, barefoot and fearless, the sun chasing us as we built forts and named ourselves kings of the trees. I was “super woodman,” master of my little universe. Nature got into my bones there, deep and quiet, like a seed you don’t know is growing.

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School? Average. Just another comp, the kind you’d see in This is England. Scruffy uniforms, scuffed shoes, endless afternoons of chalk dust and glazed eyes. Sixth form was the expected route, next door, easy, no fuss. I filled out the form because my mum wanted me to. But in secret, I had other plans. Art college. I snuck in my application, got the offer, and didn’t say a word until the morning the term started. Then I jumped on the bus and never looked back. The way I see it, that moment was a crossroads, one of those sharp turns that shapes the whole road ahead. Art college was like stepping into a new world. No baggage, no rules, just possibility. Respect felt real for the first time, adult respect, the kind you don’t have to earn twice. People from everywhere, their stories spilling into mine. Liberation, exploration, creation. It felt like I’d finally stumbled into a place where I belonged. That choice, getting on the bus, was pure instinct and it felt right.

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Then life rolled me up the A1 to Newcastle. My nan wasn’t impressed but I was. The city was alive, humming with energy, reshaping itself under the weight of City of Culture money. Streets full of light and noise, the whole place a patchwork of grit and regeneration. Voted the number one party city in the UK. Who wouldn’t want to be here? If college cracked open my freedom, university let me dig into the details. Specialisation. Making. Materials. Production. Somewhere in all that, furniture design caught fire in my head. It’s a strange thing when a passion sparks, it’s quiet at first, almost sneaky and then it’s all you can think about.

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Looking back, the road makes sense, though it didn’t at the time. Each step, each choice, built the foundation for the next. Education wove itself into me, a thread I kept pulling, each stage making me stronger, sharper, more myself. Not everyone gets that kind of alignment and I don’t take it for granted. Every twist and turn felt like part of the plan, even when it didn’t. And here I am, grateful for all of it, knowing I wouldn’t change a thing.