Ah, you don't really want to know, do you? You do? Gosh, how flattering. Well, I'm me, obviously. I'm a writer, baker of inedible cakes, mother of an indeterminate number of children (they keep moving, it's hard to count), dog owner, cat slave. Occupier of a crumbly old place in the crumbly old countryside in Yorkshire. And merciless self-publicist.
Scene One: Int: Day. Careers Office, St Conglomerates School for Wayward Boys
*The careers officer, Mr Huge, is sucking his pipe and staring into the middle distance. There is a knock at the door.
Huge: Come in! Frogworthy enters. He is a small boy for his age, head slightly too large for his body, and a stoop to his shoulders that speaks of too much time in darkened rooms.
Frogworthy: Thank you for seeing me, Mr Huge. I've finally decided what I want to do when I leave St Conglomerates.
Huge: Well, it's about time, you are forty-seven. Now, I see here on your school entry form that your father is a highly regarded criminal, is that right? In Wandsworth 'doing a twenty' as I believe they say?
Frogworthy: Yes, sir.
Huge: And your mother disappeared running guns and ammunition to a small west African country in return for diamonds and, and I quote 'permanent access to the all-you-can-eat buffet'?
Huge (removing his pipe from his mouth and turning his gaze to Frogworthy) Well, lad, I wonder what career you've settled on that could do justice to your dear parents.
Frogworthy: I'm going to be an author, sir.
The pipe hits the floor. Huge begins to sob.
Huge: But the school, lad! Think of the good name of the school!
*This actually happens. Never tell a careers teacher you want to be an author. You'll find yourself on a nursing course or doing a degree in Geography before you can blink.