It's amazing the difference a teacher can make to your life. At primary school, Leigh North Street, I was bumped up a year because of overcrowding in my age cohort and ended up in the odd position of having passed the 11+ test at ten but unable to make the move to secondary school until I was eleven. My final class teacher, John Batten, encouraged me to plunder the school library, sometimes reading several books in a week, and gave free rein to my imagination as I filled my exercise books with stories. More than anyone else, Mr Batten is the reason I became a writer.

If Mr Batten lit a creative spark in me, Ormskirk Grammar School seemed determined to snuff it out, along with any other demonstration of creativity, imagination or independent thought. Failing my exams as - with the exception of a few of the teachers - the school failed me, I got out as soon as I could and talked my way into a dogsbody job on a music magazine, where the rewards for unsocial hours, terrible pay and a foul-mouthed boss included tickets to gigs, an weekly armload of free records and the opportunity to see my name in print.

Fast forward a few years and I'm writing about the fashion business - with the emphasis firmly on the business side; I still have no interest in fashion - and going to catwalk shows, being taken on factory tours and interviewing the likes of cutting-edge designer, Katharine Hamnett, one day and pillar of the establishment, Monty Moss the next.

After that, it was off to what journalists call The Dark Side - corporate PR - where my most satisfactory achievements were successfully translating the bilge produced by people far cleverer and better-paid than me into language that journalists and other normal people could understand.

Despite operating in the buttoned-up world of finance, I had some entertaining experiences: taking a day trip to Toronto to obtain the final signature needed to secure a multi-million pound deal; being taken out for a stroll on the pitch at Old Trafford by Sir Alex Ferguson ten minutes before the start of Manchester United’s first home game of the season; or going on the BBC to talk about financial planning only to be asked about washing machines by a presenter who had mixed up her briefing notes.

That kept me gainfully employed until one chilly morning when, on my way into the office, I learned the very painful way that vans and bicycles don't always play together nicely. A stay in hospital, some surgery and some physiotherapy, plus several months on crutches followed, at which point I realised my life needed to be re-focused a little.

Since then, I've been a bit of a hired pen and occasionally parachuted into ailing PR departments to provide some extra muscle, while spending as much time as possible writing for enjoyment. Some of the results are here and I hope you enjoy them too.

What do I do when I'm not writing? I still love cycling, mainly solo touring (UK, Europe, USA) and long-distance events (I've completed the 1200km Paris-Brest-Paris three times and the 1400km London-Edinburgh-London twice). I claim to play the guitar (my family may disagree) and, of course, my idea of a perfect afternoon or evening is a comfortable chair and a good book.