Dad, the House is on Fire... Again: Childhood Adventures on the South Wales Coast

Like many, I was the youngest of three siblings; I lived in a small town; went to a comprehensive school; played with my mates; grew up in a two-parent family and had a pet dog. Nothing remarkable there. But I look back now and realise that somehow the dynamics of this very typical scenario morphed into an upbringing which led to adventures beyond the usual.

Mum and Dad had actively sought an opportunity for me and my brothers to grow up with discovery, risk and an astonishing level of freedom. Their own experiences through the swinging 1960s, a love of social and creative stimulation, the desire to let us learn our own lessons, the necessity to earn a living and a large dollop of naivety, created a sizeable parental blind spot - at least until things leapt out snarling in front of them.

The 1970s and 1980s were also very different times to now and it is hard to fully appreciate the relatively unfettered childhood any child had with no phones in their pockets providing a leash, a safety net, hours of entertainment, and a number of variable answers to anything you may be curious about.

My points of reference were my two older brothers, who managed to expose me to a wealth of early learning - I was way ahead of the curve when it came to drinking, smoking, drugs, motorbikes and both sides of the law. Our newly adopted home on the South Wales coast, in a large, dilapidated house, added further opportunities for more unconventional creative and outdoor pursuits involving cliffs, wildlife, fire, engines, ropes, rockets and rather too many blue lights.

I've asked myself a lot why I wrote this book. I've asked myself what it's about and who it is for. Maybe the memories of my first ten years in Wales nod to a generation and a culture that's moved on. Maybe it's a thank you to my parents. Perhaps it's an acknowledgement of what shaped me. Either way, penning them down felt instinctively right.