Where It All Began

I was born in Edinburgh in 1968 to a hard-working family—solid morals, a few quirks, and just the right amount of comedic sibling chaos to provide plenty of material for this blog. Some of it might make the cut. Or none of it. We’ll see.

I’m the youngest of four. By a long way. I’ve always joked that I was the result of a TV blackout in the '60s. Seriously—who even knew there were TV blackouts? In today’s ultra-instant world of immediate gratification, it’s hard to imagine a time when the little black box (which, back then, had only three grainy B&W channels) would just... switch off, forcing people to find alternative entertainment. Mind-blowing.

I have what you might call interesting relationships with my siblings. Not unusual in the grand scheme of "family," though. That old saying—"You can choose your mates, but you cannae choose your family"—never rang truer.

My mum and dad? Ordinary folk by demographic standards. Probably what you’d call a textbook “Average Joe” family for the time—good people, sociable, neighbours they got along with, plenty of extended family on both sides.

Clermiston Days

I grew up in Clermiston, Edinburgh (Clerrie, Clerrie Jungle 🤘🏻). The Clermiston estate, built in 1954, was part of a massive post-war house-building push to tackle overcrowding in Leith and Gorgie. Today, it’s home to over 20,000 people, bordering Drumbrae, Clerwood, and Corstorphine.

Mum and Dad moved into their “cooncil hoose” in the early '60s (I think). That means Mum has been there for over 60 years now. My three older siblings were already around before they moved in, so when I arrived, I was... well, unexpected. Apparently, one of my siblings wasn’t too thrilled about the new arrival, thinking I’d "stolen the limelight." There’s even a family story involving a pillow and a mysterious attempt to restore the family to three children. To this day, I’m still not 100% sure whether that tale is just a bit of sibling banter... or whether there’s a grain of truth to it. All because I had the bluest eyes.

Looking back, my childhood was unremarkable, yet filled with the usual mix of victories, defeats, adventures, and misadventures. Moments of glee, sadness, fear, courage—all rolled into one. I could list endless stories about friends, foes, triumphs over trees, walks, and bees... and a fair share of woe involving trees, rocks, and knees.

School Days: Clermiston Primary

I went to Clermiston Primary, a solid 6-7 minute walk from home. In a sprint, you could do it in three to four. I can think of at least a dozen different routes to school—each with its own advantage, risk, or specific reason for taking it.

A few things defined Clerrie Primary life (from my perspective):

• Mischief. Lots of it.

• Climbing on roofs—of anything and everything—was basically mandatory.

• Being a Jannie’s Helper was a rite of passage. The main perk? Access to the boiler room in winter.

• Bullying was real. Peer pressure could be cruel. I was both a recipient and, regrettably, a perpetrator.

• Morning milk. Ice-cold in winter, disgusting in summer. Margaret Thatcher, the Milk-Snatcher put an end to that.

• Games—Hidey, British Bulldogs, Tig, marbles, and a million different variations of football.

• Football card collecting. Early lessons in commerce—swapping doublers to complete sets.

• Scraps and fights. I wasn’t involved in many, but when I was, I mostly came second.

• Getting the belt (capital punishment!) for fighting. The guy I fought? Still a distant social media friend today.

• Sports day and inter-scholastics. Huge for bragging rights.

• Playing for the school football team. Nothing bigger than wearing that jersey and getting an afternoon off school to play in front of a "crowd" of 20-30 parents and kids peering out of class windows.

We finished runners-up in the Leith Schools Cup, losing 1-3 to Granton, despite having leathered them 6-2 earlier in the season. That team had one kid who later played professionally and even represented Scotland at U19 level.

Royal High School – The Not-So-Glorious Years

I moved on to Royal High School—a slightly longer (10-minute) walk with far fewer route choices, unless mischief or a girl was involved.

Royal High had four feeder schools: Clerrie, Cramond, Silverknowes, and Davidson’s Mains. Suffice to say, academically, it wasn’t a success for me. I scraped a few O-levels and checked out at the first opportunity. In hindsight? One of my biggest regrets.

Royal High Memories (in no particular order):

• Detention, exclusion, dailies, corridor time.

• First crushes, first kisses, first fags.

• A strong mischief streak.

• Theatre Arts in S4. I probably wiggled my way in wanting to "express myself" (whatever that meant).

• The infamous missed croissants in French.

• Missing a school trip to Ben-Hur. My fault.

• Wedgies, stink bombs, and practical jokes. Some brilliant, some stupid.

I wasn’t unhappy, but I definitely gravitated to the mischief-makers rather than the scholars. Most teachers wouldn’t remember me—just another pupil on the bell curve of mediocrity.

Sports at RHS

• Rugby—Played for the 1st team in S1, captained the 2nd team in S2 & S3, and made a few 1st team appearances in S4 before losing interest.

• Football—Played briefly. Frowned upon at RHS.

• Cricket—Played wickie with zero idea what I was doing.

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Fast Forward: Career & Life

I left school early, dabbled in retail fashion, and eventually trained as an electrician, completing a four-year apprenticeship at one of Edinburgh’s biggest employers. That led to a career in electronics, then sales, then sales management. Some wins, some failures, some absolute clusterfucks.

I moved to Australia in 2000 and built a strong career, running $250M businesses with 200+ staff. I’ve succeeded, failed, nearly gone bankrupt, and been at the top of my game.

And now? I have cancer.

I work with the best colleagues in a boutique tech firm at the top of its game. I’m having fun, learning, laughing, and helping clients achieve their goals.

What I Love

• Kerry ❤️

• Carter & Miles ❤️ (Even though they can be wee shites sometimes)

• Eating out.

• Cocktails.

• Football (soccer).

• Holidays.

• Movies.

• Live music & gigs.

• My new scooter, Rudi.

And just for the record, I hate the Hibs. (They make me spew up.) But I’ve got plenty of Hibs-supporting pals I quite like. Go figure.