There is no arrogance about the man. To look at him you see a trendy little fucker with tattoo’s everywhere. But to know him is to know a kind-hearted guy, with humility in par with the plethora of ink on his body.

I learned at that early stage it was called a ‘manuscript’. Writing it was brutal. Raw. Diving to depths of pain that had been strenuously avoided for so many years. I cried writing parts of it. I fucking wailed to be honest. Yet it was cathartic.

“Write a book. Write a book. Write a book”. So I went home and sat at my PC desk. I started to type. It was my story coming out. As terrifying as it was, I knew there was only one place the story could start. Chapter One. Groomed.