Yes, this is a real personal website in the Year of Our Lord whenever-you’re-reading-this, built with the same reckless optimism that once gave us dancing baby GIFs and a hit counter that never seemed to move. There is no under-construction cartoon man with a shovel, but only because I couldn’t find one who looked sufficiently forensic.
A little about me: I’ve spent an unhealthy amount of my professional life working in forensics with a focus on violent sex crimes. It taught me many useful things, including how to describe horrific events in calm, clinical language and why one should never volunteer one’s occupation during the appetiser course. It also taught me the value of privacy. I have spent two decades cultivating an internet presence so blank it borders on suspicious. No Instagram. No LinkedIn humble-brags. No mysterious account that’s definitely not me liking things at 2 am. If you’ve ever wondered what someone looks like who has Googled themselves purely to make sure nothing comes up—hi, it’s me.
So why break cover now? I wrote a novel and, according to everyone whose job it is to tell me these things, that means I need a “web presence.” Consider this site the minimum viable version of that presence: book details, the occasional update, and absolutely nothing about where I go on holiday, what I had for breakfast, or which gym I definitely do not go to on Tuesdays.
If you’re here for the book, welcome—I hope you like it. If you’re here hoping to learn something personal about me, I regret to inform you that you will leave this page knowing almost exactly as much as when you arrived.
Either way, enjoy your stay.
There isn’t really a guestbook.
If you drop by again, though, I’ll do my best to have found something worth writing about.
Mind the dancing baby.