People's Lives Are In The Care Of

I Was Cleaning Out The Pigsty At A Farm In Wales, Where My Mother Had Rented A Room, When The Results Of My Final School Exam Were Handed To Me By The Postman, Along With The News That I Had A State Scholarship To Oxford. I Had Waited For This Letter For So Many Weeks That I Had Abandoned Hope, Deciding That I Had Failed Ignominiously.

I Was Born In A Small Suburb Of Ilford In A Rather Nasty Housing Estate That My Mother Despised. She Had Grown Up In The Country, So When The War Came And I Was Evacuated To Wales She Thought I Was Much Better Off There.

But I Don't Write About Sex For Today's Teenagers. Or Doc Martens Boots Either. I'm More Interested In Exploring How Exactly The World Is Run, Which Doesn't Really Change That Much From One Generation To Another.

A Writer's Work May Be A Coded Autobiography, But Only A Very Close Friend Could Decipher It.

If You Are Going To Make Companies, Corporations, Actually Responsible For The Safety Of Other People's Lives, Then If They Fail In Their Duty, The Only Thing To Prevent Them Failing In Their Duty Is The Fear That They Would Be Put Behind Bars.