I like language and philosophy. I used to write a lot and want to get back into it again. So far, this has mainly been poetry, but I'm moving more towards play-writing and novels. First, though, I've promised young relatives a story about a flamingo and a bonobo monkey who pogo down the Limpopo.
I smoke more pot than I probably should, but over-compensate by bolstering the Oxbridge education and intimidating finance career with ongoing literary exploration, cryptic crosswords, compulsive exercise and a host of interesting neuroses.
There's also a strong likelihood I'm too cynical for my own good. I get bored by fluff and prefer to challenge my attention span by finding beauty in intricate and poignant details. I think sad people are far more engaging than happy ones.