You can take the boy out of Byker...

I've been thinking a lot lately about growing up and the passing of time, I imagine this happens more frequently as you get older and your own mortality becomes ever more evident.

The other day I was picking up apples from the bottom of my garden and evaluating things. The more I thought about it the more I realised just how far I've come in the world, from humble beginnings on a council estate in the East end of Newcastle to my own home in the prosperous south. I can eat steak every night if I want to, I can go out when I want, have weekends away with the lads and generally have anything up to four holidays a year.

In short, I realised that I'm very comfortable and I became a little worried that this would affect my writing, I mean my books and stories are all about the mean streets and the scum who inhabit them not litterbugs in market towns playing quaint games called Aunt Sally .

This was still concerning me as I watched a small kitten gambolling on my lawn with it's mother.

I got the little bastard right on the head.