I was born in London. I don’t remember it. My mother is from Accrington. My father is from Bromley. I grew up in Cullompton. I remember the light and the colour, the greens and the browns, the fields and the cows, the M5 and the cricket club, the cider and the hash. It is all still there, largely unchanged, slighty bigger. If you cut the earth in Devon it bleeds a deep red clay.

I once lived on my own in a five bedroom Georgian townhouse in Ravenscourt Park. When everyone else had gone the landlord forgot I was there. Wysteria grew into the windows at the front. There were mice in the kitchen. The lounge was flooded with an English wash of light as it gently lent towards the road. The television glowed pink. Whilst I was at my grandmother’s funeral I was burgled. They took a Technics stereo, a Canon Super-8 camera and a black waterproof Helly Hansen jacket.

— Wonford St.James