Vikki
The author was born during a minor power outage in a quiet English suburb, which may explain his lifelong suspicion of lightbulbs and organized systems. A child of mild chaos and lukewarm tea, he grew up asking far too many questions, most of whic began with "Why is that sandwich wearing a hat?"
He holds no official degrees in philosophy, psychology, or kettle diplomacy, but has spent countless hours observing pigeons and contemplating the tragic elegance of forgotten biscuits.
Before writing this book, the author tried a number of careers, including but not limited to:
He currently lives in a flat full of books, mildly judgmental furniture, and one haunted colander. He enjoys strong tea, mild confusion, and long walks to places he didn't mean to go.
This is his first book. Unless you count that manifesto he once wrote at 2 a.m. about socks never having a consistent partner. (It was ahead of its time.)
If you see him in public, feel free to wave - but don't ask for directions. He's still figuring out where he's going, and honestly, that's half the fun.
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