I remember some of the usual stuff of early childhood: playground games, hating history lessons, dealing with the resident bully, and end of term, pre-Christmas excitement. Whenever I listen to that infernal Slade record, it takes me back to those joyful moments.

I remember being in the 'yellow' sports team, which gave you zero credibility. Red was best, closely followed by green and then blue. I was the last one to be chosen at the dreaded line up, if anyone wanted to win at football or cricket. I recall lying on the nice grass field in the summer, gazing up at a cloudless blue sky. That was what interested me, although my team probably wanted me running around catching cricket balls. A few years later at my Comprehensive school, I caught the 'soft ball' which was the name of the game we were playing. It wasn't soft at all but just about solid, and it smashed the end of a finger on my right hand. It swelled up, bled profusely and turned purple and black. I needed antibiotics and the nail was - I later realised - permanently disfigured. Ever since then, it has a kind of ripple effect and a thin layer that sometimes pulls away. It's not ugly at all, but you can see it if I point it out.

I remember a boy throwing a tennis ball and it hitting my right eye full on. But the climax was another boy - who eventually came close to being a professional footballer - kick a ball so hard that it broke my right wrist. I was not attended to straight away even though I was in agony, and managed to undertake a test while supporting my wrist with the other hand. It was to evaluate me for the impending transfer to the Comprehensive.

I recall the great pleasure of creating Christmas snowmen etc. with cotton wool, paint and card. And a book, which I enjoyed so intensely I memorised the name and title: The League of The Purple Dagger, by Jack Plant. Maybe I'll do an Internet search for it one day, and see if I can track it down. And now I think about it, I also remember one of my very earliest literary delights at infant school: a story about pirates, concerning the exploits of Roderick the Red and Gregory the Green. They were related to precious jewels in some way: a ruby for Rod, and an emerald for Greg. Harry Potter, eat your heart out.

I was supposed to be 'good at art', so if we needed a nice display for the wall I was the one to be asked. My rendering of the prehistoric trilobite was a good example. I was once inspired by a teacher trainee's activities and wrote a story based around John Buchan's The Thirty-Nine Steps. It kept growing and growing as I realised you could spin a story out almost indefinitely if you wanted to.

My mother used to meet me at the school gates and apparently I greeted her, during one phase, with an affectionate kick in the shins. She said it was because I was so frustrated at school, that I wanted to be doing things reserved for the classes a year or two above me.

One of my teachers died of a heart attack. I was absent from school at the time - I often was, with various aliments that were headache and sore throat related. Some of this is recorded in my old diaries, and it's amazing to see how sickly I was. Anyway, I was happily working on a 'tile collage'. It must have been my Dad's idea - bash up some coloured bathroom tiles and cement them onto a piece of wood to make something attractive. I chose to portray a boat - a piece of bark - with blue and white tiles for water, sky and sails respectively. I still have that piece of work. My sister's words were "I hear Turton's kicked the bucket". I did not know what that meant and when she explained it, it was like a physical shock. Part of me quite liked him even though he was a brute, famous for his particular brand of discipline known as 'the slipper'. Only administered to the boys (the girls were always referred to as 'Miss' Jenkins or 'Miss Pearson'), we used to discuss whether it was best to curl your fingers inward to protect your palm from the horrendous sting. The general consensus was no it was not, because the slipper then impacted on the bones in your fingers, which was a worse pain than merely slapping the skin. But we agreed it was very difficult not to try and protect your hand - or even both hands, if Turton was angry enough and/or you had been sufficiently unruly in his eyes.

Apart from his infamous slipper (which was actually a large plimsoll), I knew him for one of his frequent remarks which was "Lomax - in the corner", where I duly went, often facing the wall, for some kind of misdemeanour. I don't think I was particularly rebellious or mischievous; I suspect it was that I had a strong spirit. Turton said once that I would become a shop steward - which I never understood, and never became.

Mr Turton was the second year. Before him there was Mrs Drury, who demanded that we stand up when she entered the room. Naturally, we sang "Stand up! Stand up for Drury" at morning assembly, when the song was supposed to refer to Jesus. Third year was Mrs Farmer, who became quite friendly with my Dad - not in that way - although I think we teased him about it. My Dad used to deliver my brother and I to the school gates in the morning, and transport us home for lunch. Carol Farmer walked a similar route, and he often gave her a lift. She was newly qualified, and lived in a small flat, and told us she once attended Top of the Pops.

Mrs Farmer's class was '3F', and she used to take us swimming. It was a heavily chlorinated pool and my eyes were always extremely sore. On one occasion I had forgotten my trunks and was forced to wear a girls swimsuit. Rolled down, disguised as best I could and staying in the water as much as possible, it was nonetheless a mortifying experience. It's amazing that the teachers were so insensitive; probably I was just seen as trying to avoid swimming.

One of my partners-in-crime was 'Peter Varley'. Notorious for his love of baked beans and the inevitable results, he got a group of us into trouble once, when we rightly complained - albeit loudly - about his latest contribution. Our protests were interpreted as misbehaviour and we were punished by learning a poem - which was an art we hated. "If I had a ship I'd sail that ship, I'd sail that ship down the ocean blue. Down to the beach where the waves curl over, the blue rolls over and the white rolls under, boom, boom, boom". The rest of it - thankfully - eludes me. Scattered memories then, which are distant but strangely intimate.

After Downsview Junior School I graduated to Swanley Comprehensive. My parents wanted me to consider grammar school, but my mind was made up after I had seen the flaring Bunsen burners in the chemistry labs. That was where I wanted to be. Probably a mistake, but it seemed logical at the time.

Comprehensive was where things started to get more grim. Some of the clientele were decidedly rough, and we all began to sense that impending examinations were quite serious; they were going to affect your life. And we had to make curriculum decisions - photography, chemistry, or integrated science? I chose photography, encouraged by the previously mentioned sister as something fun and interesting to balance the other subjects, and also physics, chemistry, French and art. The others were decided for us - English, maths etc.

I worked assiduously in the first few years, and decided to become rebellious only during the last year, when the all-important examinations were very close. I did not want to do any revision, and did not, but managed to do well anyway. Sixth form 'A' levels were another matter, and it was frequently an effort to keep up. My first English essay was returned covered in red ink; I was horrified and perplexed when she said it was very good, but I had to refine my approach. It was partly a teaching strategy - she did not want to demoralise me too much - and partly an acknowledgement of my writing ability: something like "beautifully written". It was a personal and non-critical response to an HG Wells story. Over the next two years I did learn to understand what critical writing was, and obtained an A grade and was the only person that year to enter and pass the English 'S' level. I wanted to do chemistry 'A' level; I enjoyed learning about the periodic table and the different models that gave you a new understanding of the world. However, I was advised that it would not go well with my other subjects, English and Sociology. They were viewing me as university material - correctly - and thought that it was an odd combination that would not benefit me. I disagreed, and would probably still disagree now. My subsequent studies took me firmly into arts subjects, but chemistry can be very elegant.

Anyway, it was not allowed. I did art for a few months but decided it was not for me and dropped it; I tried first history and then economics and dropped both. I got an 'A' grade at sociology, and those results got me into Lancaster University. My father was delighted. He said I could have gone to Oxford or Cambridge. Possibly; although I may have needed to do so via the entrance exam, which, I had decided, was not for me. I did not understand class and politics and did not appreciate the advantages of Oxbridge. Yet I was aware of the status it had, and did not like its elitism.

On to Lancaster and the thread becomes relevant to the way I now describe myself and certainly, the degrees you take are significant landmarks in your life. I went to Lancaster for the Independent Studies department. I was not concerned with or even aware of issues like 'reputation', but IS did and still does have a very good one, and justifiably so. It allowed me to structure and design the kind of degree I wanted, in subjects of my choosing. My supervisor was in the Religious Studies department because he had some knowledge of different psychological systems, but apart from that my work revolved around literary study. I did not like the way English normally requires you to respond in traditional ways, according to established criteria. I wanted to respond more freely, with a strong psychological component. I studied Freud, Jung, Maslow, Fritz Perls etc. and considered how their ideas provided a critical framework by which to evaluate literature. I specialised in Dickens and Shakespeare, spent hours roaming the critical theory section of the library, and enjoyed investigating the psychology and symbolism of literary practice.

I remember glorious sunsets over distant Morecambe bay, viewed from the university library. I used to cycle everywhere throughout the year, in sun, snow, rain and fog. I negotiated the perils and the fun of independence and big questions like having somewhere to live, how to cook, and what I wanted to do when I graduated.

My degree did not give me any clear direction - although I later resumed English studies when I did a PGCE - and I was in any case more interested in 'alternative' subjects. I had been practising karate, kung fu, tai chi, yoga and meditation, and these were my real passions. When I discovered the Alexander Technique, I felt it was something that fit the same general category - holistic and alternative - which had realistic career possibilities. Shortly after graduating, I moved to London to start on the three year Alexander Technique training. After a few months I visited another teacher in Brighton and was so amazed with his skill I decided it was he I wanted to train with - and duly moved down to the sea to do so.

Patrick Macdonald was extraordinary. He was one of the few remaining people trained by FM Alexander, who reputedly admired Macdonald and regarded him as his best pupil. It is difficult - impossible, in fact, to convey exactly what the AT is because it is essentially a kinaesthetic experience that allows you to think and feel differently. I spent four years in lovely Sussex, qualifying and beginning my teaching career. The AT is not - contrary to popular opinion - a therapy. It is an educational method that requires you take responsibility for yourself. As a teacher trainee, you learn to understand this yourself and then impart it to others. Unfortunately, most pupils do not understand or even want this, and think it is your job to 'fix' them. Additionally, in essence the AT is not even about physical re-alignment but an interior process that parallels the experiences of academic Eugen Herrigel learning, documented in his book, Zen and the Art of Archery. In my years of teaching, only one or two pupils ever appreciated this.

I became disillusioned with the lifestyle of an AT teacher, and then discovered the Internet. Suddenly I was interested in computers and sought out what training I could find in HTML, graphics, and digital wizardry. This culminated in the MA in Creative Technology at Salford University, and the cognitive landscape phase that is mostly documented on my site.

I like the image and concept of 'recumbent gaze'. I often read lying down, and I researched the psychology of the gaze in relation to art on my MA.

When I was studying English alongside Sociology, I could feel that they were engaging different parts of my cognitive and perceptual process. After hours reading Shakespeare or TS Eliot, Durkheim, Marx or Althusser refreshed me - and vice versa. I do not believe we can use brain geography to fully account for these things, but the model of left and right hemispheres is at least a convenient analogy. English is right brain, and Sociology is left brain. One engages affective and qualitative response, and the other stimulates more rational and objective - if relative - thinking.

My inclinations are interdisciplinary and holistic. This web site, for example, requires me to tweak a bit of code and write and design its content. It engages the creative and intuitive part of me, together with the scientific. It is one reason why I enjoy this kind of work. The other reason is the extraordinary potential of the Internet as a communication medium. I researched it extensively, on my MA. I think people sometimes get lost and produce work that is vacuous and silly, based on conceptually weak themes revolving around the idea of technology and 'digital art'.

But this does not discourage me, because there remain thousands of people contributing interesting and meaningful content. At the moment, I am particularly interested in literary material with accompanying graphics. I find it an effective and successful way to use the Internet.