And I did have dreams, big dreams. I was going places. Plymouth College of Art. To qualify. To spill my blood, sweat and tears and finally claim my birthright, a forgotten entry in the unwritten annals of a City & Guilds Signwriters course. But by 1988, the world of sign painting was about to change forever. And I was ready.

Life was slower in those days. But then we were stoned on fumes most of the time. We were sign artists, a rare exotic breed, often feared, never revered. Outcasts, sitting on the rim of the world, spinning it faster.
But there was no romance, however skilled the work. A sign took as long as it took. It took drive, ambition and unpaid bills to sit in an icy garage, double-coating a red van with white lettering by hand. But I wanted the high life…

Vinyl lettering.
And I got it.

Someone hit the alarms and we came out of the bank running, took off in a cloud of burning rubber and, as luck would have it, one week later I invested in a vinyl cutting machine along with a computer equipped with a 40MB HD and a single meg RAM. At not a penny less than £8,000 in used notes, this was about the same price as a house — but who needs a house?
I was young, I was free, I was reaching for the stars. I had a MAC.

Dreams do come true.
Today I'm sitting in an icy garage, rubbing my bent and rheumy knees, but I'm still sticking vinyl lettering on another client's van. Living that dream of the 14 year old, scruffy school kid.