I left school at 17 in 1997. College wasn’t for me, I was deep into martial arts and needed money to fund trips to competitions around the world. So I went straight into work. My first job was at a local printing shop, screen printing on textiles. I stuck at it, learned the ropes, and after nearly three years I felt ready to move into the art department. I’d been promised a chance. I’d grown up with a darkroom at home, I was good with computers, and I thought I was a natural fit.
But when the position came up, the boss hired someone else without even asking me. His excuse? They “just needed someone right now.” I was frustrated and felt let down.
Around the same time, a friend of mine got onto a six-month desktop publishing course. It wasn’t glamorous, full-time, barely paid, and I had to work evenings and weekends as a security guard to survive, but it was my way forward. I was exhausted, but I finished it.
At the end, I needed a proper job. So I did things the old-school way, I dug out the Yellow Pages, listed every design and print shop I could reach by foot, bus, or bike. Then I sat at my home computer, printed 50 CVs and 50 personalised cover letters, hand-signed every one, hand-wrote every envelope, bought the stamps, and sent the lot.
It worked. I got several offers almost straight away. I started in one art department, making plates, screens, banners, signs. After a couple of months I got a call from another company offering me an apprenticeship. At 21 I thought I was too old for that sort of thing, so I turned it down. But then I thought when am I going to get another chance to be trained properly and get a trade under my belt?
So I rang them back, took the apprenticeship, and that’s where it all began. The rest, as they say, is history.
The worst mistake of my life.