It all began in my grandmother’s bungalow. I was 4 years old, and I found a windup gramophone in a darkened room. While my mother chatted to my grandmother Rosina, I worked out how to play the records and then came upon one song that I played over and over. My Happiness by Ella Fitzgerald. It was an angel singing. I later learned that she made that sound in a magical place called “America”.

When she died, we inherited that gramophone and her old upright piano. I loved that too and made up my very first tune on those keys. Thank you, Rose, for everything. You threw some seeds into fertile soil, but you can’t eat fertile soil. You need a seed.

The years that followed simply conspired to prevent me from being a songwriter, but I should have spotted it coming. I was an electrician, laboratory assistant, college student, teacher, social worker, recording studio engineer/producer, computer studies lecturer and finally a computer maintenance odd-bod.

But all through that time I had home studio bits and pieces. Also, a lot of failed relationships, which created tears that watered the seeds that Rose had thrown all those years ago.

I got married. We came to America and I discovered my real self. Took a long time. I’m now 79. A lot of time and space has crowded my emotions.

But it could be the best time.