Martyn Pig

It’s hard to know where to start with this. I suppose I could tell you all about where I was born, what it was like when Mum was still around, what happened when I was a little kid, all that kind of stuff, but it’s not really relevant. Or maybe it is. I don’t know. Most of it I can’t remember, anyway. It’s all just bits and pieces of things, things that may or may not have happened – scraps of images, vague feelings, faded photographs of nameless people and forgotten places – that kind of thing.
Anyway, let’s get the name out of the way first.
Martyn Pig.
Martyn with a Y, Pig with an I and one G.
Martyn Pig.
Yeah, I know. Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t bother me any more.