As a child I would sit and play out vast Medieval battles in my mind, making all the accompanying clanking, screaming and shouting noises with my mouth.

“Stop making that bloody mouth music,” my dad would shout, frustratedly doing the company accounts in a pair of moccasins.

“If you’ve got so much in your head, why don’t you just write it down?” he suggested.

And so an author, of sorts, was born.

I remember the day I learned to write my own name, I wrote it so many times my bedroom floor was littered with pieces of paper bearing Giles Brown. Later I learned more words. This website has a few of them, strung together for your pleasure, disgust, amusement or interest.