I was born in Bradford, West Yorkshire, a city that is now totally unrecognizable from when I lived there. (If you want to know more about why that is, check out my blog ‘Angry Architecture.’) I went to a compact Church of England primary school, then on to Hanson Grammar School. Built in 1897 it looked more like a prison than a place of learning, but that’s what I loved about it. Even at a distance it smelt serious. And here's a phrase you don’t often hear - I received a terrific education! Yeah – it was great. Admittedly it wasn’t until many years later that I realised this, but that doesn’t alter the fact that I went to a good state school. I also realised a good education can really be useful when pursuing a career, something that you don’t really think about when you’re sixteen. It was ordered and disciplined, with caning frequently administered; I have to say, despite modern thinking, there were no apparent lasting effects, and if anything, it was literally a mark of rebellion, which could be achieved without much rebelling. The Headmaster, Mr Reginald Dawson, a tall man with a very limp handshake, wasn’t keen on me becoming an actor, and refused to give me a reference for drama school. Somehow, I managed to circumvent that little problem, can’t remember how, and off I went to The Rose Bruford College of Speech and Drama. The main building was a 17th century listed house surrounded by a 140-acre park, complete with a lake and regal swans. Naively I thought this was a place where I could be creative. The truth is if you have a creative soul, then you will be creative, wherever and whenever. After three years of floating around in theatrical cloaks, a lot of miming, breathing and wearing tights, my walking against a non-existent wind is still as pathetic now as it was then, I left to chance my arm in the big bad world. My first job was a Guinness TV commercial - what a start, paid to drink the Irish nectar. Soon after I joined the Q20 Theatre Company doing a mixture of adult dramas and kids theatre. The company was run and owned by the one-off John Lambert. Like a lot of life, you don’t understand it’s importance whilst living it, it’s only further down the road you start to piece together the significance of certain periods of time. John and Q20 were the springboard to my career. In my early twenties I found myself writing and directing – what an opportunity, something I’ll always be grateful for. There followed lots of theatre, mainly in rep, acting and occasionally directing, everything from Agatha Christie to Edward Albee. I also appeared in a few films of varying genres, from That’ll Be The Day to A Bridge Too Far and various TV shows from the talented hand of Stan Bairstow’s Cost of Loving to the wackiness off Beadles About. (If you’re interested there’s a more comprehensive list on my Wikipedia page.)

And all the time I was writing away, but mainly because I enjoyed doing it, I enjoyed making up stories and seeing them acted out. And it was as simple as that really. In those first tentative years in the ‘business’ it never crossed my mind that writing was a possible way of earning a living.

I’d written and directed various plays for various companies when I got my first paid writing gig – a pantomime. I received £70, which was about three times as much as I was being paid a week at the time. But I wasn’t doing it for the money, I was doing it because I enjoyed writing. What the money meant was that I was a ‘professional writer.’ Just loved that title.

My move into writing for TV wasn’t in any way planned. Like the rest of my career, it just happened that way. The more I worked in television as an actor, the more I wanted to write for it. So I did. Script after script after script, all of which came winging back ... until one day ... the breakthrough came – the BBC wanted a meeting about a series I’d written called Dog In The Dark.

Dog In The Dark was the worst thing that ever happened to me, but it was also the best thing that ever happened to me – A Tale of One Script. It was commissioned, I earned more than I’d ever earned I my life before, but it was never made. TV is littered with great projects that for various reasons, never make the screen. So just when I thought I had a foot in the room, the rug was pulled, and I was back out in the cold, or at least that’s how it felt. But that wasn’t quite that cut and dried. To be so close and have it snatched away from me hurt so bad, but I quickly realised it was a huge step in the right direction. And I’d learnt a couple of invaluable lessons. Firstly - never believe a project will happen until it actually appears out there, on the screen, or on the stage, or wherever. And secondly, when you suffer that type of body blow, and being a writer, you suffer them pretty regularly, sometimes every hour on the hour, when it happens just remember the famous Dorothy Fields song and – “Pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and start all over again.”

The main thing was the ball had started to roll. Because of Dog In The Dark, it was a good thriller by the way, I acquired a literary agent, the wonderful and very ‘old school’ Cecily Ware, who introduced me to radio plays and persuaded me to write on other people’s shows. Television commissions came unexpectedly quickly from EastEnders to The Bill, from Silent Witness to Waking the Dead, and even my own series Resort To Murder to Headless. (Again a more comprehensive list can be found on my Wikipedia page.)

I’ve lost count of the number of shows I’ve written on, and the number of episodes I’ve written for each of those shows. I was the first writer to write a hundred episodes of EastEnders, and I went on to direct, story consult, produce and develop numerous shows. I still love writing, with directing and producing being the icing on the cake. Writing has given me a life in which my wife, Jan, works alongside me. Our children Mat and Sally both followed us into TV and have very successful careers.

I continue to write TV dramas, movies, stage plays and musicals, internet shows and even TV commercials, and I’m working on my third novel, whilst proudly displaying a BAFTA in my kitchen cabinet and just loving the fact I’m an Honorary Doctor of Bradford University and a Fellow of The Rose Bruford College.

I’m often asked ... what’s the best moment in my career? The reply is quite simple – ‘It hasn’t happened yet!’