As most of you already know, I was born in a little town outside of Manchester called Wigan. The place is actually listed as a poverty area. It’s pretty easy to see why as well. Back at the tender age of twelve, my Mother would want to know everything about my friends such as stuff like, where they lived, what their parents did and just how good their standard of living was. You might think that’s snobby and elitist, but that’s my Mum for you. She never has made a secret of the fact she’s thinks she’s upper class. Of course, she’s not really...

She’s just a good parent.

Thankfully, I lived in one of more ‘up market’ areas of Wigan that was relatively safe from the scummy outskirts of the town. Now, I’m not saying that we lived like Kings and chortled every night away with a bottle of champagne – but we certainly weren’t short of cash. That was down to my Father.

David Champion. That’s where I get my middle name from.

I could tell you stories about my Father’s success in business all day. They’re etched into my memory, mainly because he took great pride in the way he’d worked his way to the top. He came from a relatively poor background… and his success filled him with a sense of achievement.

“In five years I’ve gone from being a lowly electronics engineer to being the managing director in one of the country’s top electronics firms,” he’d say to me, whilst sipping a can of Castlemaine XXXX. “If you work hard, pass University and get your degree – it won’t take you five years to get to my level.”

Being the longhaired 19 year old drunkard that I was, my attention was usually only caught by promises of alcohol. If my Dad hadn’t blurted out declaratives like that every minute of the day, then the chances are that they’d have been forgotten long ago. The fact that I can still recall every word should tell you just how much he liked to talk about his achievements.

My arrogant streak comes from his side of the family.

I’ve got a lot to thank my parents for, which is why I feel bad about not calling them recently, but, of course, as a kid, you never really appreciate them as much as you should. In between them showering me with presents and taking me on bike rides, I’d act like the spoiled brat that you see stereotyped in so many of these kiddie films. You know the one. I’d stomp around the house, throwing action man figures against the wall, pulling my face every few seconds and generally disregard any of the manners that I’d been brought up with.

Back then, I certainly was a handful. Despite being such a pain in the ass, my parents never lost faith in my intelligence. They knew I was a bright kid – but when you’re the biggest in your class and possess a mean streak, more often than not I was stealing dinner money from other kids rather than studying. I was a bully. It’s not something I’m particularly proud of – this is my life story though and I can’t change it.

Still, regardless of what my behaviour was like, my parents were always more concerned with my work. Even if they’d been called into school due to my tendency to misbehave… we’d go straight home and not mention it again. On the other hand, studying was everything. They were so keen to push me to grow into my father’s mould. They wanted another managing director in the family. Sometimes I couldn’t turn around in the house without seeing my parents standing over me, shaking their heads and having that “why aren’t you doing your homework?” look on their faces.

It was bullshit. And it’s what stopped me from being the man that they wanted me to be. The expectancy weighed me down and, over time, caused me to hate a career path that they’d seemingly pushed me down.

I was my own person back then. I’m still my own person now. Now though, I feel it's time to be the man that I’ve always threatened to be. With or without this veil of expectancy hanging over my head, I’ll battle on.

But I don’t know exactly where I’m battling to…