
Jody Barton was begat of woman in the County of Kent in the year of our Queen 1972. After being a baby for ages and then inevitably a child after that he finally inhabited his adult form. Not a virgin having had sex with a lady, or without a car having a 1985 1000cc Peugeot shopping vehicle with three massive dents, he is an eligible bachelor who would like to be married to a beautiful intellectual lady who is not too short probably. He is a terrible skateboarder. Fortunately the forces of youth apparel have not discovered this fact so have in recent years asked Jody to weave his works into the hooded topped tapestry. The world screams - and Jody feels its pain and cries out mournfully in a terrible chord of Teen Angst. After a period living in Shitsville (London) he now lives in quiet seclusion with his elaborate bicycles in the deep countryside of the County of Suffolk. His dwelling is so remote that there are no roads out at all. No shops, no lights - only the howl of the owl, the inquisitive friendship of the weasel and the mud. It is possible to travel out to civilisation, but Jody must drag himself bodily across lakes of slippery mud, through thorny hedges and penetrate leagues of impenetratable woodland to reach a road. At which point he would be quite torn to threads and having the appearance of primitive man in the natural history museum. This takes so long that leaving the house clean shaven to travel to London he will arrive with a quite long beard and no memory of the journeys beginning.