This, is my story...

I am 42 years old now, and the funny thing about memory is how it filters the past. I’m certain there were many fleeting moments where magic crossed my path early on, but only a few vivid snapshots remain.

I vaguely remember my dad showing me a trick with coins and a little brass circular box—stacking the coins, covering them, and making them disappear and reappear. And I’ll never forget a family trip to the zoo, watching an elephant eat a whole orange, only to eventually pass it out its back end completely intact. My dad, without missing a beat, pointed at it and laughed, "I bet Paul Daniels couldn’t even do that trick!" But my own hands-on journey really started in a bargain bin.

The Seed and the Silence

I was eight or nine years old, growing up on a council estate in Bracknell, Berkshire. I remember wandering into a local shop and finding a basket full of one-trick magic sets marked down to a couple of pounds. I bought a few to learn, picking up some extras for my younger cousins. The very first trick I remember performing was a centre tear to read someone’s mind. The framing was totally wrong, but for a nine-year-old? Not bad.

Then, as quickly as it started, the interest faded. I traded the cards for piano keys. Throughout secondary school, magic barely crossed my mind. (That early love of piano would circle back years later, when I started blending live piano pieces into my shows as cinematic finales.)

The only exception was the summer before I started secondary school—a time etched in my brain because it was the summer of my first crush on a girl. We were on a family holiday in Majorca. I remember sitting in the hotel lobby with my sisters, passing the time with a game of snap. Eventually, I found myself sitting quietly on my own, wrestling with that deck, trying—and completely failing—to figure out how to perform a colour change. It’s a profound memory because it was the first time I actively tried to deconstruct a piece of magic.

When I finally put those cards down in that Majorca hotel, I wouldn't think about magic again for ten years.

The Empty Flat

Fast forward to 2005. I was in my early twenties, and my world had just fractured. I had split up with a girlfriend, and I came home from work to the flat we had rented together to find almost everything gone. She had left me alone with my sofa, my TV, and my PC.

While rummaging through a drawer, I found a deck of cards I had completely forgotten about. I grabbed them, completely unaware that doing so would trigger a chain reaction that would dictate the next two decades of my life.

I was sitting alone in that empty apartment, watching Channel 4. A rerun of David Blaine’s Street Magic special was playing. Suddenly, I saw it: a card changed right in front of the camera in a flash. (I would later learn this was the Snap Change). I grabbed the cards that were strangely sitting right next to me—as if the universe knew I needed a lifeline—and tried to figure out what I had just seen.

I couldn’t. My brain didn’t work in the "magician's way" yet. So, I did what every guy in his twenties did in 2005: I went to Limewire. Braving the inevitable computer viruses, I searched "how to do street magic." One name kept coming up: Ellusionist.

I downloaded Ninja 1 & 2 and saw the exact move Blaine had done. I spent months in that quiet flat obsessively learning the Snap Change, practicing over and over while slowly absorbing other routines. For years, I was just a solitary guy in a room, quietly learning how to handle a deck of cards.

Stepping Out of the Shadows

In 2008, I finally stepped into the real magic world. I made a pilgrimage to Davenports in London, buying my first professional gear: a Ghost Deck, a Ghost Gaff Deck, and a Raven. That same day, I went to Waterstones, bought a book on The Magic Circle, and visited the Circle itself as a paying muggle. I watched a show in the theatre and had my book signed by the legendary Ali Bongo. It remains one of my most prized possessions.

Shortly after, I moved to Bath with a girlfriend, and the obsession took over. While working at a pub, I serendipitously met Noel Britten and JJ. Over the course of a year, these legends generously donated their time to mentor me, refining my messy sleights.

The West Country scene was electric. I met Gazzo, the legendary street performer who showed me raw power. I admired local talent like Billy Kidd, and down the road in Bristol, Illusions Magic Bar became my proving ground. Suddenly, I was surrounded by a community of incredible people: Kieron Johnson, Mark Bennett, Rich Newman, Jezza Screen, and Daniel Chard. I even got the chance to perform behind the bar there, refining my skills under real-world pressure.

Then came my first gig: jumping in at the deep end at the newly opened Komedia in Bath. I was terrified. I stuck to card magic because it was my safety blanket. The close-up was great, but the stage? I wasn't ready. Still, you have to jump when the edge appears. From 2008 to 2010, I grinded it out in local bars and restaurants, performing for little to no money, just building the flight time I needed. Twenty years on, that grind has taken me all over the UK and beyond.

Hollywood, Heroes, and Behind the Lens

In 2014, my life exploded in the best way possible. I got married, and my first son was born. Pieces were falling into place.

I had been posting magic videos on YouTube for a while, and suddenly, the phone rang. It was Keith Barry. He invited me to the UK set of Now You See Me 2 to teach magic and cardistry to the cast, and to work as the hand double for Dave Franco. The hands that couldn't figure out a colour change in Majorca were now flicking cards on the silver screen—my sleight of hand featured prominently in the film. Magic and cardistry consultant on a Hollywood blockbuster. Surreal doesn’t even cover it.

The following year, 2015, I wanted to bring the community together. I worked at a pub in Hampshire called The Dog and Partridge, and I used Facebook to arrange a one-day, unconventional magic convention. I invited people I was sure would ignore me. But they didn't.

Lloyd Barnes, Wayne Dobson, Gary Jones, Paul Gordon, Ben Williams, John Carey, James Brown—literal heroes of mine—walked through the door of my pub. I was just a 31-year-old kid who had somehow gathered his idols in one room. We spent the day drinking, laughing, and jamming. It was pure magic, and it spawned three more events in Reading, Bristol, and Fleet over the coming years.

By 2016, a new path opened. I began filming and editing for Ryan Tricks and BigBlindMedia. I realized I had an eye for capturing magic on screen, leading to the birth of Alchemy Inc. What started as a side hustle alongside my performing career quickly gained momentum. Today, as Creative Director, I’ve worked with over 100 magicians globally—from Australia to Austria—editing showreels, marketing videos, and full productions for TV stars, film consultants, and Britain’s Got Talent winners. Seeing how the world’s best construct their marketing gives me a unique edge: I see what works, what falls flat, and exactly how to separate myself from the noise. (We even helped launch signature releases like my own sleight-of-hand projects through BigBlindMedia.)

The Dark Stage and the Return

Then, 2020 hit. The world stopped, and the stages went dark.

I moved back to the West Country (now based near Exeter), welcomed my second son, and opened a cafe. For a while, I truly believed my magic life was over. I thought it was time to shelve the cards and be a “normal” business owner.

I ran that cafe for three years. During that time, I hosted lifelong magic grinders like Stephen Simmons and Jeremy Hayward to perform. Watching them from behind the counter gave me the itch. The passion I thought I had for the cafe was a lie; my heart was still in the deck.

In 2023, I closed the cafe with one singular focus: to perform again.

I went to Kieron Johnson’s house for a BBQ to talk shop. I started performing parlour acts with Jezza Screen, deliberately pushing myself away from cards and into mentalism and prop-based magic. Bookings flooded back. Old clients returned; new ones found me. I shifted into luxury close-up and mentalism for high-end weddings, corporate events, and private parties—often closing with a live piano piece that ties everything together in a cinematic way.

But 2023 gave me something else—the fulfillment of a lifelong goal. I passed my exam for The Magic Circle. The certificate hangs proudly in my house. The muggle from 2008 was officially home.

The Global Pulse

By 2024, my relationship with The Magic Circle deepened when I was invited as a VIP guest to their Grand Night of Magic, having been trusted to edit their official advertising video.

Today, in 2026, I am looking at the busiest performing year of my life.

Looking ahead to 2027, we are finally bringing back the Unconventional Convention, making it a yearly, free-to-attend staple on the magic calendar for both hobbyists and pros. Meanwhile, my YouTube channel, The Alternative Angle, is growing by showing the side of magic no one talks about. I tackle anxiety, imposter syndrome, and the quiet struggles of the craft, alongside actual performance workshops and honest reviews.

The Real Magic

When I look back over the empty flats, the movie sets, the failed cafe, and the triumphant return, one truth stands above all else: The magic community has given me life. This art form gave me a passion when I had none, and a direction when I was lost. But more importantly, it gave me my people. I class my peers in this industry as far more than just people with a shared hobby. They are my chosen family. We are sometimes separated by hundreds, if not thousands, of miles, but they are a group of friends I trust, love, and respect with everything I have.

I’ve been the nine-year-old with a plastic trick, the heartbroken kid with a Limewire download, the hand double in Hollywood, the man who almost walked away, and now the luxury magician and mentalist blending sleight of hand, mentalism, and piano for unforgettable experiences.

It’s been a beautiful, chaotic twenty years. Let’s see what the next ten bring.