So why do I call myself the Poet on a Hill?
Well I used to visualise myself walking the lanes of England with a rucksack on my back; sitting on hills; looking over the fields; swigging cans of beer; or taking a slug of whisky from a flask; scribbling poems on to a note-pad.
But life's not like that. I had to eat. That takes money. So I had to work.
However, in the end, my dream has come true. Because, you see, my work station is in this nice airy room in the attic. And my house is the highest on the estate. So I sit here looking out over rooftops and trees; over the Ely Valley and Vale of Glamorgan to where the little town of Llantrisant straddles a hill; with a backdrop of the hills of the Welsh Valleys; Cynon Taff and the mouth of Rhondda Cwm.
And that's a lesson I’ve learnt in life; visions and dreams often come true - but not necessarily in a way that you recognise. But, take stock, and maybe your wishes have materialised - without you realising it.