Ross Fowler

My Nan always asks if I have work coming in.
Bless her.
Once, she tried to get her head around what it is I actually do at work.
It didn't help that I told her that I advocated kidnapping as a medium, depicted graphic vengeance by a dog, promoted the benefits of selfishness, helped people to see music with the aid of alcohol, was accused of promoting promiscuity and (in an unrelated incident) helped South East Asians to talk openly about their genitals. I got super-competitive Singaporeans to celebrate quitters, inspired a panda to twerk, showed commuters an alternative reality, proved that Milli Vanilli CAN sing, instigated 'bikini' as a verb, gave amateur footballers their own personal action replays and dropped a masterpiece in a blender.
She didn't ask again.
Despite me being asked to do such silly things in London, Singapore and now Amsterdam, and grabbing a few awards for it, my Nan remains healthily sceptical.