The Early Years

Shortly after my arrival on this planet, I became aware of two earth-shattering realities; my
middle name was Cornelius and my father was Irish. Some people may not have been able to
cope with this but I soldiered-on. There was a Jesuit education at Xavier College in
Melbourne and a brief period in Brisbane, which gave me some respite from the daily vision
of my father eating brains, tripe, and black pudding for breakfast. As a youngster, I liked

The Career Path

My teachers were keen for me to become a priest, but the pay was abysmal. I joined a mining
company; became an accountant and happily transferred to New Guinea, thinking the day of
the head-hunters was over. You will see from the pic below that I was misinformed.

The company took two years to build an eighteen mile road into the mountains, so my daily
commute was by helicopter. I commenced my literary career by writing and producing a
monthly newspaper, but it was banned after two editions for endangering fragile relations
with the locals. Have I mentioned that we all worked in the shadows of an active volcano?
When it blew, I figured it was time to return home. After three years, I was ready to take on a
job with Hamersley Iron. I was responsible for having to pay Australia’s richest man his

The Advertising Years

The career change was quite refreshing. Copywriters didn’t have to wear a tie and they could
arrive late for work. Some of them came straight from the party. I was lucky enough to spend
the golden years of advertising in London, and then Melbourne, Adelaide, Perth, Hong Kong,
and Singapore. Humour was my bent and still is. There was a time when I worked for myself
and we all know how that can go. I travelled to Indonesia over a ten year period making
corporate videos. I also travelled to Ireland to take up my inheritance and meet their horses,
who all had personal accountants.

I told you I loved animals.

The twenty two racehorses that I have fed and nurtured have provided me with an occasional thrill and I don’t begrudge them their desire to move on to the breeding barn without achieving the ambitious targets which I set for them. Nevertheless, there were a few moments of glory and the people one meets at places like Flemington and The Curragh are unforgettable.

Although this activity is stimulating and exciting, it is not reliable as an income source. The only thing that I can think of that is even less reliable is being an author.

Why don’t you write a book, Gerry?

A journalist friend made the suggestion and here I am; fifteen books later. The first two were hardly bigger than a pamphlet, so I learned to expand my output very quickly. As an advertising man, I was used to thirty or sixty second commercials, so eighty thousand words was quite an achievement. Paddy Pest thrust himself into my imaginative brain and the discount detective stayed there for six volumes; before I challenged myself to write a Sci Fi story. I received the best review ever but decided against further journeys into this genre. The little men from Mars might come after me. Since then, there have been thrillers and short story compilations and the word “charming” keeps appearing. Perhaps I need a harder edge. I know you will be gagging to find out about my personal life but there’s not much to tell. I have never married, although there have been many young ladies keen to find out if I am an exciting dude like Patrick Pesticide. However, I always left town when things became serious. What a bounder!

P.S. I do like golf and the attached photo was taken at an IRA
family day. If you lie about your handicap, you are likely to leave
without your kneecap.