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Hospital grayscale

D.D. Johnston was born in Central Scotland in the dying breaths of the 70s. A shy child obsessed with sport, in adolescence he was distinguished only by his late development and his acute Seborrhoeic dermatitis. Lacking any discernible talents, he transformed himself into an anti-social wee ned, got himself stabbed, and set a Scottish record for losing fights.

Luckily, as the century ended, D.D. grew up a bit, fell in love, moved in with his partner. While earning a living flipping burgers, he studied for a degree in sociology and got into anarchist politics. His student years passed in a whirlwind of demonstrations and riots.

Later, he settled in England where he had two stints working as a (weirdly puny) bouncer. Then he got a job in a Manchester bus station, where he worked unhappily until 2007.

During this time, he got his first paid writing job: he earned £40 per thousand words working on the memoir of a retired Mancunian career criminal. Convinced he’d finally found his vocation, D.D. moved to Gloucestershire to study writing. Around this time, he quarrelled with two men, who smashed every bone in his face with a monkey wrench; always a lucky guy, after much surgery and rehabilitation, D.D. emerged with no memory of the beating, £11,000 in compensation, and a slightly improved bone structure. Since then he’s kept his head down, and today he lives in Cheltenham Spa where he cares for his infant son, Hart.

He’s the author of three novels, books that are “Funny as all Hell” (The Sunday Herald), “determinedly extraordinary” (The Morning Star) and “unputtable-downable” (Northern Soul). His novels are characterised by their ambition, variety, and invention, but the consistent theme is his love for ordinary people, and his faith in the extraordinary things we can achieve together.

His fourth novel, Disnaeland, will be published in summer 2022.

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