I started reading the Guardian as a kid in the 80s. I sensed then that it was a paper that represented some kind of allegiance, but my understanding of exactly what that is keeps on evolving. My mum was an English teacher and a big reader, but we were a working-class family in a Lancashire mill town, so it jostled for head space with the tabloids my grandparents took religiously. I liked being able to do the crossword and understood some of Steve Bell's cartoons, so it suited a precocious, smart-arsed lad nicely. I also liked its wordy descriptions of foreign places – I was a wannabe and now a travel writer manqué.
I've always thought that the Guardian was broadly on the side of what I believe in, with some exceptions, naturally. I give articles about crazily expensive commodities or navel-gazing about things that seem obvious to this simple bloke to the guinea pigs for a second opinion.
I like the fact that the Guardian is eclectic, reflective and not in the business of trying to whip up a mob into disliking whole groups of people. Crucially, for me, it doesn't dumb down its vocabulary – it's a paper that can encourage a love of language, when it's at its best. My background and life have taught me that words are tools for emancipating people. That's a good fight to fight.
I stumbled into an interesting job in education, networking across schools in the West Midlands, expanding enrichment opportunities for young people, hopefully creating links and relationships with a positive impact. I volunteer for men's anti-violence campaigns @calltomenuk and the White Ribbon Campaign @MenAntiViolence. Very Guardian, I guess, whatever that means.
If you would like to be interviewed in this space, send a brief note to good.to.meet.you@theguardian.com
