I was a pizza delivery guy once, navigating the soggy streets of East London, often turning up with a late, limp Margherita. I’ve been robbed countless times, had my arm halfway down a dog’s throat as it tried to eat me, and even had a police car run over my foot during a high-speed chase—none of which earned me a tip.
I once fell asleep leaning against a wall on the set of Star Wars: Episode I – The Phantom Menace (1999), dressed in full regal costume with an Elizabethan ruff collar. The 3rd AD blasted a megaphone inches from my face: “Wake up! George can see you sleeping. This is the most expensive Star Wars movie ever!” ILM/Lucas-film later digitally shuffled me around in the final cut.
The first time I tasted coffee, I was 36. It was like I had swallowed a handful of Limitless pills. I got my next day's tasks done in 5 hours. And then began shaking... I used to fill out welfare forms for my uncle, a Papa Smurf look alike with two wives. While I slogged through paperwork, they plied me with endless cups of tea and custard cream biscuits. Meanwhile, the fancy Harrods shortbread tin sat in the distance—always out of reach.
In my one and only school fight at age 13, I attempted the crane kick from The Karate Kid (1984). I missed. I fell. Ibby Hussain pinned me down and delivered a flurry of punches that ensured my martial arts career ended right there. Growing up, I’d hear the swaggering conversations of Pakistani lads on my block—dressed head-to-toe in Sergio Tacchini, Fila, or sharp Pierre Cardin suits—bragging about fistfights, knife fights, and credit card fraud. Their heroes were local gangsters and legends like the Kray Twins.
I once directed a documentary about cocaine smuggling inside a prison. An inmate flirted with me, asking me out on a date upon her release. Cue wolf whistles and cheers from the other prisoners. I’m brown, but I turned bright red.
I’ve had more than my share of encounters with dogs. When I was eight, a skinhead with face tattoos, along with his brother and sister, pinned me and my younger sister against a wall and set their German Shepherd on us. It was the early '80s—different times, same trauma.
I’d heard that if you memorize the Quran, you can get ten people into the afterlife. My first cousin achieved this. Everyone in the family gravitates toward him, hoping to be on that list. I’m not. I’m very far from that list.
I can’t shake The Exorcist (1973) from my mind. I watched it on VHS as a teenager, and every year since, it creeps back into my thoughts—especially during sleepless nights. Thanks, William Peter Blatty and William Friedkin.
I’m your ride-or-die, co-pilot, and wingman—but shockingly bad with maps. Consider yourself warned. I love helping people; it’s my superpower. My best work comes from instinct—when you feel it, you know. As a kid, I was obsessed with Tintin, convinced I’d grow up to solve mysteries in exotic places. In a way, I did.
I’ve told stories about witch doctors, fraudsters, female bodybuilders, suntan addicts, male strippers, sacrificial murder, dating, pilgrimages, high art, millionaires, underachievers, royalty, Hollywood stars, stand-up comics, people with albinism, and polo players...And I’m just getting started.
