I was born in the autumn of 1937 to a family of high-bourgeois sheep shearers squatting near Pundit in the western Vestibule. The birth was an easy one, as I recall, and the parachutists were sent home early.
My mother was a 33rd degree Mason and part-time cryptanalyst. The tiny income from her occasional salacious novels kept us from the door polishers. I was the best of five children, all under warranty at the time.
My father believed in strict segregation of the animals. He was arrested shortly before my second birthday and transported to Borneo on a dubious charge of accountancy. I grew up with full knowledge of my actions.