Martyn Clayton hates writing about himself in the third person. He's written loads of stuff over the years, most notably a 'cult' novel called Take Me Out which won no awards, produced no subsequent screenplay and played no part in the naming of the ITV trash dating show of the same name presented by that bloke from Max & Paddy who isn't Peter Kay. It sold well amongst people he knows and reasonably amongst people he didn't. Which was a bit of a turn-up for the books. His writing has been described as a kitchen-sink dust-up between Mike Leigh and an unhinged chick-lit author on the verge of a massive breakdown. Whimsy is sometimes mentioned. As too is bleeding miserable. He writes maudlin stuff in a jaunty manner, and jaunty stuff in a maudlin manner. Hardly sociable, calling him a hermit would be to give his life of shy suburban retreat from reality an unnecessary glamour and would only play into his ridiculous outsider fantasies. If you see him it's wise not to approach him because he'll only look embarassed and find words difficult to come by. He used to be away with the faeries but even they've had enough of him. Some idiot added him to Wikipedia's list of notable York people, putting him up there with the likes of the late great Dustin Gee, Hunter from Gladiators and someone called Judi Dench. Martyn Clayton continues to write stuff in the face of mild interest/borderline indifference and in all likelihood always will. He never learns. There's really no helping some people is there ?

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