In 1981, K J Bennett suffered a midlife crisis at the age of 23. Flat broke, in a terrible job that paid next to no money, and commuting from Hertfordshire (to where he had moved whilst still in the band) to Camden Town daily, and on the verge of commencing a failed marriage, he realised that a good job was required.
“Of course,” says K J Bennett, logically, “I didn’t set out to enter into a failed marriage: as far as I was concerned, it would last forever.” It didn’t. The marriage was all but ended in 1986, and a divorce followed soon after.
But at the start, determined to make a success of it all, K J Bennett managed against all odds to obtain employment in public service. Being an educational failure he first took an IQ test – the result boosted his confidence enough to sit the entry exam for his chosen profession.
Long working hours, a lack of compatibility, and many other things contributed to the breakdown of the marriage. But luck was on his side: soon after the break-up, K J Bennett met Theresa, the woman to whom he is still happily married. Together they have two children, now both adults.
There are many tales he could tell about his role in public service, but K J Bennett prefers not to. “It’s far too serious to bore people with. I prefer escaping into fantasy worlds, where strange things happen and the impossible is possible. That’s why I write. Maybe one day, though, now I’ve been out of it for a while, I’ll write about it, but I prefer pure escapism.”
Preferring the challenge of novel writing to short fiction, K J Bennett has several full length novels and a screenplay, although so far, a publishing contract has evaded him.
Now retired and living in south Devon, K J Bennett looks forward to his future in literature and photography, and has faced up to some demons from the past – in particular, the identity crisis he faced when the electoral boundary changes moved his birth place out of Cheshire and into Greater Manchester. Having finally come to terms with this, K J Bennett can often be seen paying homage to his now Mancunian roots by wandering the streets whilst wearing a green parka coat with a fur rimmed hood, and muttering the words, “Eh-up, our kid.”