BA French Studies, 1987

"My first novel was published earlier this month and I have plans for a sequel."

I read French from 1983 to 1987 with a year at Paris XIII and digs in the Cite Universitaire (albeit an admin error meant sleeping on various floors in the first few weeks!) I felt almost resentful on completion of finals to have managed to land myself a job as a trainee reporter with the Gloucestershire Gazette; I quite fancied the idea of a year or so passively contemplating the future but instead was immediately sitting in on magistrate court hearings and interviewing golden wedding couples.

After five years in regional press I went freelance to write for the nationals, spending many years working for the Times and Guardian on motoring related stories and then embarking on a stint with the Sunday Times as a travel writer (where the French came in handy). Marriage and young children have now somewhat curtailed my ability to jump on planes, but it's been a good reminder to get on with the ambition that set me off in a journalistic direction in the first place: to write, and more specifically to get off newsprint and into fiction. My first novel was published through a Bristol publisher earlier this month, an eco-thriller called Polar Nights. There's more information on my website, www.simonhacker.com and I have plans for a sequel and other literary projects under way.

I have nothing but fond memories for my time at Goldsmiths; for social and intellectual stimulus, I can think of no better place for young people in their key formative years. I was friends with Murray Harkin, who subsequently got into the headlines for reasons other than he might have wished; I also knew Rob Stringer, now a music business legend of course, chatted at parties with Vic Reeves and was a close mate of Marc Holland - after a disastrous year out as a teaching assistant placed in Guadeloupe, he dropped down into my year and we consequently spent our 1985-6 abroad together in Paris. He's back there now and - though we have slipped out of touch - a hugely successful financier. Strange for a hippy, but not unusual I guess!