Imagine you're 19 years old and you just got fired from a dead-end job washing vans. It happened after nine spirit-sapping months and a row with your boss because you had the audacity to turn up ten minutes late. You hated that job. The routine bullying, the turd-polishing drudgery, the general apathy. Though it had, at least, been regular cash. Now you're broke. Your whole family's broke, so no help there. You go home and end up rowing with your girlfriend. "I'm 19 and living the life of a 40-year-old," you complain.

Now imagine that two years later, you're offered a leading role in a Hollywood film also starring Robin Williams. You met the producers on a trip to LA (your life has perked up since the van-washing gig). You were trying to sell them some songs for the soundtrack. They were so moved by them that they offered you a major part in the film - the romantic lead, no less, playing a musician in love with a girl.

You're flattered, though nonplussed. You're a singer, a songwriter, a guitarist - not an actor or a wannabe celeb. You turn them down. Your friends think you're mad. But even though your job prospects have improved beyond all recognition, you know you've done the right thing. You've just recorded your debut album, a spellbinding collection of raw, bittersweet, bluesy folk-soul songs. You are 100 per cent focused on music - it's taken you this far, why dilute it now? Hollywood can wait.