I loved music. It was that simple. The tactile feel of records, the way a needle felt as it hit the groove and the anticipation of waiting for a favourite song on the radio so I could hit ‘record’ on a cassette tape ready to listen time and time again. Music wasn't just background noise for me; it was the framework of my life. Every memory I have from those early years has a specific song attached to it.

At 16, my life took a turn that would define my future, though I didn’t know it at the time. I started carrying equipment for a friend’s dad, who was a local DJ. He quickly noticed my enthusiasm and, perhaps more importantly, my ability to lift heavy speakers without complaining. While other kids my age were out at the cinema or hanging around the park, I was out at gigs.

The gear back then was a different beast entirely. We didn’t have the luxury of lightweight active speakers or digital controllers that could fit in a backpack. We were hauling massive, passive Peavey stacks and heavy-duty amplifiers that felt like they were made of solid lead. Every gig was a workout. I remember the specific ritual of the load-in. We’d arrive at a social club or a village hall, and I’d spend an hour just dragging the flight cases up narrow stairs. There were the old school Citronic consoles, the twin turntables that required a steady hand, and massive lighting controllers that looked like something out of a 1970s sci-fi movie. We used rope lights, pinspots, and heavy PAR cans that got so hot you could practically cook an egg on them.

Watching a room change the moment music took over fascinated me. I would stand in the shadows of the booth or by the side of the stage, watching the before and after. I saw people walk into a hall looking stiff, tired or shy. Then, the DJ would drop a certain track, the lights would sweep across the floor, and the transformation would begin – it was an early lesson on how to read a crowd, plan what music would work well, even to the point that I would suggest tracks that could work. That was the point where I realised I wanted to be a DJ myself. I didn’t just want to hear the music; I wanted to be the one controlling the energy.

Between the ages of 16 and 19, I spent countless nights loading that old Transit, setting up rigs, and learning the technical side of DJing. I learned the unspoken rules of the trade: how to speak to venue managers, how to respect the space of other suppliers, and how to stay calm when a fuse blew in the middle of a set. I remember one particular night in a drafty community centre where the power kept tripping every time the bass kicked in. I had to learn on the fly how to balance the load across different circuits while keeping the crowd happy. It was stressful, but it taught me more about electrical engineering and crowd management than any classroom ever could – how lucky we are these days with modern kit!

More importantly, during those three years, I perfected the art of how to read the crowd. It is the dark art of DJing that no one can truly teach you, you have to feel it.
I learned when to push the energy, when the floor was primed for a high-tempo anthem and when to slow things down to let people catch their breath and spend money at the bar, which kept the venue happy. I learned how to spot the influencers on a dancefloor. I learned when to change direction, if a set wasn’t working, to save the night.

At 19, my mum and dad lent me the money to buy my first DJ setup. It was a huge gesture of trust, but it came with very clear instructions not to waste it. They were working class people who understood the value of a pound, and they wanted to make sure I wasn’t just chasing a whim. My dad, however, was convinced DJing wasn’t a “proper job”. To him, a career involved a steady pay packet at the end of the month and a pension. DJing was a hobby, in his eyes.

He wasn’t being mean, he was being protective. He didn’t want to see me struggle in an industry that he didn’t understand and thought would never pay the bills.

At the time, I didn’t argue. I just kept going. I took that loan and bought my first set of second-hand equipment. It was a modest setup, a couple of Technics 1210s that had seen better days, a basic Numark mixer, and some speakers that I had to patch up with tape. I began building my own music collection, spending every spare penny on vinyl and CDs. I’d spend hours in record shops, listening to B-sides and imports, quickly discovering which tracks filled a dancefloor and which ones emptied it just as fast. I started playing small local gigs, usually for free or for petrol money, just to get the experience of being the one behind the decks.

One of those early gigs was a 21st birthday party in a basement bar that was so cramped I had to set up my decks on a table in the corner. The acoustics were terrible, and the lighting was just a single-coloured bulb that flickered. But when I dropped the first track and the room erupted, none of that mattered. I realised that if the music was right and the connection was there, the gear was just a tool. That night, I stayed until 4am, talking to people about what they liked, what they hated, and what made them want to dance.
In 1999, I landed a DJ role at Brighton University Student Union. I was playing for my friends, spinning tracks for a couple of hours a week for free. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t getting paid. Standing behind those decks, watching people respond to the music I chose, was addictive. At the SU, I had access to a slightly better rig. Pioneer DJ CDJs were just starting to become the standard and having that tactile control over the tempo changed the way I played.

After university, the reality of adult life set in. I continued DJing at small parties for friends and family, but I needed that proper job my dad talked about to pay the bills. I started working full-time as a catering manager at a school in Kingston upon Thames.

The contrast between my two lives was stark. During the day, I was worrying about school meal standards and health and safety audits. By night, I was dealing with smoke machines and requests for floor-fillers. It was exhausting. I remember one specific Friday where I had a catering emergency in the morning – a freezer failure that threatened the whole school’s lunch – and then had to drive straight to a gig in the evening. Luckily I had the drive to the venue to get my head back in the game and as soon as the first track played the stress of the day evaporated.
During this period, I met Harriet. She wasn't just my girlfriend; she became my partner in every sense of the word. Together, we started organising our own events at small local venues. We’d hire a hall, we’d set up the gear and we’d sell tickets and promote the nights ourselves. This was the birth of the entrepreneurial side of the business. We learned the hard way about the costs of marketing, printing flyers, handing them out and spreading the word with the local community. Seeing people queue up for something we had created from scratch was a turning point. It made the idea of DJing as a business feel very real. We weren't just waiting for the phone to ring; we were making things happen.

In 2006, my Dad passed away. Losing him was devastating. He was a cornerstone of my life, even with our disagreements about my career path. But his passing did something unexpected, I became determined to prove not just to others, but to myself, that this business I’d started was something worthwhile. I wanted to show that the money he and my Mum had lent me wasn't wasted. I wanted to build something that could last and grow, something that would make him proud if he could see it. I took all that grief and channelled it into LR Disco Entertainment. I I realised that if I wanted to be the best I had to invest in the Best I started upgrading the gear piece by piece. Out whet the clunky old speakers, replaced by high-end QSC and RCF systems.
I invested in computer-controlled DMX lighting so I could sync the visuals perfectly with the music. I wanted the setup to look as professional as the service I was providing.

Harriet and I began to build the brand properly. We stopped thinking like a mobile disco and started thinking like a premium entertainment service. In 2007, Harriet and I got married, and added two dogs to the family. Life suddenly felt very full. Balancing a full-time job in Kingston with a rapidly developing entertainment business and a new marriage was a challenge. I’d work the school day, drive to a gig, get home at 3am, and be back at the school 4.5 hours later.

By 2008, the work had grown. I was DJing at larger venues such as Foxhills Golf Club where I am still proud to be their recommended supplier along with many others. I started focusing purely on private events, we also began hosting Christmas parties in collaboration with local hotels and crafting events for major corporate clients including Air Canada and British Airways which led to more private bookings for celebrities and footballers many of which came with strict NDAs. No photos, no videos, no social posts. For someone who wanted to shout about the incredible events we were part of, it was incredibly frustrating.

2008 was when social media was starting to explode. We embraced Facebook and later Instagram to showcase our work, particularly weddings. It quickly became clear that weddings were where I felt most at home. The emotion, the anticipation, the pressure to get everything right and the sheer joy when it all comes together… there’s nothing quite like it. From that point on, I focused on developing and perfecting the wedding experience.
There was a particular wedding that sticks in my mind. It was at a prestigious manor house, and the couple had very specific, high-end requirements. I spent weeks preparing the setlist and programming the light show. When the night finally came, everything clicked perfectly. The groom came up to me at the end of the night and said, “We’ve been to dozens of weddings, but we’ve never seen a dancefloor stay full from the first song to the last.” That was the moment I realised that LR Disco Entertainment wasn’t just a local outfit anymore, we were competing at a different level!

In 2010, our first daughter was born, followed by our second in 2014. Becoming a dad changed everything. It gave me an even stronger drive to succeed not just creatively, but professionally. I finally made the leap, leaving my job at the school to become a full-time DJ.

It was the best decision I’ve ever made (apart from marrying Harriet)!

As the years went on, the business continued to grow and, by 2015, it was clear we needed to expand further. We added more staff and broadened our services to include photobooths, dancefloors, special effects and illuminated LOVE letters. Over the next few years, we worked at some of the UK’s most prestigious venues, including The Dorchester in London. Word of mouth became our biggest driver when people saw the passion I put into every set. I drew on those early lessons from being the roadie for my friend’s dad, the importance of reading the room, the necessity of high-quality sound, and the impact of great lighting. But I added my own flavour, a genuine care for my clients and a desire to make their specific vision come to life. I started investing not only in kit, but education, attending events like Pro Mobile Conference.
This changed the way I worked. I started talking to other DJs outside of industry events, building a network of trusted suppliers than could represent my brand, offering meetings with every potential client (now mainly completed over Zoom or Whatsapp video call), sitting down with couples to talk about their must-plays and their don’t-you-dare list.

Then, in 2020, everything stopped when Covid shut down the world.

It was one of the hardest periods of my life, both personally, professionally and financially. What we thought would last a few months stretched into 18 months of uncertainty. During that time, we focused on giving back. We volunteered with local community projects, even appearing on ITV News. Every Thursday night, I would set up the rig to DJ on the driveway of our house, and the neighbours would come out of their houses and listen to the music. But then, one week, the police came along and shut us down because people from neighbouring streets were coming over to experience the fun!

We also launched a small lockdown business delivering LED numbers to people’s homes for lockdown birthday parties and anniversaries a business add-on than we still have in our inventory today. To keep busy, I even found myself working on a building site for a former groom whose wedding I’d DJ’d years earlier which got me out of the house. I think most of us turned to something we weren’t used to doing. When restrictions finally lifted and we were allowed to DJ weddings again, that first event back was unforgettable. Standing behind the decks, watching people dance, laugh and celebrate again, it reminded me exactly why I do this. While I was there to make people happy, they had no idea how much they were giving back to me in return.
I often think back to my 16-year-old self, lifting those heavy speakers into the back of a van. I think about the scepticism in my dad's voice when he called it a ‘hobby’. I remember the smell of the student union in Brighton and the sound of a hundred feet hitting the floor at once. All of those moments were stepping stones, they taught me resilience, they taught me empathy, and they taught me that a ‘proper job’ is whatever you make it.

Today, LR Disco Entertainment stands as a testament to what happens when you don’t give up on that hobby. We have grown from a one-man show to a recognised name in the industry. But, despite the growth, the heart of the business hasn’t changed. It truly is the best job I could have chosen but without the support from my wife and my family –and, of course, my parents investing all those years ago – I wouldn’t be able to do the job that I love.

My journey from the kid who loved music, to the roadie who lifted the speakers, to the man who built a business to prove his dad wrong is baked into every set I play. I still watch the room for that shift. I still look for the moment when a shy guest finally decides to join the dancefloor because they couldn’t resist one particular song.

I’ve spent over two decades learning how to make people dance. Every event is a new story, a new crowd, and a new opportunity to show that a passion, if pursued with enough heart and hard work, can become something truly extraordinary. I like to think that my dad would be proud to see that I’ve turned a simple love of music into a business that brings people together and creates memories that last a lifetime.