Incendiary is run primarily by the following people.
Richard Foster: Richard was found in the darkest corner of Lancashire (and there are many dark corners in Lancashire, we can assure you) as a small boy playing cards with squirrels. It was then, seeing him sat there with the large pile of acorns he had won, that Richard’s father knew he was a special child. Yes, this boy had talents the likes of which the world had never seen before.
As such his father, being Geordie, sent him off to University in Newcastle where it was hoped that these fanciful ideas and clever schemes would be brainwashed out of him and Richard would learn to be an turf accountant instead. It didn’t work, Richard spent most of his time hanging out with the cows on the Town Moor and building papier mache statues of Julian Cope. The family were distraught. Eventually he found his way to the Netherlands, a place where he could drink all the Belgian beer he liked without having to visit Belgium.
Damian Leslie: Damian was born in an abandoned pit shaft in County Durham, England. It took him all of his 18 formative years to clamber up the sides of the abandoned shaft and out into the world beyond. Struggling to make good of himself in the UK he ran away with the circus, traveling round the Middle East shovelling Elephant shit. Alas, his fear of clowns forced him to leave his beloved job and he ended up coming to Holland, where he fell in with a bunch of freaks, strays and vagabonds in the Bollenstreek.
Incendiary found him trying to persuade a tramp in Vondel Park that the Holy Bible by the Manic Street Preachers is the greatest album of all time. Which it is. So he says. Don’t argue. He’s been with us ever since.
Chris Gibson: Chris invented the prototype of the original vacuum cleaner, but eventually had to pass the patent over to Mr Hoover; (as well as being very clever, Chris is very old. He claims to have slept with at least six of Henry VIII’s wives, but he can’t remember in what order). His computer skills found him organising Britain’s defence during the Second World War, and his typing skills won him a silver ribbon and a packet of Players cigarettes from Windy Nook WMC after a “type off” with Russian heiress Gary Kasparov. He likes to think that he is unprepossessing.
Chris MacDonnell: Mac claims that his name is ambidextrous, so much so that none of us have a bloody clue how to spell it. He currently resides at least 4 inches below sea level with his wife and child who ensure that his beard is correctly positioned in the mirror. The mirror is currently undergoing a bout of counselling and can be contacted care of the Sunshine Care Home for Elderly Gentlefolk, Co. Meath.
Chris Dawson: Mr Dawson is an enigma. He likes sighing regularly and walks his dog in a clockwise motion. He claims that West Yorkshire is a figment of the imagination and detests goats cheese. He is currently undergoing a bout of Teeth.
Zoe Gottehrer: Zoe’s father, Lord Mountbatten Richard Gottehrer George Pomidou Gottehrer Gottehrer, found he didn’t have the required number of middle names to bat for the MCC. Zoe’s photographic skills have seen her arrested on at least 35 occasions, mainly by the Badger Defence League. She currently resides in a House. Zoe has the uncanny ability to detect mineshafts. This remarkable gift has something to do with the fact that Zoe is a native New Yorker.
Jon Dekel: Jon was born in Israel, we think, (He looks Jewish, you see). Everything started out ok for Jon and he was born into a large family who loved him dearly. But as all stories begin nicely, so must they turn bad. On a family holiday to the wilderness of Canada at the age of two he was forced to take part in a game by his brothers and sisters. The game was called Baby Moses. (You can see where this is going can’t you!) He was wrapped in swaddling clothes (Israeli’s take them everywhere) and placed in a wicker basket. The basket was floated downstream on a river, just like Moses. His sister was meant to catch the basket in the river a couple of hundred yards away, unlike Moses. Sadly, she slipped on a rock, missed the basket and poor Jon caught the rapids and floated away before his family could do anything. They cried.
His basket was found a few miles downstream by a hunting grizzly bear who picked the basket out of the water with his teeth. We don’t think the bear would have harmed Jon, but that doesn’t matter, because the Hunter who was eyeing the bear up in his sights shot it anyway. The hunter took the baby J home to his log cabin, where Jon grew up, learning the guitar, drums and back catalogue of Pink Floyd. Rebelling against his Hunter Guardian, Jon became a vegetarian, which caused a major rift between them that was never to heal and so Jonathan was told the truth about his upbringing and set out to the big city. After spending a Winter on the streets of Toronto, (some have said he worked as a rent-boy, but we’re not so sure) he managed to save up enough money for a flight to Europe.
And so the 19 year old Jonathan arrived in Amsterdam and was soon to find his calling. After a Flaming Lips concert he had an idea. Let’s start a magazine.
Jonathan is now over 20, has reunited with his Jewish family (bless) and has left Amsterdam for pastures new. He is still a regular (sorry, occasional, no make that very occaional) contributor to this great magazine.
The above biographies could contain a fair amount of bullshit.