When I was 9 years old, a fellow martial arts student showed me a card trick after our lesson. I still remember it vividly because it was the first trick I’d ever seen that genuinely blew my mind. Up until that point, I’d only seen the typical, awkward routines your uncle pulls out at family gatherings – predictable, cringey and obvious. But this was different. This felt like real magic.

This student was 16 at the time and had already become somewhat of a role model to me, so when he did something that cool, it hit differently. Whether I wanted to copy the trick or just be more like him, I suddenly had a burning desire to understand what I’d just seen and learn how to do it myself (the problem was he wouldn’t share the secret with me!)

That night, I sat on my bed with a deck of cards and, after what was probably an unhealthy amount of time and obsession, I came up with a solution. I practiced the moves. I mimicked the way he’d presented it and eventually, I tried it out at school. The reactions were exactly what I’d hoped for – my school friends gasped, just as I did when I saw it.

In that moment, something clicked. I realised I wasn’t just performing a trick, I was creating a feeling. That feeling of pure disbelief. And I became addicted to it.

It didn’t matter who I was showing it to – kids, adults, people from all walks of life – for just a brief moment, we were all sharing something powerful and universal: the questioning of what’s possible. Magic, I learned, can transcend age, language, background and beliefs.

From that day, magic became a full-blown passion. I read magic books, played around with trick sets and became a huge fan of David Blaine and his modern, impactful performance style.

By pure chance, I later discovered that a relative of mine – Richard De Vere – was a renowned stage magician in the Blackpool magic scene. When my Mum introduced us, it opened up a whole new world of knowledge, mentorship and inspiration.

Within a year I had a reputation at school as the magician that could actually do cool magic. Students and teachers alike were calling me “Magic Man” or “Magic Sam.” It was more than a nickname, it was my identity.