Hey there

Well its been a crazy year this year 2014.
It started with me living in Wilbraham road in Manchester.
I briefly met a crazy Spanish girl who ended up defecating on my doorstep.
In complete fear, i moved house to live with a self absorbed, self obsessed twat.

Then i met a lady and moved to Nottingham, which is where I am tonight as i write this.
I write this in Park Avenue, Mapperley. It is a really nice area.
My stand up has been going quite well in the last few months.
I have been quite regular with the gigs and apart from a few poor performances from me, i have been doing quite well.
It has taken a long time to get my confidence back on stage and i think its nice to end this year with more belief than i had last year.

So next year i hope to build on that more, do as many gigs as i can and also enter as many competitions as i can, obviously with a view to winning but being realistic at the same time.
It would be nice to push myself as far as i can go next year, and for years afterwards as well.
So hopefully if i keep churning out the material, keep my minuites mounting up, I will eventually have a decent 20 to 30 minutes by the end of next year.
I hope so anyway.
It would be nice to hit Edinburgh this year, Just to have a feel for the experience and to tighten up my act, by hammering it every day for a week or two.

Heres to hope

Tom

On the move again?

I'm on the move again. Where?
Nottingham, yes the place I have been told is quite scary.
I've heard reports over the years of violence, murder, rape, buggery (I just put buggery in there)

Usual story, I met a girl and now I'm probably on the move again. I've tried Manchester and failed again. I'm my own worst enemy, maybe that's why I need someone to keep me right. At the time of writing I'm living in a horrible council estate in south Manchester.
SO it's at times like this that I wish I could just have a few beers with friends and laugh all night about anything, even if I'm the butt of the joke, I really dont care.

Recently I met a lady and we have been seeing each other for around four months alhthough she lives in Nottingham. The travelling is wearing us down, and we are good together, I feel relaxed around her and she cheers me up, and keeps me right, so I'm thinking of taking the plunge and hitting the road to Nottingham. It's a risk, probably my last stop before giving up and going 'home' because I certainly can't come back to Manchester, certainly not after my Manchester friends read this post, they won't be pleased.

Nottingham? It might be ok, the main thing is that the lady friend and I will be together, it will be cost effective, and we can enjoy each others company.
Nottingham being in the east midlands may be a perfect base for comedy. It's almost central in england so that's a great thing to know and I hope I take advantage of it.
I've talked comedy for 5 years and done 5 gigs, this is not good at all. It's always my homelife / worklife that messes things up.
I'm either in a dead end job working shifts, or moving somewhere, or both.

I've had a phone call for an interview this week over in Nottingham, so I may be taking the plunge this month and droppping everything and going. Scary or exciting? I'm not sure.

Nottingham

Well the time is upon me to move to Nottingham. I have met a lovely lady soI will be venturing down there to the east midlands. I hope to god this works out, I'm almost at the stage of quitting again. My time here in Manclepool is at an end, hate my job, can't do my job hate my home, hate the area and hate my room, hate playing music just to earn cash...nothing more...not much pleasure (although the chaps who run these gigs are nice folk) but I'm just old and tired I guess and grumpy and moany.

I did a music gig in London a few weeks ago that really took it out of me, that's when I decided, I really need to cut down on this life. I'm far too old to be lifting heavy speakers up and down stairs at 05.00 a.m. on a Sunday morning. I was doing all of my roadie stuff at this gig lifting equipment with a young lad who was on drums, he couldnt lift a thing, I'm guessing it was his first real gig, I was tired carrying him..anyway I'm old.

So I'm off to Notts, the only thing I know about this place is that is was forever on the news in the early 2000's as a really rough place (sorry Nottingham I'm just going off what I saw on the news at the time) It was meant to be full of violence and murder and gangs and so on. SO I am a little apprehensive. But I'm always negative, I should really be thinking of a nice life with my girlfriend, a new home, a new start, a new life and a different life. I guess that what I am really scared of, I have never had a normal life, I think I have ran away from responsibilties, I guess that is true, and eventually it catches up with me. The last time I lived with a woman was in 2006 until 2007, that went really well did it not? Another time was when I was 18, and that lasted a full year, wow theres a pattern I think.
I hope I can do much better this time. We are both fairly practical and crazy at the same time, we both know it's far too soon to move in, but it's so expensive for my girlfriend to keep travelling backwards and forward to Liverchester where I live.
So in a sense we are doing it to also save money.
But I have to drop everything here, job included. Even though I hate my job and cannot physically do it, I've never just up sticks and left, especially when I have bills to pay. I don't do pressure very well and get stressed easily so lets see how this pans out.

I hope you can read this ok, I am typing on a laptop with a cracked screen.

However, my girlfriend is lovely, and she calms me down and keeps me positive, she is so lovely. I know this sounds sickly but she's one of those people who may have been through the mill and still sees the positives, if more people were like her, there'd be no more wars.
So I'm sure I'm moving in with the right person, she's great and I'm thankful for her (vomit)

But it's with a bit of sadness that I will leave here in Manclechester.
It's been a crazy time here mainly because I met a few crazy ladies from dating sites that shattered me to the core and ripped my heart out and my money out of me.
I met crazy vegetarian people who dranks urine, I met a woman who was certifiably insane in my opion who defecated on my doorstep, it was a great time. AND I'M WORRIED ABOUT MOVING? HA HA HA

Life in Liverchester

EVERYTHING WRITTEN BELOW IS FICTIONAL.

I'm living in Willington, Liverchester behind the Duel cafe. It's a student area, which is really annoying.

I'm 41 at the moment and I can't stand the conversations of these students. I'm too old for this area, it's hell to me. They are all optimistic, all young and happy, I'm the opposite, I'm an example of what not to do with your life actually, I fucked up at their age,now I'm reminded everyday that I fucked up.
I should have done things differently, I should have went to college for music, and probably university and so on, I should have learned to read music and I would be able to go everywhere in the world sight reading and session playing, instead I'm jacking off to porn until dawn with my trousers around my ankles, face pressed up flat against the keyboard. I'm 41.

I usually get a bus to work everyday, it's only a pound, but it's like a school bus, full of these teenagers and college and uni kids, I can't stand listening to their immature conversations, I can't even give you an example, I just hate the shit they come out with, none of it is important, or relevant to me. There is also a unversal accent for intelligent posh girls from England too that I'm fucking sick of too. It's the SAME ACCENT, that SAME ENGLISH accent that's from no particular region just SNOB-VILLE, POSH-VILLE bordering on GEEK-VILLE and I LAUGH-LOUDLY-VILLE at IMMATURE-THINGS-VILLE so everyone can hear me-ville because I like drawing attention to-myself-ville, because I was a lonely kid-at-school-ville.

Well I've got an interview tomorrow, hooray. Yes I hope I get this job, its nothing flash, I just want the hours, it's day shift, permanent days, this would be great because I can start to have my life back on the evenings. At the moment I work in a factory I absolutely hate it, don't get me too wrong, I appreciate having A JOB, if I didn't have this job wouldn't be here in Manchester that's for sure. But my boss is an arsehole of the highest order. He talks to me and everyone else in the place like a piece of shit, depending if he's been blown off the night before.

I cant stand going there because of him, not knowing what kind of mood he's in. He can snap at any minute, he will talk to you nice one minute, then talk to you like shit the next within MINUTES. Then if you do something wrong, naturally it gets worse. Then I get nervous around him because he's such a twat, he's the kind of guy who would grass on his own mother for the GOOD OF THE COMPANY, yes that's right he's one of them, one of those arsehole 'COMPANY MEN'. Sad bastards who think their shitty little pointless job, is IMPORTANT. Usual story, nothing good happening in their life otherwise, possible loss of control at home. little life at home, not very god at things at home......so they unleash pure hell at work,they think 'NOW HERE'S SOMETHING I'M GOOD AT! I CAN KICK ASS, TALK TO PEOPLE LIKE SHIT, GOOD, I CAN GET THINGS DONE BECAUSE I KNOW THIS JOB INSIDE OUT, THAT MAKES ME IMPORTANT IN THE CONTEXT OF THIS WORKPLACE!' Yes he's talks to everyone at work like shit, and I WANT OUT.
I have been working here for around a year now, and it's not a pleasure going to work there, I've nearly cried before I started a shift that's how much I hate it.
The thing is, as a line leader / team leader, I understand you may be working with idiots yourself, aresholes even, people may do stupid things or talk bad to you, well it's your job and responsibility to conduct yourself in a good manner, you have 100 ways of saying things, you can tell people to do things in a neutral way, a normal casual way, a matter of fact way, a stern way and so on, HE CHOOSES TO TALK TO PEOPLE LIKE SHIT, that's his choice, and it's because of that CHOICE that I hate him, yes i HATE HIM, and you know what.....that's MY CHOICE fucker!!! So once again, fingers crossed, I may even pray....let's hope it goes well.

EVERYTHING WRITTEN ABOVE IS FICTIONAL.

Dead Close

I am trying my best to remember as many memories as I can at this moment.
I don't remember too much about living in easthorpe close, I was too young and I am also not sure why we left there to move house literally around the corner into what would be our house for all of my life in Dead close. There were rumours over the years that my mam had fallen out with all of the neighbours, I think this is very possible after knowing what my mam is like now, but it's still a mystery and I certainly don't want to confirm it now with old neighbours, I would just get upset.

We carried our furniture around the corner into the next street and this was to be our home for all of our lives.

Looking through rose tinted spectacles at the moment but I have many fond memories of growing up there, at the time of writing, my mam still lives there, and I still visit, I can never quite let go of it but that's another story, more to do with my personality than anything else.

So we settled in, my dad had a job and my mother eventually worked for a company called Union Carbide. Once again, I was too young to remember details but my parents did do a lot of work and worked a lot of shifts, sometimes on opposite shifts from each other and rarely saw each other.

These were the days when people had to work, it was As simple as that. I think my dad still did a fair bit of drinking as my mam would later say. I remember they used to go out sometimes on a Saturday night and my sisters would baby sit me. We had a hi - fi from America that folded up into a suitcase, i think the make was a 'Mayfair'. We used to put it on and sing & dance to the 70's tunes like Suzie Quatro and the Osmond's. Sometimes we would record ourselves singing, I remember my sister Jane singing a song by the Osmond's called 'deep purple' and me singing 'we're the monkees' I loved the monkees. They weren't 70's but their T.V. show was always on in the 70's and 80's when I was growing up and i loved the music and the slap stick comedy.

We had a pet tortoise called Joey, I think I let him out by accident and he just kept walking. Poor joey, I mean, he really must have been left a long time before anyone noticed him gone, it's been over 30 years now, he might have just got 10 miles, maybe he will come back tomorrow.

GOD, everything written above is really boring.
Sorry about that.

A boss who talks to you like a piece of dirt

EVERYTHING BELOW IS FICTIONAL.

I had been working for a certain firm for a year now in Manclepool.
It's been a complete nightmare because of one man. One man has made my time at work a complete misery.
This guy is called Whitehead, I'm going to refer to him as shithead because he talks shit, he deals out the shit, we take his shit,we deal with his shit, and at the end of the shift he gives us more shit on how we performed and he might tell us, we did shit today.


This arsehole might have a napoleon complex or something, he really has a problem. He's one of those company people, my head drops when I meet those people. They are all the same, they'd sell their own mothers for the good of the company. How naive do you have to be to believe in any company that you don't own?
All companies will fold in the end, it's the nature of the manufacturing business. It WILL happen. So why invest so much of your interest in something that isn't yours to control? Why not just do enough? Do enough to keep your job. This shithad loves his team leader job, he gets paid an extra £100 for the pleasure of talking to the rest of us like children, he certainly has no respect for the people he's working with and I guess that's what really annoys me about him, and people like him.
In my experience, company people have no lives and probably no personalities. I've tried speaking to some of these fucks over the years and if you dig deep enough you'll find a pattern, a pattern of monotony in their miserable lives. Sometimes their home lives are so miserable that the only control and pleasure they get is telling you what to do, and telling you off, or getting you to do things again and again and again, just for kicks.


This is certainly the case with shithead, his life is basically babysitting at home and drinking and playing computer games, that's it, that's all. He might even be hen pecked too. All I know is that come Monday....I'm in a world of pain all week.

I've had a terrible year with him, it's really difficult knowing that every day you are going to be spoken to like a piece of shit, and I don't mean dirt, I mean shit, that's all I am to him. Every day WITHOUT FAIL, he will speak to me and others like shit.
Now, after a day you don't like it, multiply it by a week and you're really depressed, multiply it by a month and you're so down you're a nervous wreck, multiply it by a year and you're searching for ANY JOB you can find just to get away from the abuse and you're really thinking of ways to hurt him, you start fantasising of ways to injure him, just to get some kind of pleasure, just to make it fair in your mind. Because a year of shit from someone does that to you. When you feel like you're being told off before you've even done anything is really bad, then if you do make a mistake at work, how do you think shithead is going to take it?


I really don't understand why anyone can speak to people that way. This guy is meant to be in charge of us. I know it' easy to get angry if people make mistakes all the time, but shithead talks to us like this all the time. There's a thousand way for a manager to say one thing to his team, shithead chooses one way and it's the worst way possible, the team morale is zero.
The only time shithead tries to be nice is when he is in trouble with his superiors. There have been times when people have reported shithouse to his superiors, and he has shit himself, suddenly he starts asking how we are, how we are enjoying our time here, what are we doing at the weekend? What are our hobbies? He's not interested, he's just going through the motions, trying to fill in the gaps he can't do naturally, trying to be the team leader he was hired to be.
There was a time when his superiors were concerned with the morale of the team as a whole, and they sent an email to shithead asking if there were any problems, suddenly shithead turned from the computer screen in a panic and said 'Hey guys, how is the morale in this team?'. He looked really worried, I lied and said the morale was great, reason being, if I complained, he may have come down harder on us. It turned out he did anyway.


I had to put an act on throughout the year, that was my biggest performance, I was amazing. If I was totally myself I would have told shithead to fuck off and walked out, but I'm on my own now, I can't just walk out of jobs. I had to put a face on to deal with the shit that bastard was dishing out every day. IF you opposed him it only got worse for you, he would report everything to head office, if you spoke out of turn, disobeyed or questioned his authority he would send an email to the production manager. If you farted out of tune an email was sent. So I went the opposite way, I became a spineless twat just to get through it, I just said yes and no and sorry if I did something wrong, or said sorry if I did something he didn't like, and generally did everything he asked, that way I still got shit from him but it was minimised. However, I ended up hating myself for it, I couldn't be myself, every day I had to put an act on just to get 60% shit instead of 100%. No one should have to have to do that just to survive, it's a nightmare.


There was a time when a few of us got together and we decided something must be done to try and get this guy sacked, get him out of the company. There may have been three official complaints made against him.
Once he caught wind of this, he took all his team (me included) into a room and said 'Right, some people here have made official complaints against me. I've tried to be nice, I've tried telling you off the way I do, but if any of you make any mistakes or do anything out of line, I'm making an official complaint to the head office, end of!'
.....and I shit myself.
That meant if I even messed up (which was easy because I was a nervous wreck now) he would report me to the head office. Now it was personal between us all.
In the end, there was an internal investigation. Everyone in the company was questioned about shithead, everyone had the same issues with him, but it was decided that shithead would continue working for the company because he got his figures out, he produced the right amount of product as and when needed and he did it efficiently without question, and he knew everything about the product and the company (because he's a company man remember) so based on that, there's no reason to fire him, it doesn't matter if he treats his staff with contempt, as long as they performed like the pond life they are, he reaped the plaudits. He was and is the company man, the best of the best, who cares if people hate him, keep quitting and there's a large turnover of staff..........as long as the right amount of product comes out, on time, or ahead of schedule then shithead runs a tight efficient team.

I hate those company people like shithead, one day he's going to be without a job, the job WILL end, he will be left with a silver watch or a carriage clock (no more than £100 spent) as a show of appreciation for his unselfish efforts for the the good of the company. There will be a presentation in a local hall / conference centre / workmans club, all of the managers will be there (only for free drinks and a meal) they will all pretend it was worth it, they will pretend that shithead was worth it,..more to the point SHITHEAD will believe he was worth it, he will feel worthy, he will feel like a manager, like a director like an executive, he will feel important finally, he will feel like he belongs to the company, he's within touching distance of all the playboy managers with the yachts and the Monaco lifestyle, he will feel this, he will be proud to have this on his C.V. but it won't progress him any further, because he's good at what he does, he's good at one thing, and good at telling others about THAT ONE thing. He's like a child who knows how to play a computer game, but only tells others little bits about that game so they never quite fully understand the game

So, in short, shithead made my working life a total misery for a year, and for that....I hate him.

.....ALL OF THE ABOVE WAS arguably FICTIONAL.

An Ignorant Fop

I quote from wikipedia on a FOP............ "A modern-day fop may also be a reference to a foolish person who is overly concerned about his clothing and incapable of engaging in intellectual conversations, activities or thoughts."..................................And that about sums up the guy have been working with for the most part of a year.

I'm not going to mention the year, it will probably be different form the date of this post.
This has frustrated me for a year. There is 70% of him which is genuinely a nice chap, friendly,concerned,helpful, and kind, and it's a shame I don't write about that part of hi,m, but it's boring, it's not interesting to his final 30% which is mysterious,vague,annoying,manic,pathetic,ignorant,bigoted,foolish,immature and soul destroying.

Let me describe him, he comes from the countryside, he appears to be a very very camp man, as camp as Christmas, a metrosexual look about him, which is perfectly fine, I'm not saying that's wrong, I'm just describing my thoughts on his appearance.
He's 46 years old but wears clothes that teenagers would wear, childish baseball hats cocked to the side.
Designer shirts £130 for a plain blue shirt and so on. He eats nothing to keep himself trim, likes to stay slim by starving himself, never eats in front of people. He is balding very badly on top but is desperate to cling on to the last strands. To do this he has got his hair cut as sort as possible at the sides, then used gel to place the strands on top of his head in place, there's so much gel that this is not a good look, you can clearly see through his gelled strands onto his shiny scalp, the way you can see skin through the hairs on a hairy belly, know what I mean? pointless in other words!! But he's so vain, he's clinging on to everything he can to stay looking young. He's orange from the sunbed, orange that's turning to leather brown 70's luggage / car seat / leather jacket kind of skin. He uses moisturiser, that's no crime I understand, but you're guessing he's not the type to work as a hod carrier on a building site. He gets his eyebrows plucked / threaded at a beauty salon. Again....not a crime, but not a man you'd imagine working as a mechanic. He also gets his nails manicured....not a crime at all, I know you can do ALL these things and still be straight, but surely there's moment after the sunbed, after the hair gel, after the moisturiser, the manicure and eyebrow threading when you sit there and think......'SHIT....MAYBE I'M GAY!!!!'

There's also a part of his personality that's violent without real obvious reasons. He is so random sometimes in his outbursts, that leaves me wondering who he is, what's ticking inside his head. For example one time I was just mentioning the police, how they sometimes stop you to do random checks on your car and so on. The fop (I will refer to him as THE FOP..SEE WIKI REFERENCE ABOVE) the fop said to me 'I fucking hate the police!! Every fucking one of them should be dead, every one of them. Fucking hate them, fucking burn their houses down, hope they fucking all die, no time for the fucking police at all, die you fucking bastards!'.......In which I replied to the fop.....'My god, that was slightly aggressive, why do you hate the police so much?' and the fop replied (in his VAGUE MANNER in which he will do from time to time).....'I just DO! I just hate the bastards, fucking hang the lot of them!' I will never ever know why the fop was so angry towards the police. I could only guess it was because the fop was a bit of a boy racer, probably been racing round the streets in his shitty golf or astra or corsa all those years up until now, probably had a few tickets and speeding fines. In fact I think he did have some fines and went on a speed awareness course. SO maybe that's why he didn't like the police. This got me worried, because it actually proved that the fop was in fact a complete idiot of the road. Someone who had been stopped for speeding (potentially harming himself and others including children) so I am GLAD THE POLICE CAUGHT HIM. I have nothing against the police really, I get nervous and paranoid in their presence like everyone else but I dont mind them. They have a nightmare job, and a mountain of legislation and paperwork so cannot get on with the job as much as they would like, you get the occassional areshole on a power trip of course but I have no problem with them. BUT THE FOP, well it seemed he was an idiot. I'd overhear him talking about slow drivers who were in front of him when he's driving, he says 'I just overtake, put my foot down and go round them!' I said 'What?? on a single laned road? Like a high street?' the fop says 'YEAH!! FUCK THEM, if they want to slow me down, fuck em, ill go round them!!' I thought to myself 'this guy is an aresehole of the highest order, a wanker. He's one of those wankers we ALL hate, the one who revvs the car and overtakes us....POTENTIALLY CAUSING AN ACCIDENT OF DEATH!! Yes, that's the thing, he could overtake and hit someone walking through parked cars, maybe a child. What an arsehole!!

What else?

Oh yes there's the bigotry in him. One day I'm at work with him, and in the room there is ME, a guy from Zimbabwe now residing in Britain as a British citizen and another guy from Iraq who is now a British citizen...and THE FOP.We start talking about the death of Drummer Lee Rigby who was knocked down by a car and hacked to death on the streets of London in broad daylight.
Obviously this is a dreadful crime that shocked the country.
The fop says to everyone 'fucking terrible that murder!' we agree of course, then the fop goes into a rant 'Fucking hacking our soldiers in the streets Tom, fucking bastards should send them ALL back to their country!' (FOR YOUR INFORMATION..Michael Adebolajo & Michael Adebowale were two black British born citizens)


Here's how the conversation or RANT went.
Fop - 'No they're not from here Tom.'
Tom - 'They were born here'
Fop - 'Well they should go back where they're from'
Tom - 'What? London? Hackney?'
fop - 'No!! Where they're from!!'
Tom - 'England?'
fop - 'you KNOW what I mean! Send em on a boat and send the fuckers back! Coming over HERE killing our soldiers Tom!'
Tom - 'They never came over here, they were born here.'
fop - 'fucking killing our soldiers Tom, coming over here.'
Tom - 'They were born here, they have the same rights, they're British men, who killed a British soldier.'
fop - 'fuck off, they're not British.'
Tom - 'None of us are really British, you DO know that everyone is really from Ireland? (JOKING) Everyone can trace their heritage back to the emerald isle!!'
Fop - 'coming over here, killing our soldiers Tom! They're not from here, they should go back to where their ancestors came from!'
Tom - 'I see, all of them?'
fop - 'the fucking lot of them! coming over here killing our fucking soldiers!'

The fop has a habit of repeating himself over and over by the way, really annoying.

fop - 'Tom, they're not British, they haven't even got ENGLISH NAMES!'

(AT THIS MOMENT, THE TWO MEN WE ARE WORKING WITH FROM ZIMBABWE AND IRAQ TURN AROUND)
...and I'm thinking to myself 'God you ignorant bastard, how can you not see the guys BEHIND YOU, are from other countries and don't have English names either, you stupid arsehole, you're offending them, and everyone else in this room.'
I couldnt' believe my ears, I have seen clips of the EDL on television and youtube and knew they were thick ignorant uneducated twats, and here I was face to face with something very similar indeed. I was terrified of what might happen.

Anengoni (ZIMBABWE) - 'Hey, come on now, stop this'
tom - 'come on now you're offending Anengoni!'
fop - 'I'm not on about anengoni, I'm on about them lot down London, send the fuckers back home!'
Tom - 'send them back to England yes?'
fop - 'send the fuckers back Tom, have'nt even got English names!'
Tom - 'Neither has Anengoni and Mourad but they're both British citizens!!'
fop - 'I'm not on about Mourad and Anengoni!! I'm on about them lot down London, haven't even got English names, send the fuckers back! coming over here, killing our soldiers!!'

I was getting nowhere with this guy. He wasn't listening to anyone, he saw red, a mist came down over his eyes, there was no way you could rationalise with him. There was no way you could debate with him about the war, and the morality of it all, his brain couldn't make that kind of open minded leap, he had a closed view on the world. For example, there must be accounts in Iraq and Afghanistan where innocent families have died as a result of accidental shootings / bombings etc and regarded as collateral damage, for those families, they would immediately see the British & Americans as enemies surely. But no one talks about them in the news. To many in Afghanistan and Iraq, it would indeed be the British who came to their country killing people, if you know what I mean? It's a grey area, and there's no way I could have that debate with the fop..

Another thing he does is, ask endless questions. He is bored at work, totally bored, and you know what? So am I !!
So in order for his day to pass quickly, he asks everyone questions, in fact he is very nosey and will sometimes ask personal questions, and we are all so stupid, we tell him everything. He will keep asking and asking relentless questions. Sometimes I can;t stand this, because I dont think he's interested really, he is only doing this to pass the time. Well if he asks the questions and I'm doing the thinking and answering.......that makes my day drag and drag, just to entertain him. It annoys the hell out of me.
The thing is, I know NOTHING about him. If you ask him about his home life, he will reveal only a little information, and it may not be the truth. He is very vague about his life, and in fact he will say to you 'It's personal' which makes me angry because he has been asking everyone around him very personal questions.
He would get phone calls at work three times a day, he would have to stop what he was doing and take the phone calls. They were always from the same woman, Claire, and if you stood near him when he was on the phone you couldn't hear one word he said, you could just make out a mumbled yes or no, nothing else, he just listened on the phone. I always imagined the woman caller Claire....screaming down the phone at him all the time, and the fop just nodding his head mumbling 'yes' or 'no' . Now all of that is fine, that's his right to privacy, I have no right to try and listen in, the part that angers me is that had I taken a phone call at work....the fop would be in my face with a million relentless questions, 'you alright Tom? Everything alright Tom? Sure Tom? who was that Tom? wanna talk Tom? Sure you're ok Tom? You alright mate? alright Tom? Everything ok Tom? you alright Tom?' and on and on he would go, that's what annoys me about this idiot. I don't want to know his business, because it's NONE of my business, I just want to know why he wants to know mine so much.
I always think generally as humans, we are social animals and conversations usually involve a sharing of information, an exchange of information. With the fop, the conversation was always one way, he asks the questions not you, you answer, he knows everything about you, you know nothing about him.

I hate that, and I don't trust people like that.

At this time of writing I'm going to start a new job in a few weeks time, and I cannot wait to get away from the fop. He is one of the many reasons I'm leaving my current job, he makes my day there a torturous experience., along with my boss who talks to me like a piece of shit.

New job, under pressure

I left my old job, the one making electronic fags. I was sick of the hours and my horrible boss.
Now I'm in my new job, it's ok in some respects. I'm so pleased to have a nice team leader, it's so nice to be spoken to with respect. I never ad that in my previous job. I like the environment too, it's very chilled out and everyone so far is nice. I'm keeping myself to myself. In my last job I got hassled everyday off this guy, he just wanted to talk just to pass the time, just to make his day go quicker but it dragged for me, even on my breaks he would see me reading and interrupt just because he was bored. I'm so pleased to be away from him. It's so nice in my new job to be able to read my book in peace.
Everything is good apart from one thing.......the actual job.

I'm soldering minute wires under a microsope. It's so hard. I can't even solder, I tried so many times over the years and now I've been thrown in he deep end. I have three weeks to get it right, otherwise they will get rid of me, that's the part I don't like. Talk about pressure. There are other jobs there that I could do. There is a computer design program, where we design the product in 3D, then it will be printed in plastic (I make hearing aids) there is a 20 year old stonehead learning that job, sitting there bored with his arms crossed. I could do that job, come on.
But I have the hardest naturally. I hope I learn this skill, I hope I keep this job, otherwise I will have to start looking for another job quick.
It's not nice being responsible for yourself sometimes, I have no one to rely on here really, except myself and there are times when I feel like everything is falling apart.
At the time of writing, I'. -900 withdrawn in my account, I'm waiting on gig money from my band to be paid in just so I can eat, if anything goes wrong with my car I'm done for financially,and with the threat of being layed off in three weeks, I really worry about the future.
I'm sick of worrying.


Well it's been five weeks now (at the time of writing this sentence and I'm no further forward with this job.
Sick of listening to these young guys around me having a good laug, god I must be old, that's the sure sign I guess. There is nothing interesting about them. They even noticed that today. They know that I only engage in conversation if I find it interesting, which I think is the idea of conversation.

Tavira

Well, I've had a great time in Portugal at my friend's wedding.
Great day, nice to catch up.
Here's some snaps of tavira.

I'm a failed rocker

Well I'm a failed rocker I suppose, I still play in bands, and duos but the dream is OVER.

There's nothing really that original these days, it's all repackaged vaudeville as far as I can see.
Every generation has it's own rebel music, back to the teddy boys and rock n roll, or the mods, or the hippys or the glams, or the punks, goths, indie show gazers, emos and and back round again and again and again. It's all been done, even an emo is a shit goth. A punk today is not as violent as a punk from the 70's they certainly dont have the same drive or passion or commitment, maybe the same government so I can understand some of it, but they are weekend punks, they're not the real deal. The real punks still frighten me to this day, even though they are in their 50's they still punk themselves up, and I'm more terrified seeing an adult looking like that rather than a uni kid trying to be retro.

Every kid now tries to shock me with the new bands they're into, some kind of ultra heavy fuck metal death band with a messed up name, some kind of shocking name like the crawling bleeding C**TS, meant to shock me, but it doesn't it's just hype, it's bullshit to make geeks buy the music that's all, it's a selling device, a marketing tool and once again the geeky kids looking for an identity buy it trying to have strength in numbers and try to shock me but they wont. It's been done, it's vaudeville, its theatre, it's shit.
Give me a band that's going to disembowel themselves for real during the last song, and I might get tickets to that, but until then don't waste my time.....none of it's real and I don't care how shocking and rocking the band is, they WILL mellow out I guarantee it, they will mellow and mature and they will be listening and playing the mellow music I listen to now, you know why? Because we ALL go back to rootsy music in the end, we try to rebel against it in our youth but we love it and appreciate it as we mature, there's no escaping it. SO just cut the shit, and listen to good music NOW, why not, you can;t resist it forever, it will get you in the end, I don't care how much eyeliner or white powder you put on your face, or the black nail varnish you put on, I'm telling you now...STOP IT, put on a checked shirt, grab a can of beer and listen to Barry Manilow 'I made it through the rain', It's over, give it up, you're not an individual. Stick Barry on, chill out. Get on with it!!

I remember being in original bands, playing at small festivals and gigs, and battle of the bands. I remember weeks before building these gigs up in my mind. I'd see hundreds of people before me jumping and screaming the lyrics to the songs, girls perched on top of guys shoulders with their tits out bouncing to the beat of the music I was pumping out to them. I'd see people who had done me wrong standing in awe as I thrust my guitar around the stage doing Jimi Hendrix type licks and riffs, pulling out all the stops, amps blaring out feedback, cameras constantly flashing, the press eager to follow me along the stage filming my antics, cheers, screams and flashing strobe lights, the heat rising from my head like a smoky haze as the backlight hits me........
Then in reality I'd get to the gig, and it would be a small pub like your local 'Red Lion / The Crown' and I'd be told to playin in the corner where the pool table used to be, but I'd have to wait until some of the punters there had finsihed playing on the fruit machines......and there'd only be about 20 people in, and no one knew your songs / liked your songs / or even cared who you were.

Santa Claus does not exist (1979)

It was 1979, I was living in Stead Close.

There is an apartment store in Darlington called 'Binns'. It's part of the house of Fraser franchise. Myself and my parents were shopping there in December of 1979.

We all went to a part of the store that was full of toys and my dad told me to look for things that my sisters would like as presents. So I had a look around and eventually we all agreed on some presents for my sisters, they were probably dolls and things like that, sindy and Barbie and so on. My dad asked me to look for some presents for myself, so you can imagine I was a little taken back by this but also excited, this was a room full of toys, I was in heaven.
I think I picked a star ship enterprise and a Klingon battle ship of 'Star Trek' fame. Star Trek - The Motion Picture was just released so I was really into it at this point, I was seven for gods sake, that's an acceptable age for a 'Star Trek' fan.

That's when I knew Santa didn't exist, but hey....I didn't give a shit.

All of these presents were wrapped as one BROWN PARCEL and thrown on top of a big wardrobe in my parents room.

Naturally I cracked the secret by telling my sisters about the big parcel on top of my parents wardrobe. My sisters and I crept into my parents room (when they were out) and poked a little hole into the parcel.
Day by day as you can imagine.....this hole got bigger and bigger, it was so big that it was obvious to everyone that...IT WAS A BIG HOLE, it was obvious that someone was trying to look into the parcel yet nobody said anything and everyone carried on as normal day by day. Christmas day was the hardest task of all because when we opened that same parcel (when I say opened, it was really a bunch of presents with a scrap of wrapping paper on top) but when we looked at our presents we all feigned surprise and excitement. It was a hideous sight and a horrible performance from me I must say.

I don't think I looked too happy with my presents that year, but my dad just said to me 'Tough luck, you picked them!'

1970's - films & heatwaves.

Because I was only young in the 1970's I cant really remember too much, but what I do remember was happy times. People who are a lot older than me always mention the summer of 1976. It was the hottest summer Britain had ever had to that date.

I remember this believe it or not. I remember everyone in shorts running around squirting water on each other outside the street. People were going away for the day to the beach or the country, or just outside to play on their bikes...tomahawks and choppers were the rage then. I remember seeing 'the worlds greatest athlete' at our recreation centre in the town, that was our cinema in those days. All of the towns kids would go there to give their parents a break. I remember returning home in my shorts and looking at the ground, it was bright white with the sunshine glazing off it, you couldn't look too long because it would hurt your eyes, so I stopped doing that naturally.

Rivers dried up in places, the river Tees near Hurworth and Croft dried up completely I later heard, this summer was serious.
That was the last Britain would see a heat wave for many years. I think the last was in 2006, It's ironic that during this time I had just moved to Athens in Greece, and as soon as I leave.....Britain has a heat wave.

I remember 'Star Wars' coming out on the cinema, I was five years old, this must have been 1977. My dad and my sisters went to the Odeon in Darlington (Now Riley's snooker club) I can still remember certain bits that I remembered from the cinema experience....I remember the part where Luke Sky walker looks into the two suns and contemplates his future,Strange how things like that stick with you, and if I watch that scene now, it takes me right back.

Like many other boys of my generation (generation x apparently - the lost generation) we all loved Star Wars. There was nothing like it before apart from '2001 a space odyssey' but that was too slow to watch for kids, this film had everything. We loved it, and to top it all, someone left a parka and a balaclava in the cinema, so my dad asked around if it belonged to anyone, when no one owned up, he took it home and I had some new clothes. I wore that balaclava for years after that, I remember it being really itchy though. I always imagined me being itchy and warm, and some kid in Darlington freezing his nuts off outside his house waiting to get beaten off his dad for losing his coat & balaclava.

Superman was my film I think, my god I loved that film so much and my sisters will tell you, I used to try and stuff a towel down my back as a cape, I mean I ACTUALLY HID THE TOWEL as if it WAS my cape and I could unleash it at any moment and save the world....TOWEL BOY.

Loved Superman, this must have been 1978 (this has turned into a memory exercise for me if nothing else). Yes it was 1978 and I remember one of my sisters being really angry because my dad wouldn't let us see 'Jaws 2'. All of us had to watch Superman for my sake (I was 6) and my god I loved it. Maybe it's a film for geeks but I don't care, I didn't then, I was only six years old for Christs sake. I came home and ran around the living room and used to jump in the air onto my dads belly, he would let out a big gasp of air and pain. We did this until I left home at 27. Only joking of course, I was 23.

Yeah Superman was my hero and he got the girl naturally, in years to come I would dream of being a superhero and whisking the school hotty away with me for a trip around the clouds just like the film. Later as I grew up this fantasy would become more realistic as I tried to whisk girls to my room by pretending to be an enigmatic rock guitarist, with poor results I might add.
By the way, I still OWN all four superman films on DVD (at time of typing, I'm probably the only one in the world) my friends laugh at me because of this, but sometimes I just love going down memory lane as I am right now.

Cannot believe all of that happened over 30 years ago at time of writing this.

I wish I could go back for a day

SHIT

The brown couch

We had a brown couch that sort of hugged two walls in an 'L' shape if you can imagine. Its was brown corduroy. Is that possible? Well anything was possible in the 70's & 80's, as long as you had a dream, they would ruin it with corduroy whether it was a couch, clothes, your car.

The brown couch would remain in the house until 1990 I think, so it had some great times. It had seen a lot of action. A lot of parties,a lot of bottoms and a lot of teenage heavy petting. Although I would never reveal that to my parents. Isn't it strange how the same couch you slept on at five years old would be the same couch you sucked a woman's breasts on twenty years later, and at this moment I am looking at the couch I am sitting on mulling the same possibilities, although at this time I'm fairly old, the couch I'm looking at now will be a place for me to lie down when I'm ill or just plain tired, that's life !!



The brown couch was great, at one end sat my dad nearest the television and at the other end sat my mam, two bookends, and the rest of us were in the middle. Maybe this signified their marriage, maybe it was over. some of my friends in later years remarked on this, It's funny thinking that they sat there for over ten years like statues. My mother would eventually have a table full of lager cans and knitting next to her chair, it's quite sad thinking that's all she had in the end. I understand how she felt at times poor woman. My dads chair moulded into the shape of his bum after ten years, making it impossible for anyone else to get comfortable there without padding.



Money would always fall down the back of the brown couch as well as broken biscuits, keys and important documents. All of which would become a great surprise when discovered, sort of lifted your spirits when you reached into the depths of the couch to pull out that 'passport, driving licence or £20 you had been searching for, for the last two years.



So we had the brown couch, and in the middle of the floor in front of the couch was a Chinese coffee table over run with ashtrays and coffee cups, and on a night time, usually Tennents lager cans with the sexy women on the sides, do you remember them or know them? look them up. My mother would also have her Carlsberg special brew cans on there eventually, and in later years our dog 'Max' would try to eat the fag butts from these ashtrays or try to get you to pull his whole weight from the edge of a fag butt in his mouth. In fact, Max would own his own throne from this brown couch, he would have the collapsed chair of my dads to sleep on, he loved my dad.



Yeah, the brown couch, who could forget, perhaps you or your family had one, four chair pieces and a corner chair all linked together, it was the best couch in the world.

Whatever happened to the UNION?

When I was 15 or 16 I joined a local band. We were called 'The Union', named after the union jack. The union jack was associated with mod bands like the Who and the Jam, and we thought ourselves as a similar type of band, singing for the disgruntled working class youth. We were like every other young band, we thought we were the best. We were going to make it. We were young and naive.


I had been playing the guitar for about a year before I joined this band and had become quite good at the guitar for my age. I worked at the local newsagents as a paperboy when I overheard a guy there talking about his band, they wanted a guitarist for a competition they were going in for. It was to play for 'going live' which was a BBC programme for kids in the '80s. It was to be held at the riverside in Newcastle.

I auditioned and got in the band. To be honest we were quite good for our age, the singing was not great, but we were trying. We never got through our heat in the competition, but we got a brief mention on 'going live' somebody took a photo of us, and that was my slice of stardom for the year.
The band continued to go for a few more months, during which time we played at a local youth centre. My friend John (drums) got his mother to film the gig, unfortunately the light was so bad that the video shows nothing the flashing disco lights.

Anyway, years later, I was bored, I was in a crazy reflective mood (I was going through a rough time and wanted a distraction) and I just fancied trying to do a rockumentary / mockumentsry about 'the union' using the footage from the original gig footage Johns mother filmed, and using actual rock documentary footage and trying to blend them together to make my own rockumentary. The result is a total abomination. There is nothing good about it at all for the neutral viewer really, nothing makes sense, it's full of private jokes that no one can relate to, but I kind of like it as it takes me back to the year we made it, and even though it's pathetic, cringy, humiliating and embarrassing, it reminds me of my mate John, and how I got through a rough time by keeping occupied, occupied by filming this piece of shit !!!

Recording dreadful songs

Yes the song above is called Jacksonville to Arkansas, and it's basically me reading directions from Google map in a Johnny Cash style voice. That's it.
It's dreadful, but I'm reminiscing tonight because I'm missing those times in my mates house. I'd go there for a place to get away from it all and we had some good laughs. During which we'd record some dreadful songs like this one.
One of my favourites was me talking about my problems and my life for 20 minutes non stop, and then going back and recording some music alongside it, a 20 minute song that got worse and worse. I enjoyed it. YOU WON'T.

Here's to you John, thanks for giving me your time, to get away from it all and record this shit.

Getting away from it all.

Hi there. Here's a video, to me it's kind of bitter sweet. I was a carer for my mother for a couple of years before she passed away.
During this time, I had little money to do anything, little time, and not much motivation, I was kind of depressed to be honest, so whenever I could I would set out on the train from my hometown to the end of the rail line which was Saltburn, and start walking form the ship inn and along the coast.

I loved it, although I could have done with some company at times. There are moments when you think 'Yeah this is great, this is what it's all about!!' you go into a quaint village, you think 'I'm so lucky to see this, the world is beautiful!' you go in a country pub, you get a drink of beer, you think 'This is amazing, I've spent my time wisely this weekend, this is what life should be about!'....you sit down next to the open fire, the friendly dog comes to greet you, you think 'This is great'...you look around and see other people, other people together, other people talking, other people who are kissing, other people enjoying each others company...and you think.....'FUCK.....I'M ALONE !!!'' and out into the cold fucking wind you go....for more punishment, that's what it was punishment, punishment for being ALONE!!

I joke of course, the scenery was stunning at times. ..and I would meet other happy walkers too, you know those type?? The old ones who dont have sex anymore. I didnt mix too much with them, those fuckers slowed me down.

I'm joking,it was just a time to myself, somewhere to burn my energy off and think about things, sometimes the countryside can do this, it can clear your mind.
I stopped in Staithes one night, which was a bit like a pirates den I thought, especially at night. The pubs near the seafront were like something out of dickens novel or Robert Louis Stevenson, low ceiling, Ales, shouting, laughing, it was great, I ordered a beer and waited for someone to crash the door down, someone dressed in black with a long black cape, and a hook of some sort, it had that feel. I made my way back up the bank to the captain cook hotel which was where I was staying that night. That's another nice little place. I had a few ales and sat in front of the open fire, but i got a bit depressed and sad, wondering why I was doing this to myself. I still don't know why, maybe I wanted to see how low I could feel, so going back home would feel great. I went to bed drunk and slept like a log.

Next morning at breakfast I met a nice chap from Leeds, and after a few bits of small talk, we found out we had a love of football and the Who. He also asked me why I was walking out here on the coast. I told him about my mother, and that I was her carer and needed a bit of break from it all. His face lit up, he told me he was doing a similar thing. His son had cerebral palsy and he was his sons carer and this was the only way he could get a bit of a break from it all. It was quite heartbreaking to hear about his son and I wish I'd met this guy earlier, we could have went for a few drinks and maybe walked a bit, who knows....It seemed a shame. Well, where ever he is I wish him the very best, all the best Dave.

That morning I headed out from Staithes to sandsend, through thick fog, which was totally terrifying. it reminded me of the horror film 'THE FOG' it just kept coming and coming,and blackened out the sun until 2.00p.m. freezing sea fog, from all those dead souls who perished in the icy waters of the NORRRRRTH SEA AAAARRRGGGHHH.. I made it to Sandsend in the afternoon, had a lovely slap up Sunday dinner in the pub there, hearts inn or something?? Can't remember the posh pub at Sandsend... Unfortunately I'd walked all those miles in shorts that had sown in underpants, which chaffed and cut the inside of the top of my thighs in between my scrotum, so it was painful to walk.....I got the bus back to Saltburn...

My mother cured me with Lemon Barley Water

At the time of this writing I am ill with the flu.

Having the flu, or being ill always makes me want to be near my mam. Is this the same for you? It's awful to think that at this moment my mam is really severely ill with C.O.P.D. and other ailments yet, I am not there for her.

I'm a such a hypocrite.

Well at the moment I am nursing myself back to health with tablets and Lemon Barley Water and it is this that takes me back to when I was a kid, an ill kid.

My mam would always be there with some Lemon Barley Water, a cold flannel for my forehead and maybe a hot water bottle, and it's strange because once you know your mother is there, you kind of feel better, well at least, I did.

These are the moments that my sister seems to forget, or maybe she was not treated as well as me I am not sure.
However i treasure these little moments even though it's not nice to be ill, it's nice knowing your mother is there to make everything alright.

I just wish my parents would be here forever. As do you, no doubt.

Mr Critch - Evil music teacher (1983)

It's 1983, I am ten years old. I have asked to start music lesson with Mr Critch.

The main reason is to avoid normal lessons, my so called friends advised me to do so and get out of maths or whatever we did on Wednesday afternoons at wood ham burn junior school.

Mr Critch is about five foot seven, with a bit of a bald head like an egg in the nest. He has glasses (the classic pedo look) and in short....he was a twat.

I came into the class, not knowing a thing about music. He had already put some music on the black board in a series of scales upon a musical stave. He was going through the note types such as quavers and crotchets. I assumed (and this is the key word here) I assumed he was speaking directly to the other kids in the class because they had been studying a while now, I didn't think I was expected to know, memorise or understand ANYTHING HE WAS TALKING ABOUT, and when you think of it logically....HOW COULD I??? This is my first music lesson where music theory is learned.

So he asked me a question about the music on the board, to which I could not answer correctly. He went into a rage, I could not believe it he went from ZERO to a full rage of pure hate. He actually screamed at me so much that one of the other boys started crying, one of those boys who ADVISED ME TO GO TO THIS MUSIC LESSON. I now understood WHY, it was because our music teacher was a PSYCHO, and the ironic thing is that I had come out of my original lesson to avoid my day to day teacher of this year which was MR DRAKE (see other posting of him in this blog)
Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

So one if not both of the other boys in the class (small class - no surprise) they were sent out, while I stayed in with the fucking psycho teacher who lost control because I COULDN'T UNDERSTAND MUSIC BECAUSE I HAD NEVER READ MUSIC IN MY LIFE PREVIOUSLY. That's understandable.

SO he sat me down (i was always sitting anyway, maybe he sat me down further) and he spoke to me again. I believe he went through some drum rudiments using only a drum stick, he had decided upon five minutes that I was a drummer. Then he changed his mind and gave me what I presumed was a French horn, it was a horn of some sort.
On this horn was a squeaky valve, now this is the thing. I personally believe that the valve would always squeak due to wear and tear and without dare I say - lubrication. Mr Critch said that the squeaking would stop only If I practiced every day until next week.

So every day I practiced, but it was difficult because only one small puff of the horn would shake the house from it's foundations so there was always hammering and shouting from my parents, so I couldn't really practice at all.
Naturally, when I returned to music class the following week, I played for Mr Critch and there it was again, that squeaky valve. Once again, the psycho hit the roof. He reigned down torrent after torrent of hate upon my head, and I tried the only option I could think of at that time which was BY TELLING THE TRUTH - YOU CAN'T GO WRONG WITH THE TRUTH AS THE HEAD MASTER USED TO SAY. I told Mr Critch about my problems playing the horn at home, that it disturbed the peace, but he would'nt accept it of course he probably lived in a posh house in the middle of no where on his own estate you see, not like us lot, stuck in council houses)
He went nuts and once again, the other boys started crying.

After that, I avoided the bastard at all costs. During sports day, I remember it was such a hot day, the bastard was looking for me all over the sports field. I could see him asking kids, teachers and the odd parent if i was at school, if I was in attendance, if so and so was my mother / father or if I was entering any of the races and games - What a complete psycho......I mean...WHO WOULD DO THAT???
Meanwhile I was hiding between parents legs or crouching down, anything I could do to avoid him. I entered more races that year than any year, and you know what, I won more too, that's how scared I was, just so you know, I didn't race with the French Horn, that was left at home. He was like the kiddy catcher from 'Chitty Chitty Bang Bang' a real fucker. That ordeal went on all afternoon for me, it was real tense, too tense for a ten year old. He must have been really angry with me to come searching for me.

Just so you know there is no point to this story apart from the hate I feel towards him.

One Sunday morning I remember just looking at 'songs of praise' or 'morning worship' as it may have been called back then. It was an early Sunday morning edition I believe. I was not a viewer, I must have just been curious to watch for a minute or so, it was actually filmed in Durham Cathedral this morning so maybe that's why I was interested as Durham was quite close to me. As I watched, the camera pulled back slowly and revealed Mr Critch, sitting in the congregation ,hymn book open, smiling and singing his heart out. I grabbed my dad and told him "Hey dad, there's Mr Critch, the crazy teacher from School" My dad wasn't bothered of course but I was really angry because of him. It is something I still hold onto today, something to do with the WARPED mind of some religious people IF NOT ALL, How could someone SO EVIL be religious, and a religious fanatic (the worst kind). I have seen so many examples of this over the years, we see it in old Catholic Schools, and nunneries where innocent people were punished supposedly in the name of god.
They are animals.

Let me tell you, I hated Mr Critch with a passion, right now I would love to track the bastard down and punch him in the face, but I have a feeling he is already dead. If he is....I hope it was a painful slow death and I hope he realised that heaven does not exist.....especially for evil men such as him.

Burn in hell Critch.

My parents in america 4

I am not exactly sure of all the circumstances with my parents in America. I know they always told me how cheap things were to buy there, how efficient things were, but my mothers life was not very good and in a sense I think she missed her family, after all my mother was only a young woman in her early twenties with two children and a husband she rarely saw.

Something happened, something that threw everything in chaos and my mother came back to Scotland with my sisters leaving my dad behind to continue working. All I know about this time is that the 'Rose & Crown' had gone under or was losing money / had lost money and my dad had took some job on that was almost like torture to him. I remember him telling me he had to do something like paint / strip paint or re - decorate an entire building on his own. He was exhausted, and was sleeping in some dingy rented room somewhere, he told me he was starving and lost weight and was eating things like mars bars just to stay alive and finish this doomed job, which he did. Quite a frightening and desperate image for me to imagine.

My dad returned to Scotland and during his stay, ended up in hospital with pneumonia, again I do not know the details but I know he nearly died, I know he was on the 'death ward', and I remember him telling me he had an outer body experience. I always thought my dad was sceptical about these kinds of things but one day he opened up and told me.
He said he was on the death ward with a religious fanatic to his right who kept on preaching about how god was waiting for everyone in heaven to arrive and that they MUST NOT BE AFRAID, and accept the lord when they passed over. Later that night the preachers screams were heard throughout the ward as he fought to stay alive, and how he didn't want to pass over, he was frightened of death. My dad hated religious people probably for that reason, that they are deluded hypocrites, something which I have inherited & thank him for. Because...death IS frightening, and life IS beautiful, who would want to leave it behind?
My dad was so Ill he said he saw himself on the hospital bed as if he were looking down upon himself. He believed that this is simply your body dying and your mind is preparing for death OR telling yourself to pull yourself together and STAY ALIVE. Which I believe also. My mother allegedly had a similar experience in later years where she claimed to have seen the bright white light, she also believed it was her body fighting to stay alive.

So back to my parents. They were living in Scotland, my mother & sisters lived somewhere in Rutherglen..