Friday, 7 October 2016
I felt inspired to start writing again.
If I was to write a new book, it would be full of sex and violence. It would be pornography. I would tell my tale through cunt and lust and violence and depravity. I'd want folk wanking to it. I'd try to sensationalise even the shit boring stuff. I'd want brutal honesty. I'd wanna read stuff that I personally wouldn't publically voice. Deep, dark, dirty secrets.
Public toilets as a youth, promises of sex and cock sucking written on the back of toilet doors, porn mags in bins, in woods, in partially buried carrier bags.
Sex. Youth for me was about sex. Ain't it for everyone. The smell of long bulldozed public toilets in the park. The nostalgic disinfectant. And you're 8 again, wanking in the cubicle wondering what cock sucking meant. The drawings on the wall.
Literally unimaginable how a cock could ever fit up your asshole. Children. We were children and we were innocent but we were all dirty and excited about fucking and what it meant. Fingers on pussies and assholes and tiny erect cocks as we played with each other. The sharp vinegar smell of crevices and dirt and piss and shit as we lay on each other and pressed our naked bodies together. Too young to even put our clothes on properly after.
What is interesting? Is poetic writing worthy of your attention. Why would I wanna read your flowery crap.
Sipping the head off a fresh pint of Harp lager from my dad's knee? One of my earliest and happy memories. My first taste of booze, that bitter frothy delight that now hasn't passed this alcoholic's lips for 17 years? Making my dad proud. That his son had a taste for beer.
That tumbler of clear brown liquid. Forced to sip. That burned my throat and made me cry.Whisky. My dad's bullying laugh. Kicking my feet from underneath me when I tried to get at him. I can still feel the thud as my knees repeatedly hit the floor. My rage, screams and frustration growing at every failed assault.
Never being taught to punch. And all the daily wrestling fights with my brother proved an absolute failure when the cry baby next door punched me smack in the nose. Why didn't you teach me dad? You were never there. Golf and massage. That was where he was. I dread to imagine what "massage" entailed. I didn't miss my dad. There was nothing to miss. But he definitely screwed me up. Don't we all just want our dad's approval at the end of the day.
The first time I wept over my alcoholism eh. When was that.
I point blank can't remember my late teens. At 16 I worked in soho as postboy at MCA records. From age maybe 15 to 20,those 5 years are just a blurry haze. I have an pretty good memory though. I can remember my first conscious thought, listening to the b side of Abbey Rd whilst I lay on the settee. I was probably not 3 yet. I have memories of the stinking piss tramp knocking me over in his dirty black mac as a toddler by Norwood junction train station. I remember hiding behind the sofa from the police who'd come to interview my mum about the hatchet murder we'd witnessed outside the doctors. The doctors denying the black kid aid from the axe wound in his head. Him dying on the pavement. I'm serious.The 70's. Those wonderful racist times. Stephen and Rex the 2 black kids down the road, our best friends, our house the only one where they were allowed to come in to play. I didn't know this at the time and never knew racism existed until i moved from South Norwood to West Wickham later on.
Snippets and memories. Looking up at the chrome bumper of a car as it sped towards me. Coming to a halt inches from my face. The man in glasses shouting at my mum. Early memories. Pre school days.
Hospitals, heart murmurs, hearing tests, migraines, night terrors, sleep walking, hallucinations, operations, fear. Fear of another hospital stay. Fear. Childhood is s fearful time.
The skinhead trying to steal my dad's car. My dad jumping on the bonnet and the kid jumping out and running. Me to my dad "I could have easy caught him". Driving through the Brixton riots at the start of the 80's. My dad wanting to see the frontline. Fearless in the presence of this superhero. Faith in our parents. Our keepers from danger.
Shall we talk about circumcision? Dr Southcott, small hospital in Croydon, closed brown curtains, the suns rays making it through the cracks. How old? 3 maybe? Me and my brother, done at the same time. Who's foreskin was too tight? i think mine but my dad figured he'd do us a favour and get both his boys done. That's right, we'd thank him one day, be grateful. Bullshit. Didn't see him getting his cock mutilated for the sake of it. He made us different. He made us roundheads. Roundheads verses Cavaliers. Said it was common. Not in our schools. Only the freaks were circumcised. The Jews, the bullied, the small, the socially awkward. Snip snip. My first taste of surgery. The pink liquid drunk before the knife that made your mouth bone dry. Too dry to swallow. The beginning of my life of panic attacks. Me and my brother in the bath afterwards. Soaking the scabs off of our kid dicks to help remove the gauze. Later on showing my erect cock to Ginny by a freshly creosoted fence. "Why is your willy all stiff?" she asked after showing me her fanny round by the garages? "i've been circumcised" i told her."I've had an operation.This is what happens now".The smell of creosote always takes me back to sunshine in Howard road, 40 years ago, my dick pointing towards the sky.
These days, man, i love my cock. I name him, he's my friend and i wouldn't change him for shit but fuck man, life would have been a lot easier without having that procedure. I would never circumcise my kids for non medical reasons.
What is there to tell of school? Nothing. Nothing of interest or relevant.i moved from a poor area where my friends were indian or Jamaican to a rich area where there were only white kids. And this little weed was suddenly the rough kid. Amazing.
Any talents I had were quickly admonished and I was molded into the average kid. There is nothing remotely exciting to tell of school. No fucking, no fingering. Just fear and institution. Secondary school was all boys, maroon blazers and rugby. It was absolutely fucking terrible.
I was fucked for my exams though.Is that vagueley of interest? First year of GCSE's. We were the guinea pigs. I sucked on lighter gas (don't shake the can, you'll freeze your lungs) and downed pints of white wine and mugs of whisky round MArk Conlons house before hand, my feet then feeling soaking wet as i sat in the silence of the exam hall.Why didn't they smell the alcohol coming from us? Mark was my best mate at school. We'd spend our lessons drawing roller coasters and comic strips of our favourite TV show Chocky instead of doing proper work. I never lifted a book to revise, i never did my homework.Registrations were spent copying from other peoples books.I still dream about copying homework. Nothing inspired me from those shitty school buildings. Fucking drivel was school.The shit they taught, the way they spoke to us. They hated us those teachers. The nurturing beautiful professionals i see today are a far cry from the jaded, sadistic failures of the 80's.
Mel and Kim's respectable is playing on the stereo. I am 14 and at a real party with girls. I'd got in with the bad crowd. Well actually, they'd got in with me. I was the cool skater who the bad kids wanted in with.
Real girls! Real parties, real teenage stuff.
Those days, those amazing halcyon days of possibility.
And I'm the cool kid again. Yeah, school I am just a face in the crowd,but outside, now I am a person. I can skate and I am interesting. This is bullshit. Nothing happened at this party. I had to be home by 11. I pretended I was more drunk than I was. A girl called Jessica made me black coffee coz that is what you do. I drank creme de menth. I walked home in the summer twilight feeling very happy. I had lain my head on a girls shoulder. That will do me.
Considering how sex was such a big part of my childhood, my teenage years were pretty fucking barren.
How I hated being circumcised. I was different. Different to my dad, different to the other boys at school.
And the circumcised kid got shit. I truly believe that teachers in the 70's and 80's were sadists. Games teachers I believe were peodofiles. The satisfaction on their faces as they stood watching us in the showers. I'd stand there, shielding my child's cock from the watchful eyes of these cunts. Pupils and teachers. Guarding my circumcised secret.
I was incomplete, a target and despised by all of humanity. I was a fake Jew.
Like fuck were any ladies getting near. Kissing lead to fingering. Fingering to getting wanked off. No fucking way was that happening. I was a late developer anyway. By the time I hit puberty I was so drunk anyway that I don't remember developing a mans cock.
Are early fumblings worth a mention? For nostalgia's sake? Nicky by the oak tree - first tits (34b), Sofie my brother's friend's younger sister - first love bite I received. Fiona - first pussy I felt, fingered, sucked (she 15,me 16). Nothing exciting. I remember Fiona's cunt. It was perfect. Everything fell into place. The way my fingers slipped inside her, the smell. Fuck that beautiful smell. The smell of sex. Everything I ever imagined it to be and more. I explored that pussy for hours. It didn't do anything, I didn't have a fucking clue. But I found that clit and I found her vagina and I found her asshole. I had a good explore.
"Don't you want me to do anything to you?"
No fucking way. I was so scared of exposing my circumcised secret that this prevented any personal physical arousal. I remember her toe lightly brushing my groin. That was as close as she got.
I lost my virginity to a bloody hole. I didn't choose to. Fuck man, my poor girlfriend must have been so frustrated.
Lucky for me, my head giving technique of constant all over cunt sucking seemed to work a treat with Kathy and I was able to deflect her from my tiny cock for ages. My tiny circumcised cock. I hadn't a clue. I was lead to believe that the average cock size was 8 inches. AVERAGE. obviously my all boys school was made up of porn dongs. Easy to laugh now but as a teenage boy, size is everything. 8 inches for your information isn't average. Those are porn dongs. Average dick size is more like 5 and a half.
Anyway, faced with the prospect of Jew dick discovery, my poor young boy would shrivel and I kept my frightened pecker way out of kathy's reach. For 2 fucking months!
One night I was drunker than usual. Somehow she managed to get her mouth round my cock whilst I was falling asleep. I came instantly without the slightest erection. I think I may have pulled her mouth from me without her realising I'd come. She had no idea I was a virgin.
I remember the warmth of her mouth. Incredible. This was huge for me. Someone had got near.
I guess she'd given up waiting. The next night.....
The next night she pounced. I lay back and let it happen. I was resigned to the fact that i was a freak and that it would be awful, that she would leave me, this pathetic small cocked circumcised child. She removed her tampon and climbed on, thumbed my limp cock into her. I smelled the blood, could taste it in the hot air around us. I came instantly without the slightest erection.
The world changed. In that secret embarrassed silence i became a man. I was no longer a virgin. I was 18. She was cool, we cuddled up and i feigned sleep. Laying there, ashamed,wishing my pumping heart wouldn't betray me.
The sun rose on a new day in North London. A Sunday in Southgate. The sun rose on a new man. A man with a massive fucking erection. I fucked her for the entire day. Again and again. I made up for lost time. Doggy, her on top, sideways, on the stairs, in the bathroom, every fucking which way possible. She marvelled at my proud circumcised cock. She took my shaft in both hands and told me i had quite a big one. Why hadn't i wanted to fuck her previously? I told her i liked to wait, that sex wasn't important to me. Like fuck. Sex was the most important thing ever. Always had been. All i'd ever wanted to do was fuck. She had me. She totally fucking had me. She had no idea i had been a virgin. We fucked until her cunt was raw and my balls ached.
I never used a condom, i always withdrew. I loved that woman. She was older than me and i fucked her and she made me feel like i was a man.
So writing this on my phone brings benefits. If i feel uncomfortable knowing that the person sitting next to me is covertly reading my words then i guess i'm onto a good thing. Uncomfortable sharing private things, the embarrassing, the depraved, the illegal. So i'll slow my writing and tilt my phone away to the window and wait for them to lose interest.
Let's get back to my disastrous early years of sex. I was unlucky. So i'd lost my virginity to an older woman. She was 23, i was 18. i was being a grown up, i was fucking a real woman, not a girl. She cooked dinners and we did adult things. She gave me genital warts. Yup, 3 weeks in and the first symptoms started to show on her from her previous partner. But i couldn't possibly catch them, i'd just started fucking! No way was i gonna stop now. I was blinded by love and lust and i didn't actually care. So we switched to condoms whilst she went for treatment at the Turnpike Lane clinic.
They grew on my asshole, a cluster of tiny fucking grape pips. hahahah For fucks sake. I was 18, i'd been terrified of intimacy all my teenage years and now i'd caught my first STD. Brilliant. Of course i didn't tell her. They weren't showing on my cock so i kept it to myself. I trusted the superpowers of love to heal me. They got worse. They were fucking horrible. Finally breaking down i confessed to Kathy. You can imagine the joy of me bending over exposing my fucked up ass to the girl i loved and so desperately wanted to impress. Jesus that was fucking hard hahaha. Treatment began. Bend over Alex, let's cotton bud this nice brown acid stuff onto your ring piece and burn the fuckers off. That kinda killed the vibe right.They were stubborn. My ass was red raw for weeks. I couldn't skate,i was convinced i could smell the burning flesh from inside my trousers. They finally went, they'd come back. I went into denial again and lied to Kathy. You know how i finally got rid of them? Talcum powder. I'd shower my ass clean every time i went to toilet and i'd dust my ring with talc. Like cake my ass in talc. Johnson and Johnson's magic wart cure. Why i decided to do this i dunno. Instinct i guess. Those tiny grape pips started to dry up and fall off. Within a few week they were gone, never to return. Thank fuck for that. I've never heard of this cure elsewhere and i've never spoken of it. Why bring it up now? I promised to dish the dirt didn't i? Warts and all.
Let's talk about Kathy. My first love. Actually let's not. Is there anything to be gleaned from my first relationship.Hmmm let's wander. She was a regular customer at M Zone,the Carnaby Street skateboard shop and Stussy wholesaler which I worked at from the age of 17 - 19. 2 years of the best fun I think I ever had. 2 years that actively indulged my teenage alcoholism and punk rock rebellion. And fuck I was punk. Not punk in the political sense that it means to me now but the fucked up carnage of skateboarding and parties.
How did I end up at M zone. Ok let's back track a couple of years. Let's go back to my final year at school and those exams I hadn't worked for. I hadn't a clue what I was doing back then. I spose I'd signed up for A levels someway through the year but they were obviously dependent on my exam results. The exams I'd just sat, hadn't revised for and hadn't expected to pass.
I do remember sitting in my living room with a dressing gown on, hungover and sick, not yet 16 when my mum came in with the envelope from the exam people. We weren't expecting good results and I remember mum telling me it didn't matter. I told her to open it, I didn't care.
So it turns out I was kinda clever. Somehow, without doing any work the previous year at school and without opening a book to revise I managed to pass 7 gcse's, A to C grade. So 6th form it was. I had no other plans.
I passed the Summer skating, getting drunk and painting Misfits logos on my new school desert boots. I wore chinos, heavy lumberjack shirts and a donkey jacket.
I'd kept no information as to what A levels I'd put in for the previous term so I turned up for my first day of 6th form (A week after term had started actually) with literally, not a clue what I was doing.The timetables for lessons had long been taken down so i kinda just bumbled into the lessons i fancied. My lack of name on the registers didn't seem to bother the jaded teachers at that school. They just added me to the list and away i went. I ended up in Art History, Ceramics and i think it may have been Geography, none of these had i sat exams for the year before and now i was doing them at A level.
6th form ended up being a huge dissappointment. It wasn't like the freedom of college that i had imagined. I was legally allowed to smoke, get married, have sex, join the army but here it was still all rules and shouting teachers and bullies and bullshit. Even the exposure to girls in lessons (6th form was mixed) wasn't enough to interest me. Outside school i was already known in the London skate scene,one of the best young street skaters around, spending evenings at the Southbank, being introduced to all walks of life, being my own person, at school i was just that quiet kid who kept out of the way.6th form lasted a month. I remember the ceramics teacher Miss Anderson shouting at a pupil that if "he didn't want to be here then he could get out! And that goes to anyone else in here too!" That was my chance. I actually liked the ceramics teacher and didn't want to bullshit her. Up with my hand and out i went, never to return. My school days were over.
I apologize for the last paragraph. Terribly boring wasn't it. Should it even be here? I wrote a piece on the ghostly experiences i'd had last night but then decided not to include it. It was boring too.
Shall we get violent for a bit? Or horny? Ok, let's get violent. So anyway, as mentioned earlier, my dad never taught me and my brother to fight. Why was that? There were very mixed ideas about raising us kids in our house. Mum was just amazing. My saint and protector. Gentle and kind and peaceful. Dad was very angry that he wasn't allowed to beat us black and blue like he'd been beaten as a kid. He was one of 8 kids from a Burmeses family who were regularly whipped and beaten. So like all clever sensible people, just because he was abused, he thought it was his right to beat his kids, and if this was prevented he's just beat the dog. Yup, the man who just "couldn't stand bullying" was a bully.So my mum was super protective of us and apart from the wrestly matches with brother,we never learned to throw a punch.
This led to me getting my head kicked in a few times in my teens without fighting back. I was like a frightened deer in the headlights. Paralized with fear. I couldn't understand why i'd allow the punches to rain down on my head and not fight back.The worst was already happening, if i'd at least tried to fight back, that would have made me feel better but no.I'd just let myself get kicked and punched around.It wasn't as if i was the innocent victim here either. I'd start the fucking trouble hahaha, what an idiot. I'd be all mouth and no trousers and suddenly i'd be getting my head kicked in hahah. I remember being chased by about 6 blokes once. Blokes that had already attacked us with bottles and lumps of wood after us mouthy pissed up skate kids had called them wankers for no real reason other than they were walking through our carpark. We couldn't just leave it. All bravado we went after them again with the name calling. hahaha What pricks we were. Suddenly i had all of them chasing me down a cul de sac. I had at least a 100 metre start on them but i was tired and drunk and dumb so i just hopped down the side path of a house into the shadows to escape into a back garden. Except the gate was locked. I remember in my panic searching for the door handle, scanning my escape route.Hahaha there was none. I turned round and watched as all 6 of them, fully grown men walked up the path to kill me! hahahaha. They literally kicked the shit out of me. I shit my pants. They punched and kicked me to the floor and then all went at me with the stamping. They kicked me through the garden gate. In my haste,in my panic i realised that i couldn't find the handle because it was on the other side to where i was looking.
I crawled up as best i could into a ball and hoped they didn't stab me. It was quite normal for folk to carry knifes then. People always have.After a minute or so of them playing football with me, i heard one say "he's had enough". Thanks Mr. That was very honourable of you. I mean that. I'd started it, i got beat, i got away with bruises. I remember getting up and running into the back garden and hiding in a bush. I put my hand down my pants and pulled out the shit that they'd kicked out of me. Luckilly it wasn't messy. I hid in that bush and listened to the shouting in the street as they beat up my mates. They stole my skateboard but only threw it into a neighbouring garden for me to find the next day.It was a pink Tony Hark board. I liked that one.
So i guess i had a lot of pent up aggression and shame when it came to fighting and being hard. Being hard is a very important part of being a teenager. Being hard and having sex. That is the recipe for successful teen living. I was none of that. I wasn't hard and i wasn't having sex. I was really good at getting drunk and skateboarding though and i was good at pretending to be hard. Once upon a time, one of the Southbank locals came into M Zone after he had been robbed by a group of muggers from West London that sometimes came down to caused shit down under the Royal Festival Hall. They'd been seen around Carnaby st that day so i'd gee'ed everyone up that if they came to the shop, we'd lock them in and torture the fuck out of them (there being a nice big group of us). And they came in!!! So i got all excited and started to lock the doors behind them! What the fuck was i doing? There was a group of them and when they sussed something was up, they bolted through the doors. Out i ran like a hero, independent trucks in each hand as weapons. Along Carnaby street i ran. I was chasing them off! Through a catwalk fashion parade (it was London Fashion Week) and they were running and i was running, brandishing my weapons and then they weren't running and then i turned around and i realised that i was on my own and then suddenly it was me against these hardened West London Hoodlums! Da da daaaaaaa! so we squared off with each other. I was a hard man (well boy).Amazingly, they told me it wasn't I that they were after. Pheeeuwwwwwww! So we stared each other down and we parted and i thanked my lucky stars that no violence had come about.
Until later. I was closing up shop around 6 oclock when the first tap on the window happened. Outside were i'm not shitting you, at least 20 blokes. They were tapping the window with knives and making throat cutting gestures at me. HahahahahahahFuuuuuuuuck!!!! To call the police or not to? I mean it's pretty obvious now but at the time, you didn't call the fucking filth. You were hard. You dealt with this shit.A stand off developed.I was prisoner in my own shop.
Horsey (who later formed The Flying Medallions with me) turned up about an hour later and i let him in. He managed to go out and talk to the people and again, they said it wasn't I who they were after. I'm guessing they were just fronting as well. Oh to be young and stupid and full of shit.I was so scared that night that after they'd all gone, Horsey had to join me on my journey home to Southgate.
So i was still a failure in the fighting department, still a failure in the fucking department.But i knew how to fight.I'd seen much smaller kids winning fights with bigger bullies at school. Size meant nothing. It was all about going fucking psycho. I'd seen the posturing bully squaring up to the small kid, arms raised Queensbury rules style to then see him get his ass kicked as the little guy went all our mental on him. All or nothing.Headbutting, punching, kicking biting.It was all about surprise. Give nothing away, stop at nothing until that fucker is stomped. I knew this.All i needed was an opportunity to inact my rage.Hahaha Tennents Super helped. One thing i've always had was a temper.I am as the doctors labelled me in my childhood, after fits and nightmares and sleepwalking "highly strung". I wish i could muster that temper at will but i can't. When confronted with bullies in the past, i just couldn't tap into that volatile nature in me. Until Tennents. Tennents created a lighter trigger on the fuse of all out fucking batshit.
I was on my way to a party in Wimbledon. I'd just drunk a 2 litre bottle of Tennents Super/Strongbow Super snake bite and i had a plastic carrier bag of 8 tins. The train came to the end of the line District line and i got off. Getting on were this group of about 6 blokes.
"Oi gimme a beer". I looked up and suddenly they are wrenching the bag out of my hands. No warning, just taking. I hadn't a chance to think.I made a surprised effort to pull back and the next thing i know the beers are rolling over the platform. They start picking em up, like nothing is happening, like they aint nicking my beer and they walk onto the tube laughing. I remember seeing them walking through the doors and laughing. And i just fucking saw red. I went fucking mental. All i knew were there were a group of wankers infront of me and i went for there faces. I fucking steammed em. Ran in, punching shit out of their heads, just fucking crazy. Relentless punching, as fast as i could. I didn't choose this, this was my temper finally allowed to do justice for all the other times i'd allowed people to walk over me. And they proper didn't expect it. I almost got cocking. As soon as i allowed that millisecond of time to start being more accurate with my punches, they had surrounded me and they were punching back. Fuuuuuuck. Ding ding ding went me head as punches came from all angles. But fuck man, this was freedom.I was rucking and it was instinct and i loved it.
Until i heard the noise for the doors to close. Totally cliched but this is the truth, time slowed down.I knew if i got stuck on that tube i was fucked. With some crazy psycho effort i managed to punch my way up and out of the circle and dive out of the doors just as they closed. I wasn't scared. I was buzzing. I loved it. I went back to the now closed tube doors and laughed at em. Laughed and called em all wankers.Give em the wanker sign with my hand. they were proper screwing. I had done them cunts. I blew them kisses as the train drew off.
There were 2 guys over from Belfast (at the height of the troubles) with me on that occasion walking ahead when this happened. I felt so proud as they congratulated me on my fighting prowess, reenactive my assault to friends when we got to the party where i promptly fell straight asleep.
I felt so liberated. So many times i'd ran or taken a punch. I'd broken the ice.Now i could fight. I learned a very important lesson in fighting a few months later. Back to that same Bejams carpark Where my first proper kicking had been instigated a few years before.
Drunk as usual and on my skateboard, i rolled up to find a group of "casuals" having a muck about fight with each other (Casuals would be renamed as "chavs" later in the 2000's.) As i rolled passed, this guy jumped back to avoid a karate kick from his mate and bumped into me.I put my arm out to steady him. He offered me out."Come on then you cunt!" All the old fear came creeping back. I was the bullied little boy again as i skated away and sat on the wall,and infront of my peers and the younger skaters. I remember sitting there feeling like a cunt. The younger skaters were all watching, waiting to see if i would allow this outrage.i sat there mulling it over for 5 minutes. Obviously i wasn't gonna do a thing so these casuals got on with fighting each other. I got up and started skating the famous Bejams curb. Did a few grinds, cruised around, watched the guy from a safe distance. I made up my mind. This was premeditated violence. This wasn't me losing my temper. I did a few more laps of the carpark and then on my return past the guy, i flipped my board up into my hand and smashed it over his head. He didn't go down. I smashed my board over his head again and this time my board fractured his arm as he protected his head but he still didn't go down. Fuuuuuck. "Go fuuuuucking down" i screamed as i contined to batter him round the carpark. But he wouldn't.He was screaming at his mates to give him a skateboard. I screamed back at them' "Don't give him a fucking skateboard"!!!! Again and again i hit him about his head and shoulders and the meathead wouldn't submit, wouldn't go down. It was awful. I must have hit him 50 times. In the end i went up to him, almost pleading and asked if he was gonna go down. I was spent."No" was his answer. "Oh" i said."Well i'm sorry about this.You shouldn't have offered me out. If i put my board down are you going to retaliate?" He looked confused how this nutcase was now talking to him pleasantly, apologising for the damage i'd just inflicted. I took this as my cue and got the fuck out of there. It was the worst but a vital lesson was learned. If you are going to attack someone with a weapon then you have to be prepared to kill that person.That weren't me. I saw him about 4 weeks later with a cast on his arm. He wouldn't look me in the face.
I just spoke to my wife Aoife. Aren't you going to write about any happy things she said.I will, but you can't just switch it on.I can't force my writing. I always wanted to write about the previous encounters. To show that yes, i am hard, yes, i can fight, yes, i will damage you if you fuck with me hard enough. But to be honest, that aint true. I'm sober now. Now i choose my destiny.All the fucked up situations in my life would have been avoided if i hadn't been drunk. How can you choose to bludgen someone when sober. The repercussions are too much. You go to prison for these things.You get a violent conviction and world travel goes straight out the window. Let's be sensible here. Who wants to be stuck on this shitty fucked up island called the UK. I haven't had a fight in 17 years. I've seen situations occuring and i've walked away. I used to be in casualty every weekend when i was drinking. They knew me by name in Bromley Xray. I was a mess. I'm very happy to have left that past behind.