Two Hundred Hundred.
1
The earliest memory I own was of Scooby Doo, in pieces on the floor.
The mystery-machine purple and the Shaggy-shirt green pieces of the cardboard puzzle lay on the brightly patterned carpet floor of our family home.
I could hear the ocean and remember the smell of the seaside air through the large open doors to my left, opening into a blindingly bright world outside.
The room was empty for a change; my large chaotic family were somewhere else at that moment.
It is not much: a fragment, a piece – but an important piece that completes me.
My first memory.
~~~
Missing a piece, I had stumbled into an innocuous bar. We met through other people. The conversation was pleasant and natural - the memories happy.
I let down my guard. I found words easy. I relaxed and breathed deeply and laughed warmly.
This joy lingered long after you were gone. The next time we met in-passing fired in me dreams and fantasies - I just had to see you more and more!
Fuelled by alcohol and badly-phrased bravado, I cornered you several times until you gave up hiding behind your friends and gave in to me.
We were truly happy then.
2
It was only a pound note, but the shame!
The family was at a holiday camp and on my brother’s Cortina dashboard was a pound note: I took it, changed it into 10p pieces and played Robotron in the arcade.
After the neon-soaked rush, the shame set in: I had no means of income, so I think I stole the money form another brother and put it back. This should give me more time to sort out this mess.
Little secret diversions and actions performed; conversations beginning in my head with proud arguments won.
I really doubt anyone ever noticed.
~~~
Seeing her there, arms stretched wide and hearing the doctor confirm that the attack had diminished will always be with me.
Overwhelmed by a sense of grateful bliss and fervent hope, I held her in my arms and we kissed happy kisses.
To lose dignity to illness is a test of any character and relationship, but we would overcome. Anything, yeah come on!
In debt and in need of work, we would ignore the inconvenience of being strapped for cash for now. We had dream to fulfil and ambitions to chase.
Such a clear memory, undiminished by time or pain.
3
Videogames are frustrating things: they gave an illusion of a world on the advert or arcade cabinet but the content was always less vivid.
Battlezone rendered a world in black and green vector. Based-upon a real-life US army simulator, you were immersed within the turret, isolated and fighting an endless battalion of tanks, missiles and aircraft.
I always remember the horizon of jagged mountains, of a crooked moon and a desire to drive long and hard into those mountains. Not for anything deep or meaningful, but just because it would be cool to fight tanks in mountains.
I was eleven.
~~~
She had booked the venue; a Victorian place that allowed people to gorge themselves on traditional English food and drinks – with incredibly generous old-fashioned puddings
A year before we had gone with her mum and dad; they always snapped and sniped at each other, but if you looked, you could see tender moments there still.
I could never make her dad happy – I wasn’t that sort of man.
But here on this night, away from others, dressed smartly and pretending to be of another age – we were happy.
Many drinks later, full of pudding we staggered out to the taxis.
4
Me and my sister sat in a pub in Barcelona. We were both on the same college course, despite me being five years older than her.
The college had arranged a local trip so we could go look at Picasso, Gaudi and anti-state graffiti. The group was a mix of foundation students and far older mature students – all mixed in.
The elders fed from the energy of the kids, and the kids basically ignored them. I remember being glad to be the youngest of the eldest group.
Myself unaligned, we got drunk and I failed to score with her friend.
~~~
I guess the pet names came from drawing small cartoons for her: silly stories, private jokes and rude messages - happy to be wrapped up in each other, snuggling, cuddling and holding on.
Like babies we had our own words, phrases and codes. We gave cuddly toys as gifts and ate many meals, enjoyed many nights out.
Musically, we were not aligned and I danced in spasms to the lights reflecting off her shiny full breasts. She would laugh at me a lot.
Over time we would exchange passions: she traded an Austen for my Pratchett; secretly, we both blossomed.
5
TV fascinated me.
There would be a test-card on before Noel Edmonds and his Swap Shop would appear. The TV we had was a large wooden-framed thing, on a wooden trolley to keep it high up enough so my young sister could not pour things into it.
I remember doing this a few times: taking felt-tipped pens and drawing on the screen. I was convinced that this was a cool thing to do and knew this is where my future lay.
Imagine, taking a pen and drawing straight onto the TV! Then the TV would make it come alive!
~~~
We were clearly drunk: two subsidised students in a busy pub, being asked to stop kissing so much or leave.
The bouncer was only a few years older, his dreadlocks and embarrassed black cheeks glowing in the dark.
Giggling, we paused to move to another part of the packed bar: I think her friend worked there part-time, or at least some of our friends were somewhere there. It was loud, cannot really remember which pub or the dreary indie tunes being played.
Outside of me kissing her, there was not much I could remember.
But I do remember the passion.
6
There I was: standing on the concrete wharf, above the pebble beach, staring out across the jet-black sea under the starless yellow-grey sky. Behind me were my family and the amusements.
I continued to stare until the sounds seemed to evaporate. I felt this tremendous urge to fall forward impossibly into the darkness.
I would not call it a fear or a recurring nightmare, more of a dark sensation: the sea itself, at night, seems a terrifying place.
No drama followed, but I allowed myself to dissolve back into the warmth and cheap splendour of the family on holiday.
~~~
The days were hot in Ibiza. We were no longer students and we were very happy. My sister and her boyfriend had come along too – with the money they had saved and forgetting the money I gave her during our times as students.
So we went off to explore while they did their own cool thing in all the clubs and bars.
We always have a knack from finding events, festivals and celebrations wherever we go – people love to party!
On the black shore, under a starry night, we sat with genuine locals watching fireworks explode off of the sea.
7
Dumbfounded to be top in the class in Science, I volunteered to help out on an open evening: we had to demonstrate distilling salt from salt-water.
After our show, all the pupils were allowed to wander around and mix.
I am sure my family was around somewhere but now I was free. So me and this friend wandered the corridors, peeking into the other classes of friends showcasing their talents. All good geeky fun.
Lounging around, hands in pockets, two girls singled me out in a corridor and accused me of being too cocky.
I stopped being interested in Science.
~~~
Coming home from working at Blockbuster Video, I would often get in late into the student house. She always made sure there was food for me, waiting in the oven.
Belonging to that house was important to me, but it was not easy: I hated two of her housemates.
I think I did bludgeon my way into her life and she took care of me, like one of her wounded-birds.
So much love and intelligence poured out of her: I would listen to her talk and drink her in. She was amazing to me, standing there, when I got in.
8
Watching myself on home video, twelve new years later, I realised how awful I really was! So rude, always with a drink in-hand.
I was a bully. A thug of slow-wit but loud words.
I sit watching these memories with less clear words now. I mumble and fidget more these days. Those friends in those videos have long gone to other things.
To now be blocked on social-media sites is so petty, but I knew some of these people for over 20 years. Says it all, really.
The alien timbre of your own recorded voice tells you all about yourself.
~~~
Within the first few weeks of us going out, our university had sent me to Florence. I pined for her a lot, buying a lot of rubbish souvenirs and cuddling my stuffed-lion mascot that she had given me.
My hair was shoulder length in those days and my mane was attractive. We had been intimate and close and wrapped around each other since the first moment: so much passion!
Florence, a beautiful, romantic place, has really nice pizzas and cool mopeds. Without her there, it really was just an old magnificent city that you occasionally see in cool films.
9
Fetish: shiny black PVC stretched over boobies is a great thing!
But one other thing that did always blow my mind were the changes that happen to women when pregnant: they seem liberated, alluring, somehow.
Alone, I did find myself buying a video which featured a pregnant woman being naked in an empty house. Watching it, I did just imagine her conversations beforehand to allow such a thing to even exist. Poor thing.
Later, after my dad had redecorated my bedroom, the VHS was left there on the side! I ditched the video – but still think of that woman occasionally.
~~~
Our car had to be scrapped: but her grandparents offered kindly to buy us a replacement car. We had tried a few, but what confirmed her final decision was the distraction of what was lodged within her vagina.
She had slipped and fallen onto my deodorant, and the cap had come off inside her: she was terrified we would need to go to hospital!
So when spending that same day with her grandparents, she had not been that focussed.
Thankfully, I patiently managed to convince her powerful internal muscles to relax and, with a final push, the cap was birthed!
10
My sister was proudly holding the kite she had just stolen from the seaside shop. The family freaked and returned the goods sharpish.
We were at the seaside. For a few successive years, we went to the same house and it was great fun.
Once, there was this beautiful young Indian girl next door that I spent days playing with: she was very beautiful, funny and could run very fast! I sometimes wonder about her.
I also remember recreating the ice-planet Hoth with mum’s talcum powder and a lot of tiny toy soldiers: I did get shouted at for that.
~~~
My first trip in an ambulance.
Two days before: at the 20 week scan, we were due to find out the sex of our second child, but the nurse apologised for not finding a pulse.
We were consoled, a plan was made. I then took our son 100 miles away to my parents’ house.
48 hours later, the medicine had worked and her waters broke on our sofa at home. The ambulance was called.
In hospital, as the nurses watch the royal wedding, we held our stillborn son and admired him, lovingly.
Later, we were told he never technically existed.
11
My mates loved coming around to play pool at our house. In the conservatory my dad had built out of several bits from other jobs, we had a brilliant place to play and hangout.
I loved playing dad at billiards, and we did so for years after on that tiny table, dressed in work overalls, waiting for the rain to finish so we can get back to the decorating job down the road.
Tea, biscuits, listening to his rants: He had managed to build a large house and support a large family, but we did fight and spar on politics.
~~~
The Masonic Lodge were having a dinner-dance: her parents had invited us along. We were smartly dressed and hopelessly out-of-place here.
We danced awfully, in my case no great surprise: however my fiancée was nervous and clumsy in front of her dad’s friends.
She was a strong and intelligent woman, like her mother: they share the same keen eyes.
However, they both had to find ways of dealing with her father. He was charismatic and had some good connections, but his naval upbringing and strict beliefs made him formidable and confrontational.
What could I ever hope to achieve against him?
12
Me and my younger brother always enjoyed playing games: for years we played with the third-hand Lego. Then we played boardgames, role-playing games, all sorts.
Outside, to make up for me mildly concussing him with a large white-plastic jerry can, he left a permanent scar inside my bottom lip: playing hockey with broom-handles and baby apples had seemed a good idea at the time. He smashed me in the mouth and it was numb.
My face was wet with blood and after the shock, he sensibly ran off to avoid me hitting him back.
The games we loved to play.
~~~
Magic the Gathering: a phrase to drive fear into the woman I loved.
Hanging around with a group of role-playing wargamers, she reluctantly had agreed to come to the convention.
Afterwards, dazed and wearied, she demanded to know why I had made her come along – the unwashed guys and slutty girls! On top of this, she had just pretended to be a puddle of slime for two hours!
We did enjoy sharing hobbies and interests, but not this one.
I got into role-playing to be with some close friends more - only really tagging along.
I did not miss it.
13
I got into music by taping all of my elder brother’s Bowie albums.
I was 20 and would never openly listen to music: but I would secretly borrow his Walkman - until I bought my own - and listen endlessly to tapes.
At that time, I also enjoyed long walks, so the two fitted well together.
Once, I created a treasure-trail, using a Tippex bottle to graffiti arrows saying ‘this way’ – all leading to a wooden bench-table in a clearing that explained they had won.
I imagined other people’s conversations – perhaps I should have spent more energy pursuing real conversations!
~~~
My fiancée was bored and upset. Oh, but she bore it well! (I suspect her mother knew too).
Then engagement party was a disaster: but all my mates were there and my family were having fun being drunk.
At the time, it was fun!
Looking back on the video tape of it, I was such an arse!
I enjoyed drinking and thought of myself as a student still: still tanned form the Ibiza holiday we were surrounded by everyone dear to us.
I am so sorry dear I abandoned you that night to show-off. Stupid, stupid man that I am.
14
I was working with dad at this time. Some early mornings, I would sit in my room drawing cartoons.
I really enjoyed doing that: writing little stories and cartoons for friends.
Secretly listening to my bootleg music tapes and writing an epic tale set on the planet of Slym, full of shaggy orange Alf-like beasts having soap-opera dramas - with lazors and robots.
I never shared the stories and binned them later.
I used to get up early, like dad. Unlike dad, I never went downstairs and we never talked in those mornings. If only I had been football-mad instead.
~~~
It was our twelfth anniversary.
She was quiet and distracted when I got in from work.
I guessed straight-away that all our efforts over the Christmas period (excuse the pun) had paid off.
We hugged, dazed and worried: then we talked for hours. The internet suddenly became our expert friend.
Of course we had had scares before, and she routinely bought a detection kit as a jinx: when she took the test, she got her period the next day.
Not this time.
Now that we knew, boy did we enjoy ourselves in bed at night: the worst had already happened!
15
I obsessed over a nerdy girl at school.
School ended, she went to university, we would write to each other. University ended, she came back.
I desired her, still.
It got to the point where I would walk the empty streets at night just to stand outside her window: imagining her up there, asleep, naked.
Of course, meeting in pubs, with friends, I realised the person I was talking too was nothing like I imagined.
Today, in internet chatrooms, I still imagine people’s voices and backgrounds, but I know now that following them home is probably a bad idea!
Probably.
~~~
Our eyes were locked and she squeezed my hand, her long nails cutting into my flesh (it really hurt!)
Gas and air; breathing deeply with her.
After two hours, our time was up; a small Indian doctor was summoned and she stood between my wife’s legs, cut her open wider and pulled the bloody-baby out.
Woozy, but happy, we had done it. Our little boy was born. It was unreal!
The smell, the closeness, the love! Such a powerful, wonderful moment: warm and fuzzy in a clinical white world.
People fussed, forms were filled. Our lives had changed forever.
Congratulations!
16
I followed him like a puppy since I was four years old.
I cooed over his latest expensive new toys.
I sat next to him as he played his computer games.
I listened to him recite his father’s politics about coons, niggers and pakis.
He also had great ideas about how women should be naked and servile more often.
For years I listened to his racist, sexist shite.
Then, he got bored with me: I was now following a bunch of roleplaying nerds instead.
Years later, he pinged me on email, and I pinged back - and that was that.
~~~
One Christmas, we went off to be alone together in the New Forest. We stayed in a Travel Lodge and spend Christmas morning having a picnic in the wet ferns.
It was peaceful; far away from our noisy, dominating, intrusive families.
Of course, we called them on our mobiles to wish them ‘happy xmas’, but otherwise we were alone.
It was beautiful, being alone together - and to just be there.
We kissed and walked, she drove us around, listening to Dido and Faithless.
It was nice, remote and happy.
I still enjoy humming Christmas carols, but not for Jesus.
17
Once, on the train, I told a man to turn-down his music.
Apple; why did you always provide the cheapest fucking earphones!
He told me to fuck off, so I sat next to him and asked him again: some sort of puritanical mania had descended on me, I think.
Of course, he got off at the next stop, unmoved. And when I got off, people who got off with me thought I was a prick as well.
I probably was.
I don’t bother nowadays: it’s a pointless battle, and the best strategy is to just turn your music up louder.
~~~
We had to get our own home; my dad had just wandered into the bedroom while we were making love!
At this time, we had a comfortable mattress on the floor, as the bed we had was too squeaky, and we did not want my sister to hear us either!
When a beetle crawled into her belly button, she left to be with her parents down south, a hundred miles away.
I got a job in London and it made sense to stay at my parent’s house.
We lived apart that for three years, but had very enjoyable weekends together.
18
When I was young, that racist friend I knew convinced my little sister to lay down and we stared at her bits: he even touched them. That is all, though she did suffer with an infection for years after.
And then the other thing was; I was prepared to kill my little sister once.
She came up to see me at the top of the stairs, but I was holding something pornographic behind me. I convinced her to go down stairs again and I think she did not see what I had in my hand behind my back: murder avoided!
~~~
My girlfriend (of five days) stripped naked and timidly stepped into her bedroom. Conscious of her body, as I’m sure we all are, she was nervous.
I thought she was gorgeous – still do.
It was awkward being in love, in winter, in her room; that tiny single bed and that scalding-hot radiator which burned my bare ass a few times!
We did enjoy spending time together alone and naked; once we spent the day in bed, with me nipping out to get Chinese at half-time.
Amazing what stamina you have when you are young: she is an amazing woman still!
19
How much time have I spent watching TV and playing computer games?
Some games have taken me weeks to complete: all by myself. The most recent console I have is the Wii I won in a raffle from work back in 2007; they were winding-up the company and giving away the fixtures and fittings.
I was in Newquay at the time, celebrating my birthday with my fiancée.
I do play some games still. It is something to do while my wife plays online Facebook games with friends.
We do not watch TV anymore and we do not miss it.
~~~
Newquay is a very special place for us. We return to the same Bed-and-Breakfast and enjoy being tourists in a lovely part of the world. The last time was spent making shell decorations on the beach to our love and looking at the lights on the horizon.
There is that terrific sense of freedom being on holiday with the ones you love. I do regret not having more money to take us to more exotic locations: my wife still wants to travel the world and have more adventures.
One day I hope we return to Newquay, with the kids in-tow.
20
Online, at a forum for Dungeon-Master fans (a 3D computer game from 1987), someone there was posting links to his latest writing pieces. The latest thing is to write a 100-word entry each day: to help train yourself about how to structure stories.
So I stole this idea and put together this collection.
I have always wanted to write my memories, but the structure always eluded me. My last book was ‘Slaughterhouse 5’ and this has helped a lot: things do not need to be in-order.
I am letting memories come to me freely; one for me, one for us.
~~~
I was drunk. She was there, again.
First time, I really do not remember asking her out – there was awkwardness the following Monday at college.
Second time, I promised my mate I would ask her out, only for my sister to arrive at that moment and tell me not to bother: she was not interested!
Third time: she surrendered. We were both drunk.
Prodigy’s ‘Firestarter’ played melodically in the background, the smooth tunes setting the romantic scene. Everybody was dancing.
I kissed her ear.
I whispered ‘Any other orifice you would like me to kiss?’
Our romantic rollercoaster had begun!
21
Then there was all that commuting on the train, for all of those years, to all those jobs that I ended up hating, or them hating me.
I learned to see people and recognise patterns. There were people who got on and off at my stop, one I even recognised as a friend-of-a-friend from Facebook – and still I did not want to talk.
I despaired at the terrible newspapers, espousing propaganda: everyone hates commuting.
It was a place however to write many things; listen to songs, stories and podcasts. It was a place of refuge in a noisy fast-moving world.
~~~
She adored me wearing that suit when we met at the station.
We were living apart and she had come all this way, with a cardboard Wookie under her arm.
There was equal measure of silliness and devotion in our lives: giving both to each other freely.
Trains and buses, lifts from parents and friends: we managed to meet up when we could and we made each meeting special, meaningful.
The distance helped fire our imagination, keep us fresh: fuelled by saucy phone conversations and long-distant promises.
Each weekend was a holiday to be cherished! It was exhausting yet exhilarating!
22
For years, we had ‘little Nan’ living with us at our family home: bless her, she was a sane woman trapped inside a broken-minded body: took her a few more rambling confused years to die too.
I was at home when mum called from the hospital. Grandad was dead.
I was alone in the house with Nan.
I had just been showing Nan some sci-fi drawings of monsters for her amusement, so our conversation had been light and fluffy: I could not tell her Grandad was dead!
So I went back to drawing silly little pictures until Mum came back.
~~~
Standing in a videogame shop in Edgware, my fiancée called me to tell me that her mum had died suddenly: she was in bits and my fluffy-little world of computer games and silly pastimes evaporated.
We had been apart a few years now and really we should be seriously thinking of marriage, kids and a house.
Too late, I kept thinking, just too late!
It took me a few months to get out and move in with her: I think we both knew it was too little too late.
Her mum was her cornerstone: I had been such a fool!
23
Dad was 70.
Thanks to her help, I had made him a cake!
Family gatherings at our house were always chaotic affairs, even before we had children.
Everyone was there and it was great to have our large, scattered family all rounded-up into one nice house.
My old family house was huge! So many rooms!
Mum spent the day marshalling everyone as usual and she continued to hold the chaos together. Dad was playful around the kids, mum did all the hard work really.
I think about how we all treated our parents, as I am sure they treated theirs.
~~~
It was Christmas, and my fiancée had created a wonderful duck-in-cherry-sauce for the table. Her mum was ordered to relax and I helped clumsily where I could. Dad was master of ceremonies of course.
It was pleasant enough: no arguments, usual family stuff.
Her mum was tired but would not stop: such a fighter!
Before this, I had rushed from home to be with my fiancée as her mum had just threatened to divorce her dad. It touched her, and her mum stayed with her dad out of sheer duty.
So Christmas was polite, fun and normal, everyone doing okay.
24
I did not get on well with anyone really. I was a painful teenager.
My mum helped me where she could: and even organised my Christmas presents. She gave me a bag of items and let me wrap them and address them. So brothers got soap-on-a-rope and other such presents.
I just tried hard but it was difficult: I wanted the recipient to be so very happy, despite these very simple gifts.
At the time, I envied my older brothers all being fine with listening to music out-loud and having cool friends. Or maybe I’m romanticising for effect.
‘Merry Chrismas’.
~~~
I once spent five pounds on chocolate bars from an all-night garage, so we could continue our lovemaking. We had spent the day filthy and in bed.
My beloved CD player was drying out where she had spilled a pint of water over it, but she had made me forget all about that!
Sitting there, eating junk food and talking silly things.
We wasted so much precious time watching junk TV, playing bad music, going to cheap pubs, eating fried lard; yet the quality of our time together was incredibly special.
All those moments lost, like, tears… in the rain.
25
Back before the internet, people used to buy glossy paper magazines.
I loved computer games, and would send in hints, cheats and tips to ‘ST Format’ magazine. I got a few things published.
Years later, I vowed to track down these submissions and – wonderfully – there are people as odd as me: dedicated to scanning-in and sharing old magazines for people to shift through, virtually, online.
So now I have proof of my past: immortalised in print and proof to the world that I was worthy.
Ok, it is not gold medal or trophy - but I’m proud of these achievements.
~~~
Having access to a woman’s bits on a regular basis is a great achievement in later life: though inevitably they do lead to a lot of fuss and trouble.
Our daughter was due to be born: my wife had started labour in the afternoon and was surrounded by the coven of women in white.
This time however, she was the boss: not cowed by fear or ignorance.
When that same Indian doctor who had cut her open last time appeared, my wife resolved to push hard; six minutes after labour had started, out came daughter - no time for painkillers!
26
Learning to swim by myself is a clear memory.
Our school had a swimming pool, so ever week, we swam: it was great fun mucking about, but we did very little swimming!
The teacher was lovely, and every width I splashed about, she let more and more air out of my water-wings, until it was just me doing the floating as well as splashing: ergo, I was swimming!
I can also remember my mum teaching me to tie my laces, beside the electric brown cooker in the kitchen. Same spot where she taught me the letters for my name.
Thanks!
~~~
When we first started going out, I was doing an experiment, (I was just as gullible then as I am now I guess).
The challenge was to dye your food blue and see if it tasted different.
So the first time she came around, I was eating blue spaghetti.
That’s when I began to be taught basic cookery; being patient is vital, so I barely scraped-by!
I am now very good at cooking rice, and have become able to cook for a family, prepare foods for the freezer and so on: nothing fancy but something grown-up to do.
So, thanks!
27
Twenty-seven used to be a mystical number for me. Something I stuck by when I was growing-up, it was a lucky number: sounded lucky and tied into my birthday too.
Of course, it’s nonsense.
Until recently, I thought the Bible to be a bit-special, despite my utter disbelief in everything supernatural.
At the back of the school assembly, I never believed Jesus fed all those people loaves and fished – the logistics were an unworkable joke!
Even before the internet, there were other sceptics ranting about how these things have power!
I am a typical Leo. (PS: Santa Claus isn’t real)
~~~
At the funeral of our son, we had arranged to have balloons with messages for family to release. The Spritualized track, ‘Lay it on me’ was played. Words were said and people listened to us lament our son.
My best mate helped me lower the tiny coffin into the hole. I had secreted my old unlucky brass-pig inside to keep my son company.
We were touched by the outpouring of love from the gathering.
My eldest brother was being a prick throughout and I told the vicar not to come back to ours: superstitious nonsense.
We will always remember him.
28
Under my teenage bed I had secret things: audio tapes!
Having come late into music, I would devour everything: from a single track on a cover-tape on a glossy music magazine – for instance – I ended up buying Tom Waits albums for years after.
With my mate, we would grab CD singles from the bargain bins, just to find new stuff.
Mostly terrible stuff: but so many endless playlists…!
Pixies, Floyd, Bowie, Waits, Blur, Charlie Barnet, Zappa, Weakerthans, MJ Hibbett, Eno, Cash, Jimmy Smith, Airhead, Cutler, Wonder Stuff, Leslie Winer, HMHB, Professor Elemental, REM, AC/DC, Bragg, Radiohead, Carter, Prodigy, Mahler, Beefheart…
~~~
I am a certified florist.
Back when I was single, I didn’t understand the beauty of cut-flowers.
Over time with my fiancée, I learned to find them beautiful, therapeutic and amazing. I really enjoyed recycling all the funeral wreaths for her mother into posies and thankyous for all those who attended.
One summer, we did a course. I enjoyed it, I was passionate.
The structure, form, smell: making an abstraction of colour take form in three-dimensions is really cool.
So many beautiful, powerful things she brought into my life: such passions and simple pleasures adding colour to my grey world.
29
The only thing I ever shoplifted was some stickers from the front of a copy of Computer and Video Games magazine.
This was in Ware, when there used to be a newsagent on the corner, where the buses turn up the hill from that high street.
There were other things stolen as well: I did once setup a bogus account at Blockbusters and went to some neighbouring stores to sign-up and take some games. Both Playstation games Klonoa and Metal Gear Solid were acquired in this way.
Nowadays of course, I just steal music and video files from the internet.
~~~
We were walking home and she decided, drunkenly, to climb over a car at a car dealership. All the way over the bonnet, up on the roof and down the back again.
When one gets drunk, the other soon sobers up: I was desperately trying to shepherd her home again to her parents’ house – but she had other ideas, standing on top of the car, arms wide open, calling out to the world to notice her.
We were not punished for this behaviour; there was no moral learned in our many nights of drunken stupor.
We do not drink anymore.
======================================================
30
I gave up drinking about the time Terry Pratchett died. He had a profound effect on me. Aside from chocolate, I am now avoiding bread, sugar, dairy, TV and arguments about gods.
During this period, I have cleared out all the old boardgames, computer games, comics and films: they will not be enjoyed by others and it is tragic to plan for a potential future where everyone I knew would come back, even for just one night, and replay all these old pastimes with me.
Move on, de-clutter life and re-focus. I have culled many things but not my books.
~~~
There are important things that lose importance by accident.
In a simple world, the contrast is high and the distinction clear from what is a distraction to what is a devotion.
However, we tend to accumulate more threads to our world and more variables. These then complicate our world and things begin to lose focus: so when suddenly you realise who you are devoted too has become very ill with worry and regret, you curse all those distractions and desperately try to reclaim your life from the clutter you have amassed.
I am so sorry for being so stupidly distracted.
======================================================
31
When I hear music, I somehow imagine all those channels of sound almost visually – like a network of overlapping lines and channels.
My imagination carries me away and I love being elsewhere. Music makes the mundane better: look at Star Wars franchise, for example.
I do have a hearing issue that will slowly deteriorate over time: it makes it difficult for me to differentiate sounds clearly, so – for example - having a conversation in a pub is difficult for me as all sounds appear to compete equally.
And so, I have trouble gauging my own volume and tend to mumble.
~~~
In our family car, my wife drives and listens to music. Even with kids now, the music itself has not changed. No nursery rhymes or stories for us: our kids will enjoy the commute listening to AC/DC, Led Zep, Faithless and Prodigy – they seem to enjoy bopping around on the back seat.
She enjoyed clubbing with her friends years ago and still attends festivals with her mates. It adds a rhythm and connection to her and others that maybe I have lost over time.
Her work with teenagers reinforces this passion as it is a powerful language across the generations.
======================
32.
When I worked on building sites, my eldest brother would joke about me talking to the piles of sand as I worked it into cement: he was probably right.
Being a labourer, you run as part of a gang and your role is to set things up and keep things going: you are first on-site, stacking bricks, preparing muck-boards, making gauges.
Once you are setup though, the pace slows and you generally have a steady day keeping everyone topped-up.
I was a key member of a team while sitting outside of it. And thus, my conversations were usually with myself.
~~~
Retail jobs and driving vans: that is a fair summary of my wife’s former jobs. She enjoyed the shop-floor soap-operas and the public would drive her mad.
So when she began training to be a teacher, it was her step into a world she would grow to love dearly.
Within three-months however, she got very ill and this ended that journey, which frustrated her more than her physical difficulties at the time. Such a tremendous sense of failure and letting others down sowed the seeds of later depression.
However, she ended up happy as the Learning Support Assistant, helping teenagers.
=======================================
33
But I didn’t.
Some righteous rage, some passer-by event in which I witnessed some kids being cruel to each other, disrespectful of civic amenities, causing wilful disturbance in a built-up area.
In the glow of immediate hindsight, I would fantasise about public remonstration; a fire in me wanted to be a policeman, bringing order and justice and helping the community.
Fact is I am too nervous and avoid confrontation. Always.
At school, my mates tried to train me, which resulted in me pinning one against a wall, feet-off-ground. So I have the capacity but not the will.
So I didn’t.
~~~
The house needs work, the kids need looking after, my wife needs to feel appreciated.
Now I have no time, or at least the capacity to manage my time. My job keeps me commuting over four hours a day. My weekends revolve around the kids so my wife can get some time alone.
But now I think I have been completely wrong.
My kids want us to go out as a family, to enjoy time together.
My son asks me why I don’t kiss mummy, and I lie and say it’s not something parents do in front of their kids.
===========
34
Being in a gang was an ambition I suppose.
I belonged to several: the fourth member of the estate gang, exploring the fields, one was in the cadets, hanging around corner shops and riding bikes.
Then the nerdy bunch, with computers, movies and science stuff.
Then the gamers: I was ‘Big Gint’, lots of my brother’s mates were involved and we usually camped at my parents’ large house to play soldiers.
Later, the role-playing ‘society’ that had me eating cooked meals and roleplaying games.
I donated all my old games, movies, comics and computer-games to charity - and felt liberated!
~~~
At university, I shared my passion for games and Pratchett with my girlfriend. Over time, my fiancée got more involved with computer games, card games, fantasy novels and odd movies that I would rave about.
Now, as my wife, this connection has waned. We have grown beyond these pastimes, our energies dedicated to our family and home.
I do miss time together with just us, a gang-of-two against the world.
Occasionally, I buy flowers and cakes, but we really could do with a night-out, or a holiday; some respite and reassurance that this mad adventure will be all right again.
=================================
35
Give me two songs that have a common theme, and I will reason that there must be a suitable third song: then I would fantasise about showcasing these three songs together to illustrate my genius.
And it’s not only music, but films and books… So; to compile online playlists, review and vet them continuously, play that playlist religiously and then leave it alone, the perfect polished gem for others to stumble across.
Stop!
Once, I had a wall of boardgames, videogames and videos ideal for groups of people to enjoy together: if only I had organised the parties as well!
~~~
My wife loves people.
Parties, groups, gangs, festivals, travelling, exploring, adding memories that proved to the world she had lived.
Anchored to me, this did rather restrict her: she craves wings to fly and I should be more than a perch for her - even my metaphors lack romance!
We will need to work hard to get back to a time where she can fly again, I know that. Some part of me knows as well that one option is to drop me from a great height, like Om’s turtle.
Let’s hope the tattoo for the wings will suffice instead.
==================
36
Fame!
I was almost in ‘Shaun of the Dead’: five of us answered Simon Pegg’s call, but on the day, only three were accepted. They travelled to the film-set, and were all filmed – one ended up off-screen, the other two are visible in the background (look at the car, when Simon and Jessica meet).
Have also been involved in game tie-ins to Catwoman and Robin Hood. Delivered the app for the London 2012 Olympics as well.
I have an obscure computer game character named after me: the ‘Gumbler’, for Aquastax.
I invented ‘Buggin’s Turn’ – a Killer pool-variation, and some day…
~~~
My wife was probably the first British woman to be a female counsellor for the Scouts organisation: a leader of her Venture group, she was a pioneer.
She has also been a football steward and met Eric Cantona – who flirted with her during a throw-in. This was just before he made the headlines for ‘that’ flying-tackle too.
She has been chatted up by rugby players and a famous dancer when he was in the Tap Dogs.
There was also a commissioned project to decorate the underpass at the college that she worked on.
There is still a fire in her.
===================
37
How can I express myself - with meaning?
I am not a good communicator and am a brooding-type who comes up with so many plot ideas and game designs and new inventions and things.
Not that they come to anything.
I have had dreams where I designed computer games from scratch, mapping out the end-cases and look-and feel: reviewing it within my own head, in a dream!
I do have dreams that are epic and movie-like, and the plot usually is corking good fun too.
I used to draw pictures too. Arranging flowers has also become something I like doing.
~~~
My girlfriend: is incredibly creative: cross-stitch, pottery, drawing, painting, woodwork.
My wife: can still find time to be creative and talk to her many friends and her cosy online community.
Music still inspires her, and she listens to all the latest stuff, still goes to festivals and gigs in pubs.
She has had to be more creative and resourceful as well, passing on her passions to our children; to keep them entertained and educate them.
Both our children love to draw pictures and express themselves by acting, singing and dancing.
Between us, we have created children who are creative too.
=======================
38.
Writing is an excellent way to express myself. It is therapy and a great mental exercise. The restrictions of talking, mumbling, stumbling are swept aside and I can create more vivid, personal expressions of myself through writing.
And yes, it is as wanky as it sound, but I write for me.
I do post things online, but do not advertise them: they are stored publicly so I can never lose them – it is nice to still get the odd rave review for a piece of fanfic about Harry Potter written back in 2001.
No-one gets hurt (though maybe bored).
~~~
Romance: passion, love, stories of miscommunication then reconciliation.
A voracious reader, my wife enjoys reading a lot. Often, the cheesiest Mills and Boon is just the tonic for when she feels blue.
Escapism is the key. She finds joy in reading and great stories. Movies too, that have a similar style also appeal: Alan Rickman, Clive Owen or Gerard Butler – she laps those up if only for the eye-candy.
We both enjoy escaping into stories, though hers seem to have much happier endings than my own.
I want to be more passionate: an apparent sub-conscious goal of my own endeavours.
==================================
39.
My family is growing alarmingly old. My grandparents are all gone and my parents are now rather creaky and old, with season passes to the hospital for various minor operations and check-ups.
My brothers all have grown-up children: some already considering university, and the eldest settling down with his husband-to-be.
Our expanding universe, the family, has grown - pushing distance between each member to make more room: gone are the family holidays and seldom now do we get together for family events.
Christmas is the main time where logistically we can almost all make it.
Family: an unbreakable bundle of sticks.
~~~
My wife has a strained relationship with her father: she has undergone counselling to help her overcome his past domineering ways. He was a practical yet bullying father to her, and now she is distant from him and his new family.
There remains this fear in her that I will somehow trap her in a lifestyle similar to her mother’s, I suspect.
I continue to try to manage my emotions: when Terry Pratchett died, I vowed to forego drink, and have: underneath these grand gestures I am still the man who has shackled her to a mortgage and two kids.
=========================
40.
When I brought my girlfriend home for the first time, there was the extended family there of aunts and uncles, and so on: I think it was a birthday or anniversary.
Anyway, introductions done: I abandoned my girlfriend to my family: taking both for granted and heading off for drinks and junk-food.
A pleasant, reflective calm took me: taking stock of my family and potential new wife, in the comfort of the house I grew up in.
The big old house now only has mum and dad in it: I cannot imagine a world without my family home in it.
~~~
Dropped in a sea of relatives, my girlfriend survived with her cheeky smile and sardonic wit: there were a few easy targets at the family affair, the biggest scoffing junk-food nearby.
Clinging to known relatives and bonding with my lovely aunt, she came through the initiation ceremony unscathed and fared-better than I ever did after meeting her family for the first time.
She has such a way with people: so friendly and understanding. I never had her touch for emotional connection.
She taught me the best lesson of my life: I needed to laugh at the world a bit more.
====================================
41.
It finally happened: in my trousers first but later that night inside a real woman.
Plying random girls with free Blockbuster Videos paid off: a beautiful fiery-haired girl with piercings grabbed me by the cock and I dutifully followed her through some parties and drinking sessions, until finally ending up in her flat, in her bed and in her.
Then, whilst snuggling in front of her TV, my mates crashed in looking for free booze and a chat: I glared them out of her flat. We did not last for long as a couple, but, by crikey, it was fun!
~~~
My future wife had gotten herself very drunk around someone very stupid.
He had plied her with drinks and she uncommonly let her guard down: she found herself the next morning in his bed, and in pain: she had no real memory of it aside from the discomfort.
It was here I think that she really felt let down: such an ignoble way to start a sex-life for someone brought up on a diet of romance.
She removed this guy from her life and I came into her world shortly afterwards. We had so much energy in those early days!
===============
42.
We spend hundred on monthly bills. Then there’s my sweet-tooth or the irresistible pull of a takeaway while my real food is going out-of-date in the fridge.
And yet, when I am in a frugal state-of-mind, I’ll happily shop in several places to shave off a few pennies here and there.
The agony of whether to buy razors here or a pizza there is getting ridiculous: at some level I know we are losing money each month so will try to compensate, and yet at such a pointless molecular level.
All this stress over a tin of beans! Stop consuming!
~~~
My wife has always been very good at knowing where the money is going and very bad at stopping it going there. Neither of us live comfortably and we have a recurring date with the bank manager to extend our private loan annually.
Living without savings or any such safety net is a constant worry: still, there is always couscous!
When my fiancée got ill and stopped work, we lived off of couscous and pre-made casseroles for about a year. Over ten years on, things are still desperate sometimes.
Sense and sensibility: we are conservative - but it devours our spirit.
===========================================
43.
Barcelona, 1995: their posters and graffiti fascinated me. The written word and typography inspires me, still.
To me, written language is such a beautiful abstraction and this interests me; I know I cannot draw or paint well, my digital and photographic work is basic, but words I love. Typography is a beautiful little discipline and it makes me happy, in small ways.
So yes, shop-signs, traditional typeset-printed books, spacious magazines and websites all keep my little mind busy in trivial, aesthetic ways.
Maybe not as grand as Picasso, but I get to see art in my own little galleries every-day.
~~~
Big great lumps of metal, sculpted as if by the gods: trinkets and jewellery of ornate intricate design: architecture and structures, pottery and glass.
My girlfriend expressed herself through her hands; through traditional crafts and three-dimensional art. Large concepts forged in tiny delicate details.
My wife encourages the children to embrace the world, to seek beauty in the everyday and to question its form and function. In my heart I know her heart still sees beauty in everything: the passion is still there and can be seen in her stylish appearance, her impulsive cooking projects and now in her tattoos.
===========
44.
You know you’ve been on your own too much when the best conversations you have are inside your head.
I commute, I work, I get home, I put the kids to bed. I try to spend meaningful time with my beautiful wife, I sleep: the house is a mess in the mornings so I do a few chores before slipping out into the eternal darkness of the morning commute, and so it goes.
There is this terrible, deep fear: what if everything I am doing is so completely wrong? Life is surely not meant to be like this?
I, zombie.
~~~
How often do I see my friends? Many have moved-on - the get-togethers have stopped, the invites gone. People do move on and everyone has stuff to do in their lives: so I try not to take it personally.
How often do I see my wife? The answer is more unforgiveable. Even organising babysitters and arranging days off work just to be alone together, it just leads to an awkward time spent discussing what still needs to be done, rather than reinvigorating our love.
I go from dark despair to bounding back and trying harder to keep things moving forward.
=======================
45.
It was just before Christmas: I was working on my second video-game with a very talented programmer and he was teaching me how to make a virtual raindrop: set an object in 3D space, ray-cast to a surface directly below, then from that point, step up 100 units. Then run a script to draw that raindrop falling 100 units, from top to bottom, then replace raindrop with splash at end.
He died over that Christmas, with me being the last to work with him that final day. I often remember him when it rains.
We dedicated that game to him.
~~~
The last time rain soaked me to the skin was when I walked alone to my son’s grave on a whim: it poured and I was drenched.
But it also felt so liberating to not care about this, to know I would soon be dry and warm again; a sort of baptism.
The journey was more meaningful than the destination, as is often the way. My wife knows I do occasionally need a long walk, like a frustrated old dog, scratching at the paintwork to be let out.
We don’t visit that grave anymore, it means nothing anymore.
Sorry Charlie.
=================================
46.
When commuting to work every-day, with the rest of the undead, you realise how much of your life disintegrates: in return for this contemplation, you can either - if lucky - see the kids for breakfast, or, to get home and put them to bed.
Working and getting home at 8-9pm was getting ridiculous, so I managed to work a way to start at 5am and get home for 6pm: tired in a different way, and people at work think you are shirking, but hey! I get to put the kids to sleep and my wife doesn’t slit her wrists.
~~~
My wife was exhausted, and our love strained: everything was an excuse to not go on, but we had to. We were committed to a house and two kids. Two jobs drove us forward and all the money evaporated.
We lived in constant fear that our house, our home, our world, would fail: would all be for nought.
Faced with this fear, like many many others, we push forward – too scared to stop, too tired to be loving doting parents and partners. But everything endured is worth it for even the fleetest of smiles from the one you truly love.
===========================
47.
My son was about a fortnight old, he was screaming and I grabbed him and shook him to shut him up. My wife yelled at me to stop. It was the middle of the night. Other sharp memories include kneeling before my son in a pub carpark and yelling at him. Not proud memories.
My kids do cower when they know they’ve been naughty: but, at worst, I’ll clip heads, grab ear or haul them to the naughty step.
I don’t drink and try to keep calm – and it is improving; my wife doesn’t fully trust me around our kids.
~~~
My wife had a bullying father: a strict man who insisted on things running his way. My wife has explained to me starkly that he controlled her mother and dictated many aspects of the family life.
My wife has fixed me with a look quite often when discussing bullies and bossy people: yet I don’t sense this applies to me. Disciplining our children is not easy and we don’t always adopt the same levels or rules with the kids.
I have been worse; at my lowest muttering dark things about death. Is there something in me that I can’t see?
======================
48.
This journal took effort to deliver: the structure resolved, yet am stuck: resolved to complete all 100 slots and yet my memory seems to keep failing.
Yesterday, I had a corking good idea: a real memory – golden, with an upbeat ending, tied in beautifully with my lovely wife.
And today, it is forgotten: the feeling is not, but the memory is.
It is a worry as I do seem to be losing control of my memories a bit: there is an urgency in me to write everything down, to rest the headaches in my head.
I get distracted very easily.
~~~
My wife has always had a terrible memory: except for when I’ve made another mistake of course.
She works herself into such a state, trying to remember the sound of her mother’s voice clearly, vaguely recalling childhood memories that her father did not darken.
Her mind is a quartz gem: crystalline and clear on specific nodes, but all right-angles and fractures. Conversation often jumps tangentially; I often find myself haplessly confused and pointed at as if I were that child she was just berating, before she jumps to say that she’s just bought all the ingredients for her latest recipe.
=============
49.
My son prayed for a banana from God. He has a vague notion of faith and did it to impress a girl he was with (don’t we all?)
My children will be exposed to the stories of Christ, and there’s little an atheist like me can do: it is the law in Britain.
But this is fine, as just like TV and getting royally drunk, it is part of growing up in this little culture full of ‘British Values’: all this nationalism being fed into our children.
Christ set out to destroy the very institutions that the church represents, etc.
~~~
All life is energy and experience: we are sentient beings from chaos.
And God is a small black woman.
This is my wife’s philosophy, and it does the job of framing her mind against the bleak unfairness of this world.
I’d identified myself as the husband in the Ray Bradbury story ‘The Powerhouse’, comforting my wife on matters of faith: but after Charlie died, I think our roles swapped: I became the one on the horse crying, worrying about the death of a parent.
Between us, we re-tell the classic fables of the classical gods and mythology to our children.
50.
It was a deliberate act of vandalism: while dad built the top-floor of our extension, I parked my third-hand Chopper bike below where he was throwing down bricks and old strips of sharp wood full of nails.
As the bike stood there, I took a small dart and punctured the knobbly rear tyre: just to hear the hiss and watch it go flat.
Another time, tired of waiting for paint to dry on some plastic German toy soldiers, I became impatient and smeared my black-covered hand on my brother’s bedroom wall.
I seem to get bored easily and enjoy destruction.
~~~
My wife has created beautiful sculptures, drawing and cross-stitch pieces: a testament to her focus, dedication and her abilities.
She is constantly fighting the war against mess and disorder at home; together we do work hard keeping our home positive and full of clean, hygienic areas.
If only our home was as modular and replaceable as those built in Facebook games: a click and off-road parking is there.
But it isn’t: so the destructive force of this man and the creative force of this woman work very hard to build something bigger than themselves – and are almost consumed by it!
======================
51.
My best job was working at Blockbusters: nerdy film buff slackers feeding terrible films to needy idiots. Playing football in the aisles with old VHS cases, flinging Saturn magazine cover-discs at one-and-other, reading Pratchett books on my break, enjoying the free melted ice-cream, and singing ‘Where is my mind’ with a fellow Pixies fan at all the customers; so much freedom and fun – why the hell do we ever grow up?
Some stayed close to movies, some stayed in shops, one went to prison, one succeeded to the head-office, one got pregnant within a year of graduating: miss them all.
~~~
My fiancée still has friends from her old Woolworth days - there is something about shop-work that really builds a team. (I briefly worked there too - years later mind)
Anyway, in our first few months together, I attended a gang of her old Woolworth mates getting drunk together: terrifying to be surrounded by so many cheeky girls of course – I loved it! Shop-workers know how to drink, party, bitch about work and the dumbass customers.
Oh, did I mention my wife managed to kill her boss? He was infatuated, she was polite, he ended his life: so it goes.
===================
52.
Politically speaking, my woolly liberal ideas do not seem to get me anywhere: direct action is one thing, but their just seems like no real point fighting the machine.
But, as a student, I did write to John Major - complaining of my student woes - and got a letter back: so democracy does work, so no need to worry then.
Rants aside, not sure what hope there is for my kids: my son has already been exposed to ‘British Values’ lessons when he was only 6: why the hell do we promote nationalism as a virtue?
Smash the state.
~~~
The woman who I love has South African heritage, and her mother was much more politically active, always urging her daughter to vote and the value of raising a voice against injustice.
As our children have progressed through a Christian-influenced education system - which subtly asked them to look-up to the Queen and the institution of our national identity – we have that terrible nagging doubt that this is dishonest; uncertain futures, no university education, shackled to a broken system.
Thus, we teach our children extra things that hopefully will help them, to get an advantage in this terribly unjust system.
=======================
53.
Whenever builders have built something new, it is the smell of wet cement and drying emulsion paint that immediately transforms me back to when I was an active decorator: a real outdoor job for the working-classes.
The freedom of wearing paint-spattered clothes, having long hair and drinking tea and eating jam-sandwiches in the back of my brother’s dusty old van: all that cash, blown on such stupid stuff. But was fun at the time.
I think putting up towers and swinging around like a long-haired gorilla was one of my fun memories: a nice routine of setup and strip-down. Fun!
~~~
My wife is incredibly good at working with teenagers: through her work, she supported and prepared hundreds of kids for a bigger adventure: rebuilding their skills, shepherding the group so that the slower-ones kept up with the teacher and the rest of the herd.
And likewise, it also comes down to all those tea-breaks: chats with her dwindling workmates, enjoying the odd free biscuit and flirting with the mechanics to get the car MOT’d again.
Work defines us.
==========================
54.
Let’s try again: there was a time when connection was what I lived for: a time to spend collecting moments with others. I had spent many years wilfully alone but, through the fluke of circumstance - rather than the force of will, things changed: I changed and adapted to a primal need to connect.
This was astonishing to me – to be drawn into a world of sharing, exploring and discovering more: to be in love.
But this love was competing with the other demands of time: the precious moments thwarted by work and money and – eventually, family.
So, I lost focus.
~~~
Even when she was sat there, staring through the world, sobbing at the loss and injustice and confused rage within, I had to love her. I still do.
Through a lot of emotional and physical illness and pain, my wife still resolved to carry on: but where we now were seemed to fill her with numbness and me with a sense of despair: I had been cruel and unkind at my lowest, and now the pain inside her seemed to shut-down the connection between us, perhaps permanently.
But this I will not believe.
So, from this I continue to fight.
==========================
55.
It was always Texas Meat-Feast Barbeque Pizza: the lads enjoyed large portions and we had an ongoing cinema subscription, so spent our nights together, watching all sorts of rubbish. Outings with friends I no-longer see, but fondly remember.
What did we ever talk about? Seemed funny at the time, whatever it was.
Perhaps it says something about my brain, that I remember the pizza topping and the Kandinsky painting on the wall, but specific conversations elude me.
I do recall bad films like ‘Congo.’
Films should be a social thing: now I watch them on my phone while I commute.
~~~~~~
‘Event Horizon’ – scared the crap out of my fiancée and her duplicitous bet friend. Such a daft movie, but full of nice little scares that had the girls giggling. Was a nice night out: last time went to the cinema was when parents agreed to babysit our kids, allowing us some time alone to watch ‘Iron Man 2’ – and this time, the film was nice, but the break was the thing: they could have put anything on that screen!
When we can, we grab onto every moment on our nights off; sometimes we remember how human and in-love we are.
==============================================
56.
Night’s out
Last time I cried
Inspiration to write
Conversation piece
babysitter
TV
Kids cartoons
Smell of wet cement
Compiling videos for my son
My boy the princess
Sleeping with the internet
Growing my hair long again
Why do women wear those shoes?
In the darkness alone
The canopy of a forest is my true home
Watching birds in flight
Taping radio shows
Begging the fanboys to join their internet gang
Fear of pubs
The bigger picture
Finding solace with the gods
Medical complaints
Children’s TV
How to deal with the unjust world
Everyday wonder at small things
Why I lack a professional work ethic
Being spontaneous: let me think about it
Fear of birthday parties
Dirty spoons
Mobile phones and gadgets
Blow-up banana girlfriend
Sing, sing, sing
Mirror in the bathroom
Being a migrant worker
Brian Sewell is a cunt
Superman must die!
Blockbuster movies
Photo memories on Facebook
The freedom of sarcasm on the shop floor
Dealing with fucking idiots (who think I’m a fucking idiot)
Good with money
The last time I danced like a fucking idiot
The last time I got very drunk
Celibacy
Pub quizmaster
Being fat
Why must this be 100 things long?
The biggest lie I ever told
But that never happened…
The big dog
Fear of flying
Losing touch with dear friends
My fears for my children
Scarred knuckles
Proud to be an inherent racist bigot
Invaluable time
Maintaining eye contact
My top-ten movies
Being a fungi
The tale of the crisp packet
1
The earliest memory I own was of Scooby Doo, in pieces on the floor.
The mystery-machine purple and the Shaggy-shirt green pieces of the cardboard puzzle lay on the brightly patterned carpet floor of our family home.
I could hear the ocean and remember the smell of the seaside air through the large open doors to my left, opening into a blindingly bright world outside.
The room was empty for a change; my large chaotic family were somewhere else at that moment.
It is not much: a fragment, a piece – but an important piece that completes me.
My first memory.
~~~
Missing a piece, I had stumbled into an innocuous bar. We met through other people. The conversation was pleasant and natural - the memories happy.
I let down my guard. I found words easy. I relaxed and breathed deeply and laughed warmly.
This joy lingered long after you were gone. The next time we met in-passing fired in me dreams and fantasies - I just had to see you more and more!
Fuelled by alcohol and badly-phrased bravado, I cornered you several times until you gave up hiding behind your friends and gave in to me.
We were truly happy then.
2
It was only a pound note, but the shame!
The family was at a holiday camp and on my brother’s Cortina dashboard was a pound note: I took it, changed it into 10p pieces and played Robotron in the arcade.
After the neon-soaked rush, the shame set in: I had no means of income, so I think I stole the money form another brother and put it back. This should give me more time to sort out this mess.
Little secret diversions and actions performed; conversations beginning in my head with proud arguments won.
I really doubt anyone ever noticed.
~~~
Seeing her there, arms stretched wide and hearing the doctor confirm that the attack had diminished will always be with me.
Overwhelmed by a sense of grateful bliss and fervent hope, I held her in my arms and we kissed happy kisses.
To lose dignity to illness is a test of any character and relationship, but we would overcome. Anything, yeah come on!
In debt and in need of work, we would ignore the inconvenience of being strapped for cash for now. We had dream to fulfil and ambitions to chase.
Such a clear memory, undiminished by time or pain.
3
Videogames are frustrating things: they gave an illusion of a world on the advert or arcade cabinet but the content was always less vivid.
Battlezone rendered a world in black and green vector. Based-upon a real-life US army simulator, you were immersed within the turret, isolated and fighting an endless battalion of tanks, missiles and aircraft.
I always remember the horizon of jagged mountains, of a crooked moon and a desire to drive long and hard into those mountains. Not for anything deep or meaningful, but just because it would be cool to fight tanks in mountains.
I was eleven.
~~~
She had booked the venue; a Victorian place that allowed people to gorge themselves on traditional English food and drinks – with incredibly generous old-fashioned puddings
A year before we had gone with her mum and dad; they always snapped and sniped at each other, but if you looked, you could see tender moments there still.
I could never make her dad happy – I wasn’t that sort of man.
But here on this night, away from others, dressed smartly and pretending to be of another age – we were happy.
Many drinks later, full of pudding we staggered out to the taxis.
4
Me and my sister sat in a pub in Barcelona. We were both on the same college course, despite me being five years older than her.
The college had arranged a local trip so we could go look at Picasso, Gaudi and anti-state graffiti. The group was a mix of foundation students and far older mature students – all mixed in.
The elders fed from the energy of the kids, and the kids basically ignored them. I remember being glad to be the youngest of the eldest group.
Myself unaligned, we got drunk and I failed to score with her friend.
~~~
I guess the pet names came from drawing small cartoons for her: silly stories, private jokes and rude messages - happy to be wrapped up in each other, snuggling, cuddling and holding on.
Like babies we had our own words, phrases and codes. We gave cuddly toys as gifts and ate many meals, enjoyed many nights out.
Musically, we were not aligned and I danced in spasms to the lights reflecting off her shiny full breasts. She would laugh at me a lot.
Over time we would exchange passions: she traded an Austen for my Pratchett; secretly, we both blossomed.
5
TV fascinated me.
There would be a test-card on before Noel Edmonds and his Swap Shop would appear. The TV we had was a large wooden-framed thing, on a wooden trolley to keep it high up enough so my young sister could not pour things into it.
I remember doing this a few times: taking felt-tipped pens and drawing on the screen. I was convinced that this was a cool thing to do and knew this is where my future lay.
Imagine, taking a pen and drawing straight onto the TV! Then the TV would make it come alive!
~~~
We were clearly drunk: two subsidised students in a busy pub, being asked to stop kissing so much or leave.
The bouncer was only a few years older, his dreadlocks and embarrassed black cheeks glowing in the dark.
Giggling, we paused to move to another part of the packed bar: I think her friend worked there part-time, or at least some of our friends were somewhere there. It was loud, cannot really remember which pub or the dreary indie tunes being played.
Outside of me kissing her, there was not much I could remember.
But I do remember the passion.
6
There I was: standing on the concrete wharf, above the pebble beach, staring out across the jet-black sea under the starless yellow-grey sky. Behind me were my family and the amusements.
I continued to stare until the sounds seemed to evaporate. I felt this tremendous urge to fall forward impossibly into the darkness.
I would not call it a fear or a recurring nightmare, more of a dark sensation: the sea itself, at night, seems a terrifying place.
No drama followed, but I allowed myself to dissolve back into the warmth and cheap splendour of the family on holiday.
~~~
The days were hot in Ibiza. We were no longer students and we were very happy. My sister and her boyfriend had come along too – with the money they had saved and forgetting the money I gave her during our times as students.
So we went off to explore while they did their own cool thing in all the clubs and bars.
We always have a knack from finding events, festivals and celebrations wherever we go – people love to party!
On the black shore, under a starry night, we sat with genuine locals watching fireworks explode off of the sea.
7
Dumbfounded to be top in the class in Science, I volunteered to help out on an open evening: we had to demonstrate distilling salt from salt-water.
After our show, all the pupils were allowed to wander around and mix.
I am sure my family was around somewhere but now I was free. So me and this friend wandered the corridors, peeking into the other classes of friends showcasing their talents. All good geeky fun.
Lounging around, hands in pockets, two girls singled me out in a corridor and accused me of being too cocky.
I stopped being interested in Science.
~~~
Coming home from working at Blockbuster Video, I would often get in late into the student house. She always made sure there was food for me, waiting in the oven.
Belonging to that house was important to me, but it was not easy: I hated two of her housemates.
I think I did bludgeon my way into her life and she took care of me, like one of her wounded-birds.
So much love and intelligence poured out of her: I would listen to her talk and drink her in. She was amazing to me, standing there, when I got in.
8
Watching myself on home video, twelve new years later, I realised how awful I really was! So rude, always with a drink in-hand.
I was a bully. A thug of slow-wit but loud words.
I sit watching these memories with less clear words now. I mumble and fidget more these days. Those friends in those videos have long gone to other things.
To now be blocked on social-media sites is so petty, but I knew some of these people for over 20 years. Says it all, really.
The alien timbre of your own recorded voice tells you all about yourself.
~~~
Within the first few weeks of us going out, our university had sent me to Florence. I pined for her a lot, buying a lot of rubbish souvenirs and cuddling my stuffed-lion mascot that she had given me.
My hair was shoulder length in those days and my mane was attractive. We had been intimate and close and wrapped around each other since the first moment: so much passion!
Florence, a beautiful, romantic place, has really nice pizzas and cool mopeds. Without her there, it really was just an old magnificent city that you occasionally see in cool films.
9
Fetish: shiny black PVC stretched over boobies is a great thing!
But one other thing that did always blow my mind were the changes that happen to women when pregnant: they seem liberated, alluring, somehow.
Alone, I did find myself buying a video which featured a pregnant woman being naked in an empty house. Watching it, I did just imagine her conversations beforehand to allow such a thing to even exist. Poor thing.
Later, after my dad had redecorated my bedroom, the VHS was left there on the side! I ditched the video – but still think of that woman occasionally.
~~~
Our car had to be scrapped: but her grandparents offered kindly to buy us a replacement car. We had tried a few, but what confirmed her final decision was the distraction of what was lodged within her vagina.
She had slipped and fallen onto my deodorant, and the cap had come off inside her: she was terrified we would need to go to hospital!
So when spending that same day with her grandparents, she had not been that focussed.
Thankfully, I patiently managed to convince her powerful internal muscles to relax and, with a final push, the cap was birthed!
10
My sister was proudly holding the kite she had just stolen from the seaside shop. The family freaked and returned the goods sharpish.
We were at the seaside. For a few successive years, we went to the same house and it was great fun.
Once, there was this beautiful young Indian girl next door that I spent days playing with: she was very beautiful, funny and could run very fast! I sometimes wonder about her.
I also remember recreating the ice-planet Hoth with mum’s talcum powder and a lot of tiny toy soldiers: I did get shouted at for that.
~~~
My first trip in an ambulance.
Two days before: at the 20 week scan, we were due to find out the sex of our second child, but the nurse apologised for not finding a pulse.
We were consoled, a plan was made. I then took our son 100 miles away to my parents’ house.
48 hours later, the medicine had worked and her waters broke on our sofa at home. The ambulance was called.
In hospital, as the nurses watch the royal wedding, we held our stillborn son and admired him, lovingly.
Later, we were told he never technically existed.
11
My mates loved coming around to play pool at our house. In the conservatory my dad had built out of several bits from other jobs, we had a brilliant place to play and hangout.
I loved playing dad at billiards, and we did so for years after on that tiny table, dressed in work overalls, waiting for the rain to finish so we can get back to the decorating job down the road.
Tea, biscuits, listening to his rants: He had managed to build a large house and support a large family, but we did fight and spar on politics.
~~~
The Masonic Lodge were having a dinner-dance: her parents had invited us along. We were smartly dressed and hopelessly out-of-place here.
We danced awfully, in my case no great surprise: however my fiancée was nervous and clumsy in front of her dad’s friends.
She was a strong and intelligent woman, like her mother: they share the same keen eyes.
However, they both had to find ways of dealing with her father. He was charismatic and had some good connections, but his naval upbringing and strict beliefs made him formidable and confrontational.
What could I ever hope to achieve against him?
12
Me and my younger brother always enjoyed playing games: for years we played with the third-hand Lego. Then we played boardgames, role-playing games, all sorts.
Outside, to make up for me mildly concussing him with a large white-plastic jerry can, he left a permanent scar inside my bottom lip: playing hockey with broom-handles and baby apples had seemed a good idea at the time. He smashed me in the mouth and it was numb.
My face was wet with blood and after the shock, he sensibly ran off to avoid me hitting him back.
The games we loved to play.
~~~
Magic the Gathering: a phrase to drive fear into the woman I loved.
Hanging around with a group of role-playing wargamers, she reluctantly had agreed to come to the convention.
Afterwards, dazed and wearied, she demanded to know why I had made her come along – the unwashed guys and slutty girls! On top of this, she had just pretended to be a puddle of slime for two hours!
We did enjoy sharing hobbies and interests, but not this one.
I got into role-playing to be with some close friends more - only really tagging along.
I did not miss it.
13
I got into music by taping all of my elder brother’s Bowie albums.
I was 20 and would never openly listen to music: but I would secretly borrow his Walkman - until I bought my own - and listen endlessly to tapes.
At that time, I also enjoyed long walks, so the two fitted well together.
Once, I created a treasure-trail, using a Tippex bottle to graffiti arrows saying ‘this way’ – all leading to a wooden bench-table in a clearing that explained they had won.
I imagined other people’s conversations – perhaps I should have spent more energy pursuing real conversations!
~~~
My fiancée was bored and upset. Oh, but she bore it well! (I suspect her mother knew too).
Then engagement party was a disaster: but all my mates were there and my family were having fun being drunk.
At the time, it was fun!
Looking back on the video tape of it, I was such an arse!
I enjoyed drinking and thought of myself as a student still: still tanned form the Ibiza holiday we were surrounded by everyone dear to us.
I am so sorry dear I abandoned you that night to show-off. Stupid, stupid man that I am.
14
I was working with dad at this time. Some early mornings, I would sit in my room drawing cartoons.
I really enjoyed doing that: writing little stories and cartoons for friends.
Secretly listening to my bootleg music tapes and writing an epic tale set on the planet of Slym, full of shaggy orange Alf-like beasts having soap-opera dramas - with lazors and robots.
I never shared the stories and binned them later.
I used to get up early, like dad. Unlike dad, I never went downstairs and we never talked in those mornings. If only I had been football-mad instead.
~~~
It was our twelfth anniversary.
She was quiet and distracted when I got in from work.
I guessed straight-away that all our efforts over the Christmas period (excuse the pun) had paid off.
We hugged, dazed and worried: then we talked for hours. The internet suddenly became our expert friend.
Of course we had had scares before, and she routinely bought a detection kit as a jinx: when she took the test, she got her period the next day.
Not this time.
Now that we knew, boy did we enjoy ourselves in bed at night: the worst had already happened!
15
I obsessed over a nerdy girl at school.
School ended, she went to university, we would write to each other. University ended, she came back.
I desired her, still.
It got to the point where I would walk the empty streets at night just to stand outside her window: imagining her up there, asleep, naked.
Of course, meeting in pubs, with friends, I realised the person I was talking too was nothing like I imagined.
Today, in internet chatrooms, I still imagine people’s voices and backgrounds, but I know now that following them home is probably a bad idea!
Probably.
~~~
Our eyes were locked and she squeezed my hand, her long nails cutting into my flesh (it really hurt!)
Gas and air; breathing deeply with her.
After two hours, our time was up; a small Indian doctor was summoned and she stood between my wife’s legs, cut her open wider and pulled the bloody-baby out.
Woozy, but happy, we had done it. Our little boy was born. It was unreal!
The smell, the closeness, the love! Such a powerful, wonderful moment: warm and fuzzy in a clinical white world.
People fussed, forms were filled. Our lives had changed forever.
Congratulations!
16
I followed him like a puppy since I was four years old.
I cooed over his latest expensive new toys.
I sat next to him as he played his computer games.
I listened to him recite his father’s politics about coons, niggers and pakis.
He also had great ideas about how women should be naked and servile more often.
For years I listened to his racist, sexist shite.
Then, he got bored with me: I was now following a bunch of roleplaying nerds instead.
Years later, he pinged me on email, and I pinged back - and that was that.
~~~
One Christmas, we went off to be alone together in the New Forest. We stayed in a Travel Lodge and spend Christmas morning having a picnic in the wet ferns.
It was peaceful; far away from our noisy, dominating, intrusive families.
Of course, we called them on our mobiles to wish them ‘happy xmas’, but otherwise we were alone.
It was beautiful, being alone together - and to just be there.
We kissed and walked, she drove us around, listening to Dido and Faithless.
It was nice, remote and happy.
I still enjoy humming Christmas carols, but not for Jesus.
17
Once, on the train, I told a man to turn-down his music.
Apple; why did you always provide the cheapest fucking earphones!
He told me to fuck off, so I sat next to him and asked him again: some sort of puritanical mania had descended on me, I think.
Of course, he got off at the next stop, unmoved. And when I got off, people who got off with me thought I was a prick as well.
I probably was.
I don’t bother nowadays: it’s a pointless battle, and the best strategy is to just turn your music up louder.
~~~
We had to get our own home; my dad had just wandered into the bedroom while we were making love!
At this time, we had a comfortable mattress on the floor, as the bed we had was too squeaky, and we did not want my sister to hear us either!
When a beetle crawled into her belly button, she left to be with her parents down south, a hundred miles away.
I got a job in London and it made sense to stay at my parent’s house.
We lived apart that for three years, but had very enjoyable weekends together.
18
When I was young, that racist friend I knew convinced my little sister to lay down and we stared at her bits: he even touched them. That is all, though she did suffer with an infection for years after.
And then the other thing was; I was prepared to kill my little sister once.
She came up to see me at the top of the stairs, but I was holding something pornographic behind me. I convinced her to go down stairs again and I think she did not see what I had in my hand behind my back: murder avoided!
~~~
My girlfriend (of five days) stripped naked and timidly stepped into her bedroom. Conscious of her body, as I’m sure we all are, she was nervous.
I thought she was gorgeous – still do.
It was awkward being in love, in winter, in her room; that tiny single bed and that scalding-hot radiator which burned my bare ass a few times!
We did enjoy spending time together alone and naked; once we spent the day in bed, with me nipping out to get Chinese at half-time.
Amazing what stamina you have when you are young: she is an amazing woman still!
19
How much time have I spent watching TV and playing computer games?
Some games have taken me weeks to complete: all by myself. The most recent console I have is the Wii I won in a raffle from work back in 2007; they were winding-up the company and giving away the fixtures and fittings.
I was in Newquay at the time, celebrating my birthday with my fiancée.
I do play some games still. It is something to do while my wife plays online Facebook games with friends.
We do not watch TV anymore and we do not miss it.
~~~
Newquay is a very special place for us. We return to the same Bed-and-Breakfast and enjoy being tourists in a lovely part of the world. The last time was spent making shell decorations on the beach to our love and looking at the lights on the horizon.
There is that terrific sense of freedom being on holiday with the ones you love. I do regret not having more money to take us to more exotic locations: my wife still wants to travel the world and have more adventures.
One day I hope we return to Newquay, with the kids in-tow.
20
Online, at a forum for Dungeon-Master fans (a 3D computer game from 1987), someone there was posting links to his latest writing pieces. The latest thing is to write a 100-word entry each day: to help train yourself about how to structure stories.
So I stole this idea and put together this collection.
I have always wanted to write my memories, but the structure always eluded me. My last book was ‘Slaughterhouse 5’ and this has helped a lot: things do not need to be in-order.
I am letting memories come to me freely; one for me, one for us.
~~~
I was drunk. She was there, again.
First time, I really do not remember asking her out – there was awkwardness the following Monday at college.
Second time, I promised my mate I would ask her out, only for my sister to arrive at that moment and tell me not to bother: she was not interested!
Third time: she surrendered. We were both drunk.
Prodigy’s ‘Firestarter’ played melodically in the background, the smooth tunes setting the romantic scene. Everybody was dancing.
I kissed her ear.
I whispered ‘Any other orifice you would like me to kiss?’
Our romantic rollercoaster had begun!
21
Then there was all that commuting on the train, for all of those years, to all those jobs that I ended up hating, or them hating me.
I learned to see people and recognise patterns. There were people who got on and off at my stop, one I even recognised as a friend-of-a-friend from Facebook – and still I did not want to talk.
I despaired at the terrible newspapers, espousing propaganda: everyone hates commuting.
It was a place however to write many things; listen to songs, stories and podcasts. It was a place of refuge in a noisy fast-moving world.
~~~
She adored me wearing that suit when we met at the station.
We were living apart and she had come all this way, with a cardboard Wookie under her arm.
There was equal measure of silliness and devotion in our lives: giving both to each other freely.
Trains and buses, lifts from parents and friends: we managed to meet up when we could and we made each meeting special, meaningful.
The distance helped fire our imagination, keep us fresh: fuelled by saucy phone conversations and long-distant promises.
Each weekend was a holiday to be cherished! It was exhausting yet exhilarating!
22
For years, we had ‘little Nan’ living with us at our family home: bless her, she was a sane woman trapped inside a broken-minded body: took her a few more rambling confused years to die too.
I was at home when mum called from the hospital. Grandad was dead.
I was alone in the house with Nan.
I had just been showing Nan some sci-fi drawings of monsters for her amusement, so our conversation had been light and fluffy: I could not tell her Grandad was dead!
So I went back to drawing silly little pictures until Mum came back.
~~~
Standing in a videogame shop in Edgware, my fiancée called me to tell me that her mum had died suddenly: she was in bits and my fluffy-little world of computer games and silly pastimes evaporated.
We had been apart a few years now and really we should be seriously thinking of marriage, kids and a house.
Too late, I kept thinking, just too late!
It took me a few months to get out and move in with her: I think we both knew it was too little too late.
Her mum was her cornerstone: I had been such a fool!
23
Dad was 70.
Thanks to her help, I had made him a cake!
Family gatherings at our house were always chaotic affairs, even before we had children.
Everyone was there and it was great to have our large, scattered family all rounded-up into one nice house.
My old family house was huge! So many rooms!
Mum spent the day marshalling everyone as usual and she continued to hold the chaos together. Dad was playful around the kids, mum did all the hard work really.
I think about how we all treated our parents, as I am sure they treated theirs.
~~~
It was Christmas, and my fiancée had created a wonderful duck-in-cherry-sauce for the table. Her mum was ordered to relax and I helped clumsily where I could. Dad was master of ceremonies of course.
It was pleasant enough: no arguments, usual family stuff.
Her mum was tired but would not stop: such a fighter!
Before this, I had rushed from home to be with my fiancée as her mum had just threatened to divorce her dad. It touched her, and her mum stayed with her dad out of sheer duty.
So Christmas was polite, fun and normal, everyone doing okay.
24
I did not get on well with anyone really. I was a painful teenager.
My mum helped me where she could: and even organised my Christmas presents. She gave me a bag of items and let me wrap them and address them. So brothers got soap-on-a-rope and other such presents.
I just tried hard but it was difficult: I wanted the recipient to be so very happy, despite these very simple gifts.
At the time, I envied my older brothers all being fine with listening to music out-loud and having cool friends. Or maybe I’m romanticising for effect.
‘Merry Chrismas’.
~~~
I once spent five pounds on chocolate bars from an all-night garage, so we could continue our lovemaking. We had spent the day filthy and in bed.
My beloved CD player was drying out where she had spilled a pint of water over it, but she had made me forget all about that!
Sitting there, eating junk food and talking silly things.
We wasted so much precious time watching junk TV, playing bad music, going to cheap pubs, eating fried lard; yet the quality of our time together was incredibly special.
All those moments lost, like, tears… in the rain.
25
Back before the internet, people used to buy glossy paper magazines.
I loved computer games, and would send in hints, cheats and tips to ‘ST Format’ magazine. I got a few things published.
Years later, I vowed to track down these submissions and – wonderfully – there are people as odd as me: dedicated to scanning-in and sharing old magazines for people to shift through, virtually, online.
So now I have proof of my past: immortalised in print and proof to the world that I was worthy.
Ok, it is not gold medal or trophy - but I’m proud of these achievements.
~~~
Having access to a woman’s bits on a regular basis is a great achievement in later life: though inevitably they do lead to a lot of fuss and trouble.
Our daughter was due to be born: my wife had started labour in the afternoon and was surrounded by the coven of women in white.
This time however, she was the boss: not cowed by fear or ignorance.
When that same Indian doctor who had cut her open last time appeared, my wife resolved to push hard; six minutes after labour had started, out came daughter - no time for painkillers!
26
Learning to swim by myself is a clear memory.
Our school had a swimming pool, so ever week, we swam: it was great fun mucking about, but we did very little swimming!
The teacher was lovely, and every width I splashed about, she let more and more air out of my water-wings, until it was just me doing the floating as well as splashing: ergo, I was swimming!
I can also remember my mum teaching me to tie my laces, beside the electric brown cooker in the kitchen. Same spot where she taught me the letters for my name.
Thanks!
~~~
When we first started going out, I was doing an experiment, (I was just as gullible then as I am now I guess).
The challenge was to dye your food blue and see if it tasted different.
So the first time she came around, I was eating blue spaghetti.
That’s when I began to be taught basic cookery; being patient is vital, so I barely scraped-by!
I am now very good at cooking rice, and have become able to cook for a family, prepare foods for the freezer and so on: nothing fancy but something grown-up to do.
So, thanks!
27
Twenty-seven used to be a mystical number for me. Something I stuck by when I was growing-up, it was a lucky number: sounded lucky and tied into my birthday too.
Of course, it’s nonsense.
Until recently, I thought the Bible to be a bit-special, despite my utter disbelief in everything supernatural.
At the back of the school assembly, I never believed Jesus fed all those people loaves and fished – the logistics were an unworkable joke!
Even before the internet, there were other sceptics ranting about how these things have power!
I am a typical Leo. (PS: Santa Claus isn’t real)
~~~
At the funeral of our son, we had arranged to have balloons with messages for family to release. The Spritualized track, ‘Lay it on me’ was played. Words were said and people listened to us lament our son.
My best mate helped me lower the tiny coffin into the hole. I had secreted my old unlucky brass-pig inside to keep my son company.
We were touched by the outpouring of love from the gathering.
My eldest brother was being a prick throughout and I told the vicar not to come back to ours: superstitious nonsense.
We will always remember him.
28
Under my teenage bed I had secret things: audio tapes!
Having come late into music, I would devour everything: from a single track on a cover-tape on a glossy music magazine – for instance – I ended up buying Tom Waits albums for years after.
With my mate, we would grab CD singles from the bargain bins, just to find new stuff.
Mostly terrible stuff: but so many endless playlists…!
Pixies, Floyd, Bowie, Waits, Blur, Charlie Barnet, Zappa, Weakerthans, MJ Hibbett, Eno, Cash, Jimmy Smith, Airhead, Cutler, Wonder Stuff, Leslie Winer, HMHB, Professor Elemental, REM, AC/DC, Bragg, Radiohead, Carter, Prodigy, Mahler, Beefheart…
~~~
I am a certified florist.
Back when I was single, I didn’t understand the beauty of cut-flowers.
Over time with my fiancée, I learned to find them beautiful, therapeutic and amazing. I really enjoyed recycling all the funeral wreaths for her mother into posies and thankyous for all those who attended.
One summer, we did a course. I enjoyed it, I was passionate.
The structure, form, smell: making an abstraction of colour take form in three-dimensions is really cool.
So many beautiful, powerful things she brought into my life: such passions and simple pleasures adding colour to my grey world.
29
The only thing I ever shoplifted was some stickers from the front of a copy of Computer and Video Games magazine.
This was in Ware, when there used to be a newsagent on the corner, where the buses turn up the hill from that high street.
There were other things stolen as well: I did once setup a bogus account at Blockbusters and went to some neighbouring stores to sign-up and take some games. Both Playstation games Klonoa and Metal Gear Solid were acquired in this way.
Nowadays of course, I just steal music and video files from the internet.
~~~
We were walking home and she decided, drunkenly, to climb over a car at a car dealership. All the way over the bonnet, up on the roof and down the back again.
When one gets drunk, the other soon sobers up: I was desperately trying to shepherd her home again to her parents’ house – but she had other ideas, standing on top of the car, arms wide open, calling out to the world to notice her.
We were not punished for this behaviour; there was no moral learned in our many nights of drunken stupor.
We do not drink anymore.
======================================================
30
I gave up drinking about the time Terry Pratchett died. He had a profound effect on me. Aside from chocolate, I am now avoiding bread, sugar, dairy, TV and arguments about gods.
During this period, I have cleared out all the old boardgames, computer games, comics and films: they will not be enjoyed by others and it is tragic to plan for a potential future where everyone I knew would come back, even for just one night, and replay all these old pastimes with me.
Move on, de-clutter life and re-focus. I have culled many things but not my books.
~~~
There are important things that lose importance by accident.
In a simple world, the contrast is high and the distinction clear from what is a distraction to what is a devotion.
However, we tend to accumulate more threads to our world and more variables. These then complicate our world and things begin to lose focus: so when suddenly you realise who you are devoted too has become very ill with worry and regret, you curse all those distractions and desperately try to reclaim your life from the clutter you have amassed.
I am so sorry for being so stupidly distracted.
======================================================
31
When I hear music, I somehow imagine all those channels of sound almost visually – like a network of overlapping lines and channels.
My imagination carries me away and I love being elsewhere. Music makes the mundane better: look at Star Wars franchise, for example.
I do have a hearing issue that will slowly deteriorate over time: it makes it difficult for me to differentiate sounds clearly, so – for example - having a conversation in a pub is difficult for me as all sounds appear to compete equally.
And so, I have trouble gauging my own volume and tend to mumble.
~~~
In our family car, my wife drives and listens to music. Even with kids now, the music itself has not changed. No nursery rhymes or stories for us: our kids will enjoy the commute listening to AC/DC, Led Zep, Faithless and Prodigy – they seem to enjoy bopping around on the back seat.
She enjoyed clubbing with her friends years ago and still attends festivals with her mates. It adds a rhythm and connection to her and others that maybe I have lost over time.
Her work with teenagers reinforces this passion as it is a powerful language across the generations.
======================
32.
When I worked on building sites, my eldest brother would joke about me talking to the piles of sand as I worked it into cement: he was probably right.
Being a labourer, you run as part of a gang and your role is to set things up and keep things going: you are first on-site, stacking bricks, preparing muck-boards, making gauges.
Once you are setup though, the pace slows and you generally have a steady day keeping everyone topped-up.
I was a key member of a team while sitting outside of it. And thus, my conversations were usually with myself.
~~~
Retail jobs and driving vans: that is a fair summary of my wife’s former jobs. She enjoyed the shop-floor soap-operas and the public would drive her mad.
So when she began training to be a teacher, it was her step into a world she would grow to love dearly.
Within three-months however, she got very ill and this ended that journey, which frustrated her more than her physical difficulties at the time. Such a tremendous sense of failure and letting others down sowed the seeds of later depression.
However, she ended up happy as the Learning Support Assistant, helping teenagers.
=======================================
33
But I didn’t.
Some righteous rage, some passer-by event in which I witnessed some kids being cruel to each other, disrespectful of civic amenities, causing wilful disturbance in a built-up area.
In the glow of immediate hindsight, I would fantasise about public remonstration; a fire in me wanted to be a policeman, bringing order and justice and helping the community.
Fact is I am too nervous and avoid confrontation. Always.
At school, my mates tried to train me, which resulted in me pinning one against a wall, feet-off-ground. So I have the capacity but not the will.
So I didn’t.
~~~
The house needs work, the kids need looking after, my wife needs to feel appreciated.
Now I have no time, or at least the capacity to manage my time. My job keeps me commuting over four hours a day. My weekends revolve around the kids so my wife can get some time alone.
But now I think I have been completely wrong.
My kids want us to go out as a family, to enjoy time together.
My son asks me why I don’t kiss mummy, and I lie and say it’s not something parents do in front of their kids.
===========
34
Being in a gang was an ambition I suppose.
I belonged to several: the fourth member of the estate gang, exploring the fields, one was in the cadets, hanging around corner shops and riding bikes.
Then the nerdy bunch, with computers, movies and science stuff.
Then the gamers: I was ‘Big Gint’, lots of my brother’s mates were involved and we usually camped at my parents’ large house to play soldiers.
Later, the role-playing ‘society’ that had me eating cooked meals and roleplaying games.
I donated all my old games, movies, comics and computer-games to charity - and felt liberated!
~~~
At university, I shared my passion for games and Pratchett with my girlfriend. Over time, my fiancée got more involved with computer games, card games, fantasy novels and odd movies that I would rave about.
Now, as my wife, this connection has waned. We have grown beyond these pastimes, our energies dedicated to our family and home.
I do miss time together with just us, a gang-of-two against the world.
Occasionally, I buy flowers and cakes, but we really could do with a night-out, or a holiday; some respite and reassurance that this mad adventure will be all right again.
=================================
35
Give me two songs that have a common theme, and I will reason that there must be a suitable third song: then I would fantasise about showcasing these three songs together to illustrate my genius.
And it’s not only music, but films and books… So; to compile online playlists, review and vet them continuously, play that playlist religiously and then leave it alone, the perfect polished gem for others to stumble across.
Stop!
Once, I had a wall of boardgames, videogames and videos ideal for groups of people to enjoy together: if only I had organised the parties as well!
~~~
My wife loves people.
Parties, groups, gangs, festivals, travelling, exploring, adding memories that proved to the world she had lived.
Anchored to me, this did rather restrict her: she craves wings to fly and I should be more than a perch for her - even my metaphors lack romance!
We will need to work hard to get back to a time where she can fly again, I know that. Some part of me knows as well that one option is to drop me from a great height, like Om’s turtle.
Let’s hope the tattoo for the wings will suffice instead.
==================
36
Fame!
I was almost in ‘Shaun of the Dead’: five of us answered Simon Pegg’s call, but on the day, only three were accepted. They travelled to the film-set, and were all filmed – one ended up off-screen, the other two are visible in the background (look at the car, when Simon and Jessica meet).
Have also been involved in game tie-ins to Catwoman and Robin Hood. Delivered the app for the London 2012 Olympics as well.
I have an obscure computer game character named after me: the ‘Gumbler’, for Aquastax.
I invented ‘Buggin’s Turn’ – a Killer pool-variation, and some day…
~~~
My wife was probably the first British woman to be a female counsellor for the Scouts organisation: a leader of her Venture group, she was a pioneer.
She has also been a football steward and met Eric Cantona – who flirted with her during a throw-in. This was just before he made the headlines for ‘that’ flying-tackle too.
She has been chatted up by rugby players and a famous dancer when he was in the Tap Dogs.
There was also a commissioned project to decorate the underpass at the college that she worked on.
There is still a fire in her.
===================
37
How can I express myself - with meaning?
I am not a good communicator and am a brooding-type who comes up with so many plot ideas and game designs and new inventions and things.
Not that they come to anything.
I have had dreams where I designed computer games from scratch, mapping out the end-cases and look-and feel: reviewing it within my own head, in a dream!
I do have dreams that are epic and movie-like, and the plot usually is corking good fun too.
I used to draw pictures too. Arranging flowers has also become something I like doing.
~~~
My girlfriend: is incredibly creative: cross-stitch, pottery, drawing, painting, woodwork.
My wife: can still find time to be creative and talk to her many friends and her cosy online community.
Music still inspires her, and she listens to all the latest stuff, still goes to festivals and gigs in pubs.
She has had to be more creative and resourceful as well, passing on her passions to our children; to keep them entertained and educate them.
Both our children love to draw pictures and express themselves by acting, singing and dancing.
Between us, we have created children who are creative too.
=======================
38.
Writing is an excellent way to express myself. It is therapy and a great mental exercise. The restrictions of talking, mumbling, stumbling are swept aside and I can create more vivid, personal expressions of myself through writing.
And yes, it is as wanky as it sound, but I write for me.
I do post things online, but do not advertise them: they are stored publicly so I can never lose them – it is nice to still get the odd rave review for a piece of fanfic about Harry Potter written back in 2001.
No-one gets hurt (though maybe bored).
~~~
Romance: passion, love, stories of miscommunication then reconciliation.
A voracious reader, my wife enjoys reading a lot. Often, the cheesiest Mills and Boon is just the tonic for when she feels blue.
Escapism is the key. She finds joy in reading and great stories. Movies too, that have a similar style also appeal: Alan Rickman, Clive Owen or Gerard Butler – she laps those up if only for the eye-candy.
We both enjoy escaping into stories, though hers seem to have much happier endings than my own.
I want to be more passionate: an apparent sub-conscious goal of my own endeavours.
==================================
39.
My family is growing alarmingly old. My grandparents are all gone and my parents are now rather creaky and old, with season passes to the hospital for various minor operations and check-ups.
My brothers all have grown-up children: some already considering university, and the eldest settling down with his husband-to-be.
Our expanding universe, the family, has grown - pushing distance between each member to make more room: gone are the family holidays and seldom now do we get together for family events.
Christmas is the main time where logistically we can almost all make it.
Family: an unbreakable bundle of sticks.
~~~
My wife has a strained relationship with her father: she has undergone counselling to help her overcome his past domineering ways. He was a practical yet bullying father to her, and now she is distant from him and his new family.
There remains this fear in her that I will somehow trap her in a lifestyle similar to her mother’s, I suspect.
I continue to try to manage my emotions: when Terry Pratchett died, I vowed to forego drink, and have: underneath these grand gestures I am still the man who has shackled her to a mortgage and two kids.
=========================
40.
When I brought my girlfriend home for the first time, there was the extended family there of aunts and uncles, and so on: I think it was a birthday or anniversary.
Anyway, introductions done: I abandoned my girlfriend to my family: taking both for granted and heading off for drinks and junk-food.
A pleasant, reflective calm took me: taking stock of my family and potential new wife, in the comfort of the house I grew up in.
The big old house now only has mum and dad in it: I cannot imagine a world without my family home in it.
~~~
Dropped in a sea of relatives, my girlfriend survived with her cheeky smile and sardonic wit: there were a few easy targets at the family affair, the biggest scoffing junk-food nearby.
Clinging to known relatives and bonding with my lovely aunt, she came through the initiation ceremony unscathed and fared-better than I ever did after meeting her family for the first time.
She has such a way with people: so friendly and understanding. I never had her touch for emotional connection.
She taught me the best lesson of my life: I needed to laugh at the world a bit more.
====================================
41.
It finally happened: in my trousers first but later that night inside a real woman.
Plying random girls with free Blockbuster Videos paid off: a beautiful fiery-haired girl with piercings grabbed me by the cock and I dutifully followed her through some parties and drinking sessions, until finally ending up in her flat, in her bed and in her.
Then, whilst snuggling in front of her TV, my mates crashed in looking for free booze and a chat: I glared them out of her flat. We did not last for long as a couple, but, by crikey, it was fun!
~~~
My future wife had gotten herself very drunk around someone very stupid.
He had plied her with drinks and she uncommonly let her guard down: she found herself the next morning in his bed, and in pain: she had no real memory of it aside from the discomfort.
It was here I think that she really felt let down: such an ignoble way to start a sex-life for someone brought up on a diet of romance.
She removed this guy from her life and I came into her world shortly afterwards. We had so much energy in those early days!
===============
42.
We spend hundred on monthly bills. Then there’s my sweet-tooth or the irresistible pull of a takeaway while my real food is going out-of-date in the fridge.
And yet, when I am in a frugal state-of-mind, I’ll happily shop in several places to shave off a few pennies here and there.
The agony of whether to buy razors here or a pizza there is getting ridiculous: at some level I know we are losing money each month so will try to compensate, and yet at such a pointless molecular level.
All this stress over a tin of beans! Stop consuming!
~~~
My wife has always been very good at knowing where the money is going and very bad at stopping it going there. Neither of us live comfortably and we have a recurring date with the bank manager to extend our private loan annually.
Living without savings or any such safety net is a constant worry: still, there is always couscous!
When my fiancée got ill and stopped work, we lived off of couscous and pre-made casseroles for about a year. Over ten years on, things are still desperate sometimes.
Sense and sensibility: we are conservative - but it devours our spirit.
===========================================
43.
Barcelona, 1995: their posters and graffiti fascinated me. The written word and typography inspires me, still.
To me, written language is such a beautiful abstraction and this interests me; I know I cannot draw or paint well, my digital and photographic work is basic, but words I love. Typography is a beautiful little discipline and it makes me happy, in small ways.
So yes, shop-signs, traditional typeset-printed books, spacious magazines and websites all keep my little mind busy in trivial, aesthetic ways.
Maybe not as grand as Picasso, but I get to see art in my own little galleries every-day.
~~~
Big great lumps of metal, sculpted as if by the gods: trinkets and jewellery of ornate intricate design: architecture and structures, pottery and glass.
My girlfriend expressed herself through her hands; through traditional crafts and three-dimensional art. Large concepts forged in tiny delicate details.
My wife encourages the children to embrace the world, to seek beauty in the everyday and to question its form and function. In my heart I know her heart still sees beauty in everything: the passion is still there and can be seen in her stylish appearance, her impulsive cooking projects and now in her tattoos.
===========
44.
You know you’ve been on your own too much when the best conversations you have are inside your head.
I commute, I work, I get home, I put the kids to bed. I try to spend meaningful time with my beautiful wife, I sleep: the house is a mess in the mornings so I do a few chores before slipping out into the eternal darkness of the morning commute, and so it goes.
There is this terrible, deep fear: what if everything I am doing is so completely wrong? Life is surely not meant to be like this?
I, zombie.
~~~
How often do I see my friends? Many have moved-on - the get-togethers have stopped, the invites gone. People do move on and everyone has stuff to do in their lives: so I try not to take it personally.
How often do I see my wife? The answer is more unforgiveable. Even organising babysitters and arranging days off work just to be alone together, it just leads to an awkward time spent discussing what still needs to be done, rather than reinvigorating our love.
I go from dark despair to bounding back and trying harder to keep things moving forward.
=======================
45.
It was just before Christmas: I was working on my second video-game with a very talented programmer and he was teaching me how to make a virtual raindrop: set an object in 3D space, ray-cast to a surface directly below, then from that point, step up 100 units. Then run a script to draw that raindrop falling 100 units, from top to bottom, then replace raindrop with splash at end.
He died over that Christmas, with me being the last to work with him that final day. I often remember him when it rains.
We dedicated that game to him.
~~~
The last time rain soaked me to the skin was when I walked alone to my son’s grave on a whim: it poured and I was drenched.
But it also felt so liberating to not care about this, to know I would soon be dry and warm again; a sort of baptism.
The journey was more meaningful than the destination, as is often the way. My wife knows I do occasionally need a long walk, like a frustrated old dog, scratching at the paintwork to be let out.
We don’t visit that grave anymore, it means nothing anymore.
Sorry Charlie.
=================================
46.
When commuting to work every-day, with the rest of the undead, you realise how much of your life disintegrates: in return for this contemplation, you can either - if lucky - see the kids for breakfast, or, to get home and put them to bed.
Working and getting home at 8-9pm was getting ridiculous, so I managed to work a way to start at 5am and get home for 6pm: tired in a different way, and people at work think you are shirking, but hey! I get to put the kids to sleep and my wife doesn’t slit her wrists.
~~~
My wife was exhausted, and our love strained: everything was an excuse to not go on, but we had to. We were committed to a house and two kids. Two jobs drove us forward and all the money evaporated.
We lived in constant fear that our house, our home, our world, would fail: would all be for nought.
Faced with this fear, like many many others, we push forward – too scared to stop, too tired to be loving doting parents and partners. But everything endured is worth it for even the fleetest of smiles from the one you truly love.
===========================
47.
My son was about a fortnight old, he was screaming and I grabbed him and shook him to shut him up. My wife yelled at me to stop. It was the middle of the night. Other sharp memories include kneeling before my son in a pub carpark and yelling at him. Not proud memories.
My kids do cower when they know they’ve been naughty: but, at worst, I’ll clip heads, grab ear or haul them to the naughty step.
I don’t drink and try to keep calm – and it is improving; my wife doesn’t fully trust me around our kids.
~~~
My wife had a bullying father: a strict man who insisted on things running his way. My wife has explained to me starkly that he controlled her mother and dictated many aspects of the family life.
My wife has fixed me with a look quite often when discussing bullies and bossy people: yet I don’t sense this applies to me. Disciplining our children is not easy and we don’t always adopt the same levels or rules with the kids.
I have been worse; at my lowest muttering dark things about death. Is there something in me that I can’t see?
======================
48.
This journal took effort to deliver: the structure resolved, yet am stuck: resolved to complete all 100 slots and yet my memory seems to keep failing.
Yesterday, I had a corking good idea: a real memory – golden, with an upbeat ending, tied in beautifully with my lovely wife.
And today, it is forgotten: the feeling is not, but the memory is.
It is a worry as I do seem to be losing control of my memories a bit: there is an urgency in me to write everything down, to rest the headaches in my head.
I get distracted very easily.
~~~
My wife has always had a terrible memory: except for when I’ve made another mistake of course.
She works herself into such a state, trying to remember the sound of her mother’s voice clearly, vaguely recalling childhood memories that her father did not darken.
Her mind is a quartz gem: crystalline and clear on specific nodes, but all right-angles and fractures. Conversation often jumps tangentially; I often find myself haplessly confused and pointed at as if I were that child she was just berating, before she jumps to say that she’s just bought all the ingredients for her latest recipe.
=============
49.
My son prayed for a banana from God. He has a vague notion of faith and did it to impress a girl he was with (don’t we all?)
My children will be exposed to the stories of Christ, and there’s little an atheist like me can do: it is the law in Britain.
But this is fine, as just like TV and getting royally drunk, it is part of growing up in this little culture full of ‘British Values’: all this nationalism being fed into our children.
Christ set out to destroy the very institutions that the church represents, etc.
~~~
All life is energy and experience: we are sentient beings from chaos.
And God is a small black woman.
This is my wife’s philosophy, and it does the job of framing her mind against the bleak unfairness of this world.
I’d identified myself as the husband in the Ray Bradbury story ‘The Powerhouse’, comforting my wife on matters of faith: but after Charlie died, I think our roles swapped: I became the one on the horse crying, worrying about the death of a parent.
Between us, we re-tell the classic fables of the classical gods and mythology to our children.
50.
It was a deliberate act of vandalism: while dad built the top-floor of our extension, I parked my third-hand Chopper bike below where he was throwing down bricks and old strips of sharp wood full of nails.
As the bike stood there, I took a small dart and punctured the knobbly rear tyre: just to hear the hiss and watch it go flat.
Another time, tired of waiting for paint to dry on some plastic German toy soldiers, I became impatient and smeared my black-covered hand on my brother’s bedroom wall.
I seem to get bored easily and enjoy destruction.
~~~
My wife has created beautiful sculptures, drawing and cross-stitch pieces: a testament to her focus, dedication and her abilities.
She is constantly fighting the war against mess and disorder at home; together we do work hard keeping our home positive and full of clean, hygienic areas.
If only our home was as modular and replaceable as those built in Facebook games: a click and off-road parking is there.
But it isn’t: so the destructive force of this man and the creative force of this woman work very hard to build something bigger than themselves – and are almost consumed by it!
======================
51.
My best job was working at Blockbusters: nerdy film buff slackers feeding terrible films to needy idiots. Playing football in the aisles with old VHS cases, flinging Saturn magazine cover-discs at one-and-other, reading Pratchett books on my break, enjoying the free melted ice-cream, and singing ‘Where is my mind’ with a fellow Pixies fan at all the customers; so much freedom and fun – why the hell do we ever grow up?
Some stayed close to movies, some stayed in shops, one went to prison, one succeeded to the head-office, one got pregnant within a year of graduating: miss them all.
~~~
My fiancée still has friends from her old Woolworth days - there is something about shop-work that really builds a team. (I briefly worked there too - years later mind)
Anyway, in our first few months together, I attended a gang of her old Woolworth mates getting drunk together: terrifying to be surrounded by so many cheeky girls of course – I loved it! Shop-workers know how to drink, party, bitch about work and the dumbass customers.
Oh, did I mention my wife managed to kill her boss? He was infatuated, she was polite, he ended his life: so it goes.
===================
52.
Politically speaking, my woolly liberal ideas do not seem to get me anywhere: direct action is one thing, but their just seems like no real point fighting the machine.
But, as a student, I did write to John Major - complaining of my student woes - and got a letter back: so democracy does work, so no need to worry then.
Rants aside, not sure what hope there is for my kids: my son has already been exposed to ‘British Values’ lessons when he was only 6: why the hell do we promote nationalism as a virtue?
Smash the state.
~~~
The woman who I love has South African heritage, and her mother was much more politically active, always urging her daughter to vote and the value of raising a voice against injustice.
As our children have progressed through a Christian-influenced education system - which subtly asked them to look-up to the Queen and the institution of our national identity – we have that terrible nagging doubt that this is dishonest; uncertain futures, no university education, shackled to a broken system.
Thus, we teach our children extra things that hopefully will help them, to get an advantage in this terribly unjust system.
=======================
53.
Whenever builders have built something new, it is the smell of wet cement and drying emulsion paint that immediately transforms me back to when I was an active decorator: a real outdoor job for the working-classes.
The freedom of wearing paint-spattered clothes, having long hair and drinking tea and eating jam-sandwiches in the back of my brother’s dusty old van: all that cash, blown on such stupid stuff. But was fun at the time.
I think putting up towers and swinging around like a long-haired gorilla was one of my fun memories: a nice routine of setup and strip-down. Fun!
~~~
My wife is incredibly good at working with teenagers: through her work, she supported and prepared hundreds of kids for a bigger adventure: rebuilding their skills, shepherding the group so that the slower-ones kept up with the teacher and the rest of the herd.
And likewise, it also comes down to all those tea-breaks: chats with her dwindling workmates, enjoying the odd free biscuit and flirting with the mechanics to get the car MOT’d again.
Work defines us.
==========================
54.
Let’s try again: there was a time when connection was what I lived for: a time to spend collecting moments with others. I had spent many years wilfully alone but, through the fluke of circumstance - rather than the force of will, things changed: I changed and adapted to a primal need to connect.
This was astonishing to me – to be drawn into a world of sharing, exploring and discovering more: to be in love.
But this love was competing with the other demands of time: the precious moments thwarted by work and money and – eventually, family.
So, I lost focus.
~~~
Even when she was sat there, staring through the world, sobbing at the loss and injustice and confused rage within, I had to love her. I still do.
Through a lot of emotional and physical illness and pain, my wife still resolved to carry on: but where we now were seemed to fill her with numbness and me with a sense of despair: I had been cruel and unkind at my lowest, and now the pain inside her seemed to shut-down the connection between us, perhaps permanently.
But this I will not believe.
So, from this I continue to fight.
==========================
55.
It was always Texas Meat-Feast Barbeque Pizza: the lads enjoyed large portions and we had an ongoing cinema subscription, so spent our nights together, watching all sorts of rubbish. Outings with friends I no-longer see, but fondly remember.
What did we ever talk about? Seemed funny at the time, whatever it was.
Perhaps it says something about my brain, that I remember the pizza topping and the Kandinsky painting on the wall, but specific conversations elude me.
I do recall bad films like ‘Congo.’
Films should be a social thing: now I watch them on my phone while I commute.
~~~~~~
‘Event Horizon’ – scared the crap out of my fiancée and her duplicitous bet friend. Such a daft movie, but full of nice little scares that had the girls giggling. Was a nice night out: last time went to the cinema was when parents agreed to babysit our kids, allowing us some time alone to watch ‘Iron Man 2’ – and this time, the film was nice, but the break was the thing: they could have put anything on that screen!
When we can, we grab onto every moment on our nights off; sometimes we remember how human and in-love we are.
==============================================
56.
Night’s out
Last time I cried
Inspiration to write
Conversation piece
babysitter
TV
Kids cartoons
Smell of wet cement
Compiling videos for my son
My boy the princess
Sleeping with the internet
Growing my hair long again
Why do women wear those shoes?
In the darkness alone
The canopy of a forest is my true home
Watching birds in flight
Taping radio shows
Begging the fanboys to join their internet gang
Fear of pubs
The bigger picture
Finding solace with the gods
Medical complaints
Children’s TV
How to deal with the unjust world
Everyday wonder at small things
Why I lack a professional work ethic
Being spontaneous: let me think about it
Fear of birthday parties
Dirty spoons
Mobile phones and gadgets
Blow-up banana girlfriend
Sing, sing, sing
Mirror in the bathroom
Being a migrant worker
Brian Sewell is a cunt
Superman must die!
Blockbuster movies
Photo memories on Facebook
The freedom of sarcasm on the shop floor
Dealing with fucking idiots (who think I’m a fucking idiot)
Good with money
The last time I danced like a fucking idiot
The last time I got very drunk
Celibacy
Pub quizmaster
Being fat
Why must this be 100 things long?
The biggest lie I ever told
But that never happened…
The big dog
Fear of flying
Losing touch with dear friends
My fears for my children
Scarred knuckles
Proud to be an inherent racist bigot
Invaluable time
Maintaining eye contact
My top-ten movies
Being a fungi
The tale of the crisp packet