Sunday 18 May 2008
Friday 9 May 2008
It a big secret I should hear
I over hear hushed voices
"When should we tell him"
"Theres never a good time"
"He isnt old enough yet"
I have a sinkin feeling that I am adopted, but i know that i am not.
I wait many years to find me the truth and when I do it like a steam train.
"When should we tell him"
"Theres never a good time"
"He isnt old enough yet"
I have a sinkin feeling that I am adopted, but i know that i am not.
I wait many years to find me the truth and when I do it like a steam train.
Introducing Billy the Twat
Billy the twat, is the nemesis of my uncle eddie.
I cant stand him with a passion.
Can you imagine a man stuck in the 70's with a big bald head, busy eyebrows, tweed jackets and moleskin trousers. A know it all bastard who likes to tend to his bonsai and his gladioli.
With a wife to match, big buofont permed hair and flowery dresses.
He is my mothers brother and always looks down his nose at my dad, he thinks he is better than anyone else. He is so far up himself, the horticultural society thinks he is a new species of daffodil.
His wife picks me up one day and tells me to avoid the dogs dirt on the pavement, I dont avoid it and it ends up in the back of her car. Oh dear.
Likewise, if I have to play hide the fucking grape one more time in her retro 70's living room, with a poxy bunch of artificial plastic graps, I think that I might explode.
More on billy the twat and his wife later.
I cant stand him with a passion.
Can you imagine a man stuck in the 70's with a big bald head, busy eyebrows, tweed jackets and moleskin trousers. A know it all bastard who likes to tend to his bonsai and his gladioli.
With a wife to match, big buofont permed hair and flowery dresses.
He is my mothers brother and always looks down his nose at my dad, he thinks he is better than anyone else. He is so far up himself, the horticultural society thinks he is a new species of daffodil.
His wife picks me up one day and tells me to avoid the dogs dirt on the pavement, I dont avoid it and it ends up in the back of her car. Oh dear.
Likewise, if I have to play hide the fucking grape one more time in her retro 70's living room, with a poxy bunch of artificial plastic graps, I think that I might explode.
More on billy the twat and his wife later.
Am I uncle eddies child ?
I really like my Uncle Eddie, although he is old now and rather contankerous, he is a diamond.
Although my dad has three sisters and a brother and I have lots of relatives on my crazy mothers side, Uncle Eddie is the only one that I bother about now.
As a young man, he introduced me to the world of motorsport, by letting me ride his Honda 3 wheeler and then later taught me the rudimentary basics of learning to drive offroad in a landrover. This was prior to me learning to drive on the road in a car. He was also a very diplomatic listener and when I was old enough to drive for myself, I would visit him at my lowest points and he would not pass judgement, nor criticise whether I was right or wrong. He did not take sides as my father did and I will always respect him for this. He also taught me to fly fish, but thats a side issue. I must remember to visit him soon, or at least phone him as Im not always good at keeping in touch.
However, back when I was a child though, we used to visit my uncle eddies, he stayed in Broxburn along with my grandparents.
My granny was a lovely woman, very kind and generous, but I was never close to him or my grandfather as my dad had been the blacksheep of the family. I realise now in later life that this was becuase he married my mother against all his family's wishes and he literally chose to disown them apart from visiting his folks once a week. Eddie was the only exception to this rule.
He kept an immaculate garden with a putting green in it and although he never once in my whole life gave me a birthday present, he gave me self respect and worth, he treated me as an adult form day 1 and I love him for it.
One day, my mother sits me down, she has been listening to the voices in the walls again.
She tells me that to protect me, that I am Uncle Eddies child.
I am young and confused.
I hold this burden close to my chest suffering with nobody to talk to about this for many years and despite all child like logic I have that my dad looks like me, I cant shake the thought.
I felt that I could not tell me father, he would not listen and take my mothers side if I ever complained about her to him.
I realised later of course that I am not uncle eddies child, its just all part of the twisted web she wove around me.
I tell me dad this many years later when I am a grown man, it upsets him greatly.
Although my dad has three sisters and a brother and I have lots of relatives on my crazy mothers side, Uncle Eddie is the only one that I bother about now.
As a young man, he introduced me to the world of motorsport, by letting me ride his Honda 3 wheeler and then later taught me the rudimentary basics of learning to drive offroad in a landrover. This was prior to me learning to drive on the road in a car. He was also a very diplomatic listener and when I was old enough to drive for myself, I would visit him at my lowest points and he would not pass judgement, nor criticise whether I was right or wrong. He did not take sides as my father did and I will always respect him for this. He also taught me to fly fish, but thats a side issue. I must remember to visit him soon, or at least phone him as Im not always good at keeping in touch.
However, back when I was a child though, we used to visit my uncle eddies, he stayed in Broxburn along with my grandparents.
My granny was a lovely woman, very kind and generous, but I was never close to him or my grandfather as my dad had been the blacksheep of the family. I realise now in later life that this was becuase he married my mother against all his family's wishes and he literally chose to disown them apart from visiting his folks once a week. Eddie was the only exception to this rule.
He kept an immaculate garden with a putting green in it and although he never once in my whole life gave me a birthday present, he gave me self respect and worth, he treated me as an adult form day 1 and I love him for it.
One day, my mother sits me down, she has been listening to the voices in the walls again.
She tells me that to protect me, that I am Uncle Eddies child.
I am young and confused.
I hold this burden close to my chest suffering with nobody to talk to about this for many years and despite all child like logic I have that my dad looks like me, I cant shake the thought.
I felt that I could not tell me father, he would not listen and take my mothers side if I ever complained about her to him.
I realised later of course that I am not uncle eddies child, its just all part of the twisted web she wove around me.
I tell me dad this many years later when I am a grown man, it upsets him greatly.
The bastard in the fruit garden
Around the corner from where we lived there used to be a small lane called quality street. At the end it had a small fruit and veg shop called something like the fruit garden.
The guy was middle aged that owed it, usually wore a suit, black hair, moustache, glasses.
I spilled his strawberries one day whilst in shopping with my mother, I remember bending down to pick them up and he shouted to leave them. I didnt and he slapped me clean across the face with such force that I had a hand print across my jaw and it sent my flying across the shop.
My mother refused to tell my dad no matter how much I begged her too, I wanted retribution even at such an early age. She wouldnt, fearing that my dad would kill him and the police would be called and the whole world would know our business and a million other crazy ideas that the voices in the walls told her.
I vowed that day that some time in teh future I would exact my revenge on that man.
I carried that with me until I was in my very early thirties and I seen him in a costco. I had always promised myself that I would say to him "remember me" followed by a short sharp rap in the jaw.
When i saw him, he looked really really old, and I couldnt bring myself to say anything. I felt more pity for him than anything else.
I eventually told my dad what had happened, there was tears in my eyes, it was a little secret that I had carried for so many years, just another piece of the puzzle.
The guy was middle aged that owed it, usually wore a suit, black hair, moustache, glasses.
I spilled his strawberries one day whilst in shopping with my mother, I remember bending down to pick them up and he shouted to leave them. I didnt and he slapped me clean across the face with such force that I had a hand print across my jaw and it sent my flying across the shop.
My mother refused to tell my dad no matter how much I begged her too, I wanted retribution even at such an early age. She wouldnt, fearing that my dad would kill him and the police would be called and the whole world would know our business and a million other crazy ideas that the voices in the walls told her.
I vowed that day that some time in teh future I would exact my revenge on that man.
I carried that with me until I was in my very early thirties and I seen him in a costco. I had always promised myself that I would say to him "remember me" followed by a short sharp rap in the jaw.
When i saw him, he looked really really old, and I couldnt bring myself to say anything. I felt more pity for him than anything else.
I eventually told my dad what had happened, there was tears in my eyes, it was a little secret that I had carried for so many years, just another piece of the puzzle.
Sunday 4 May 2008
Nighrmare one - the sheets move closer
The first nightmare is difficult to explain, it was more like a gut wrenchy feeling, like a brainstorm or something.
The only way that I could describite, is it was like a plain white sheet, ruffled, but constantly moving towards evil. Or another way to put it, it was like being at the end of a chess board, constantly edging towards the obyss of the opponents pieces and the battle that would ensue.
I know that doesnt make a whole load of sense, but thats what it was like, like you were gradually edging towards an unknown quantity or death. It was petrifying.
The only way that I could describite, is it was like a plain white sheet, ruffled, but constantly moving towards evil. Or another way to put it, it was like being at the end of a chess board, constantly edging towards the obyss of the opponents pieces and the battle that would ensue.
I know that doesnt make a whole load of sense, but thats what it was like, like you were gradually edging towards an unknown quantity or death. It was petrifying.
Travel Sick
One thing that I remember vividy about returning from Hawick was being travel sick.
My dad, for a reason only know to himself, would rather I sit in the back without a seatbelt in those days rather that sit in the empty front seat with a seatbelt on.
I have no doubt in my mind that he thought this was safer in some weird and twisted way, but stil it makes you wonder. Seatbelt or no seatblet, hmm let me see.
I remember sitting in the back of his car, and having to have him stop at laybys ever 20 miles or so. He would always get out the car with me and walk up and down rubbing my back.
I hated the thought of my mother consoling me, dad was always the man to be sick with.
My dad, for a reason only know to himself, would rather I sit in the back without a seatbelt in those days rather that sit in the empty front seat with a seatbelt on.
I have no doubt in my mind that he thought this was safer in some weird and twisted way, but stil it makes you wonder. Seatbelt or no seatblet, hmm let me see.
I remember sitting in the back of his car, and having to have him stop at laybys ever 20 miles or so. He would always get out the car with me and walk up and down rubbing my back.
I hated the thought of my mother consoling me, dad was always the man to be sick with.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)