Back once again

So, after several months of bouncing from sofas to hotel to sofa .. I am alive and well and back in Wolves. I have my own place, my own bills, not shared accommodation but a proper (if rather grotty) flat. I survived through good fortune and stubbornness and bloodymindedness  with the help of a young lady and her generosity. Sammy, I’m forever in your debt. 

I however have no Internet at home so I am not able to update this properly! That will change though in time. I’m currently still getting back  on my feet but… for moment I’m thinking there but for the grace of *insert deity* go I. 


Ah the joy of Jo’s

I’ve landed homeless again. 

Having taken Jo to the post office to try and sort out paying for her passport it turns out that she’d not bothered to sort out her parents details. So.. she’s applying for a legal document pertaining to identify her as her… and she doesn’t bother to get her parents information??? The guy in the post office could barely believe what he was seeing. We left and I asked her quite how she thought that was going to be ok. Cue lots of screaming… culminating in her telling me to pack my bags.

Marvellous. I try and open the world up for her and … that’s what I get. 

It’s not new. She’s screamed at me many times in the few weeks I’d been there. While packing… more screaming. Apparently I still love Deb? hahaha The woman who murdered our unborn child. Apparently Shannon (just a lass from the pub) will put me up.  I also of course still love Michelle. It’s entertaining to note that in 9 years with Esther I think we argued to the point of raised voices once… maybe twice. And I was actually IN a relationship with her.

This is the same woman who upon my arrival attempted to emotionally blackmail me into staying by registering me as her partner and thus having all her benefits stopped. 

I made a choice when I chose to leave Heidi’s. It was for her good (Heidi’s) and was supposed to be for mine too. Hell was I wrong! Of course… Jo is now a stone or two lighter, no longer needs her crutches, no longer needs the injections she was having (I think it was 6 a day for her diabetes), has travelled .. and was about to have the gateway to the world handed to her on a plate.  

The plan was, to stay there, recoup the money I’d used to lend to Heidi to pay her rent while she kept hospitalising herself, and then get my own place. Amazon came up trumps but, I simply couldn’t work there while being under Jo’s roof. The arguments and shouting, the bizarre behaviour. The stress of being in the hovel that is Amazon and then coming “home” to that, was killing me. Literally. I’ve been ill more times in 2 months than I have in 10 years!! And so… I quit Amazon, seeing a roof over my head as being the priority. Also, the belief that, removing that stress could make living at Jo’s more tolerable. But the issue wasn’t with me. It’s with her. An insane paranoia about how “She’s not stupid” and everything is centred around people not wanting her. It’s underlined by how her son treats her. My refusal to enter into a relationship with her, even though I was basically completely trapped there just wasn’t something she could handle. Passive aggressive turned into simply outright aggressive… until this.

And so… i find myself homeless. 

I suspect this might be my last entry here. My money runs out in a few days. Whither then.. I cannot say.


Having a Pearl Jam moment!

So, it’s been well over half a year since I added anything of meaning here. I suppose I should change that. 

First things first. I’m still alive and well and living in Droitwich! Oh wait no, that’s Kate/Bob’s mother. I’m back in sunny Wolves. 

Staying with Heidi became untenable for me. I can’t recall if it was 4 or 5 times she was hospitalised while I was there. I do know that the 999 call I had to make for her was only the second time in my life I’ve wondered if I was going to see someone die in front of me. Her life is her own, and I cannot tell her how to live it, nor will I, but I will not enable it either. I swore I’d never speak to her mother again, and broke that vow in order to tell my sister that, in my opinion, she should set aside money so that at any one time she can get on a plane from Sweden, because in my opinion, I’m not certain H will survive the next 12 months if she continues as she is. I love my niece, her heart is massive, and given everything which she’s been through, I have nothing but respect for her. She looked after me when no-one else would. She’s so busy looking after everyone else that she won’t look after herself. She will not see it, but this was me looking after her the only way I knew how. 

So, I landed back in Wolves last month. Work at Amazon up in Manchester was actually quite doable. I’d been a problem solver from the first week and my skills on the computer made me something of a go-to person for people all over the warehouse, inc managers, ops managers and pretty much everyone who needed info or a computer problem fixed. I had my moments though of course… and so i quit on Valentines Day due to the stupidity of other around me. Two weeks passed and I received a call asking why wasn’t I in work.  Another 2 weeks of phone calls resulted in a return back the week before my birthday in order to have a meeting about my issues. In truth nothing actually changed. But, with no disciplinary either for my month off, I basically took the equivalent of a sabbatical! I was, frankly, lucky, and returned as if nothing had happened.

However, the situation at home, meant I had to leave my job as I needed accommodation. The fact that nothing changed at work probably made this an easier decision. The long days had taken their toll. Up at 4am and not returning until gone 8pm.. i’m no longer 23. A friend said I could come stay with her until I can sort my own flat/bedsit. So, I got on a train and back in Wolves I find myself. 

The Giff as ever has been a source of both solace and  strength for me. I care little if I speak to anyone there, I go for the music. I’m comfortable there. No-one asks anything from me, and vice versa. I’m both anonymous and known. There are people there I can talk to if I want to, and there are people there who would miss my presence at the end of the bar whose name I would not know, nor they mine. 

And so there comes the only really good piece of fortune to spring from all this. Amazon, wondering where I was again, called. I explained to them that I was no longer able to get to Manchester to work and was expecting the standard “Ok, thank you for working for us, where do we send your P45?”. Instead the young lady inquired “So, what would be your bast case scenario then now? Is there anything we can help you with?” So, I said where I was, and explained I’d done nearly a year in the Rugeley Amazon before moving to the Manchester depo, and ideally as I’d need a job here, maybe I could return to them? “Give me some time to make some calls.”, she said. Half an hour later : You start Monday!

So, currently I’m still attempting to sort accom, and am plonked at Jo’s, whom I owe a massive debt of gratitude to.  I’m hoping a passport might at least go some way to saying thank you! Accompanying me to the Arsenal game in London might also have awoken something? A convert perhaps? 

Anyway, I’m alive. I know I’ve neglected this, and it’s possible that I might continue to do so after this. There’s a part of me that wonders if it’s because it’s Esther’s birthday that I’ve chosen to post today. I don’t know. No matter. It’s done. So… to finish… a pic. After the thrashing handed (Wenger)out by Liverpool I probably shouldn’t be celebrating anything Arsenal related but.. it was a good day away from everything.. 


Draw me a sheep.

Today is always a strange day on my calendar. 15 years ago I got on a plane to Australia expecting to never come back. 10 years ago I was sat at Coventry airport heading over to Amsterdam and would meet the woman for the first time who would become my wife.

Today however  I gifted probably my most prized possession to someone. I have been known to buy copies of The Little Prince for people. Today, I gave mine to someone else. Not a copy. Mine. It’s been with me since about 2000 and without it, I know with utter conviction that none of what’s come since would have happened. I have leaned on it in my darkest times, carried it with me in some of my best, and taken strength and inspiration from its wisdoms since the day I first read it. It’s value to me has been unquantifiable. If a person could have a book as a best friend, then this would be mine.

And now it’s someone else’s.

If they take nothing from it, it’s fine. They’re not me. If it sits unread for years, that’s OK too. This was an expression of thanks, of love and affection, and an acknowledgement of what they’ve come to mean to me. But if it has even a 10th of the impact which it’s had upon me.. that will be enough for them to look back in years to come and remember today. And smile. And perhaps, just perhaps, they will have stars that will laugh for them,  and they’ll think of me. 


Nothing ever changes. Friendship is forged. Some of us see forged meaning to make something .. some of us see forged as being fake. Vapid. Without substance. Some of us don’t notice the difference until it’s too late.


I love talking music with people. I get extremely passionate about it. There’s not too much which really stirs my soul but music can. Emotive, I suppose is the word. I’ve never been one for remembering band member names but titles and lyrics seem to stay in for years. The aforementioned local pub (see last blog) has a reasonably well fed jukebox, although it’s not as I thought an internet one. I get almost as much of a kick out of surprising people by knowing the songs they’ve put on as I do having people tap along to mine. Given the age range in there and the fact that some of my music would go down like a lead balloon, I do limit my choices though. Not because I’m concerned as to what people would think of me, but more for the respect of the venue and the customers. I guess it’s the wanting to please thing going on. Banging on a good ear worm and hearing people say “Gods I’ve not heard this in years” gives me far more pleasure than slinging on Rage against the Machine and having the local populous glower at me for 4 minutes!

I use my music. It’s cathartic. Often it says what I’m thinking but don’t have the words for, or rather, it’s not that I don’t have the words, it’s that my arrangement of them might well not be as skilled as the version I have access too which is already done for me. Some of it is stupid, some of it deep, but it’s rarely without some form of underlying twang. Bat out of Hell exhilarates me. Mother by P Floyd elicits memories of what my own mother did to me as a child, You Little Thief by Fergal Sharkey.. that’s anger and a massive feeling of injustice, and The Ghosts that Haunt me by Crash test Dummies says I’m not scared to show you me… if you’ll take the time to see/read/listen. The list is endless. The skill on the instruments alone on things like Child in Time by Deep Purple, or the 2cellos versions of songs, or indeed Hellsongs versions of classic metal which turn them into something rather beautiful, (See Run to the Hills as an example), could in the right moment bring a tear to the eye.

I wonder if others are the same. What coaxes what from whom? The Alpaca Weebl tune and Giraffe in my Loft… will never fail to make me chuckle. The Dangermouse intro works too. I grin at Prefab Sprout, smile at Colin Hay, struggle with Snow Patrol’s Chasing Cars and the memories attached to the loss of an old friend, and then follow it up with Hurt by Nine inch Nails just to underline what I already understand : Everyone I know, goes away in the end. Another Suitcase in Another Hall tells a story I relate to, and 2 Beds and a Coffee Machine / Tell me there’s a heaven tell a story too, of another old friend and their struggle.

I remember the first day I walked into the Cheshire Cat. Wayne and I were suitably merry beforehand and we were heading in there purely because there would be a certain young lady there. We were 18. Highway to Hell was playing by AcDc and it was swiftly followed by Since You’ve been Gone by Rainbow. I was in love. I’d always had a love of music but this transcended it. This was my music, at my volume, with 200 other people who felt exactly the same way. I belonged, and I felt it! This was a place where who or what you were didn’t matter. The music made us all have something in common. It was our frame of reference to everyone around us. Ironic that my version of halcyon days was built on a wall of noise? Possibly. But nevertheless, to me, that’s as I remember it. Since it closed in 97 nothing has really come close asides from the Giffard in Wolves.

So maybe that’s why when I’m plonked in a pub and someone puts music on, that I sit up and listen and take note. Perhaps I’m looking for what this means to them. When I share… it’s almost always something personal of mine. And I’ve chosen to put it on display. “Here is a part of me.” More often than not it is purely for my own enjoyment, (but picked dependent upon the venue.. I’ll not play Spanish Train by Chris de Burgh in the Giff any more than I’d play NiN and Closer in the pub round the corner), but for those who care to listen, they might take something from it too… and that’s what I’m looking for in other’s choices.

They say eyes are a gateway to the soul. I think music is too. I’ve met a few people whose eyes I’ve struggled to hold, either because I find them far too beautiful and it renders me surprisingly shy/bashful, or because perhaps I’m not sure about being quite that vulnerable to that person at that time (or both!), but music can bypass that. And there’s the thing. Eyes can be the gateway to another person’s soul but music.. it can also be the gateway to your own. You can choose to scratch the surface, or go deeper, much deeper, either to share with another, or for your own self exploration.

I guess, it just depends on how much you want to display… to yourself, or others.